ftp.ee.pdx.edu/2014.02.ftp.ee.pdx.edu.tar/ftp.ee.pdx.edu/pub/frp/stories/startrek/adv1/turn07

Text File | 1994-09-10 | 27KB | 677 lines

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                           Star Trek: Play by E-Mail
                              The Forbidden Years
                               Campaign Write-up
===============================================================================
                                 Adventure #1
                             Flight of the Phobos
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                    Turn #7
                               Bimbos-1, Borgs-0
===============================================================================
              Copyright 1993 Jim Vassilakos / All Rights Reserved
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                                  Cast & Crew

                    ST-PBeM GameMaster   Jim Vassilakos
                            Dr. O'Neil   Mark Hammel
                        Lt. Bellasario   Alan Ward
                             Lt. T'lar   Ronnie Simonds
                    2nd Lt. Morchainte   Brian Chrisman
                         Ensign Arloch   Steve Hyatt


Administrivia:
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

During this turn there was a lot of discussion regarding how things work aboard
a starship. Here are a few technical notes just for the record.

(1) Tech notes: Transporters aboard the Phobos

Type       Payload     Direction   Resolution   Cycle Time
----------------------------------------------------------
Personnel  5 people    two-way     quantum      10 seconds
Emergency  22 people   one-way     quantum      10 seconds
Cargo      25000 Kg    two-way     molecular    20 seconds

Note, it is possible to flirt a bit with the transporter capabilities, but it
requires a damn good engineer which (since Chief Watson's death) this party
just didn't have.


(2) Tech notes: Antimatter & Dilithium

Antimatter is stored as fuel aboard the Phobos. It can be generated aboard
major starships, however, smaller vessels like the Phobos have to pick it up
from Star Fleet fueling facilities. Antimatter is generally in the form on
anti-hydrogen. Since magnetic containment is not always perfect, putting your
starship through whacko maneuvers can be rather dangerous. Containment
assemblies are built with automatic ejectors for this very reason.

As for dilithium crystals, they're used in M/A reactions. Dilithium is a very
unusual material. When a high-frequency electromagnetic field is focused upon
it, it becomes "porous" to anti-hydrogen, enabling technicians to direct and
control the flow of the anti-hydrogen. Unfortunately, the dilithium eventually
develops fractures which can spell the doom of a starship if the crystal is
allowed to degenerate without being replaced. Of course, a certain number of
imperfections in the crystal are necessary or else it wouldn't be of use in
channeling the anti-hydrogen. By the same token, too many fractures cause it to
develop clogs, which is extremely dangerous.


Stardate 6003.16 at 2245 hours: USS Phobos, Auxiliary Control (Deck 6)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Four kilometers on a side. Nien winces at the notion of doing battle with this
monster. She thought the first Borg vessel was big. At 500 meters on a side, it
volumes some 125 million cubic meters. But this one is eight times the length
on each side, five hundred times the volume, and heading right at her at warp
10.

"Oh boy, we're dog meat," Tsandzia mutters, by way of a morale booster. "What I
wouldn't do for a cloaking device, right now." She fishes into the scanner
readings for more information.

"ETA in fifty," T'lar notes.

"What in blazes is going on?!" The gruff voice belongs to Jacob O'Neil. He sits
in a grav chair, hovering his way into auxiliary control like he owns the
place.

"Not now, Doctor."

"I'd like to make my report. Why is the view screen all violet?"

"Special effects. Doc... we're sort of busy at the moment."

"ETA in thirty."

"It was Nanites."

Nien looks over her shoulder, "If anybody has any famous last words..."

"They're the reason behind the Borg illness, Captain. They get into their
heads, you see. It's rather complicated, and I don't want to bore you with the
technical details."

"Fifteen. Raising shields. Arming p-torps one, two and three. Ten... nine...
eight... seven..."

"What's she counting backwards for?" O'Neil gazes at the forward screen, eyes
widening as the second Borg vessel comes into viewing range.

"...locking on target... four... three... two... it's dropping out of warp."

Nien fully expects to be blasted out of space, but for some reason, she can't
bring herself to command a photon spread on the enemy vessel. In the first
place, it would be useless, or so she guesses. In the second place, she's
planning on ordering a self-destruct and figures that the armed torps may make
the explosion all the more spectacular.

"We're being scanned," Tsandzia notes.

The self-destruct keyword which Bellasario prepared prior to his being wounded
is on her tip of her tongue, but Nien waits, hoping that they'll knock out the
shields and beam over a boarding party. Then she'll finally be able to look
into a Borg's eyes and watch it die, one final bloody-nose for this race of
lunatics.

Several seconds pass, breathless moments of unbearable silence, before Ensign
Trozena shakes his head. "You won't believe this, sir."

"Try me."

"They're hailing us."

Nien pauses a moment to digest the statement. Of all their possible actions,
that one had never occurred to her.

"On the main viewer."

The image of the Borg vessel disappears, replaced by three borgs, each
outfitted in the usual black body armor. The subspace static is fierce, but
their signal is so intense that it cuts through the clutter.

"I'm Commander Elineva of the United Feder..."

"How?" the one in the center asks.

Nien looks in the background for a totem pole, "How what?"

"How did you defeat vessel 743?"

Nien pauses, not quite sure how to respond. "Uh... vessel 743? You mean you
have 742 more of those suckers?"

"Resistance is futile. Answer the question. How did you defeat vessel 743?"

'Resistance obviously isn't futile," Nien figures to herself.

The alien looks impatient, "How did you defeat vess..."

"It was my feminine wiles and the PC-glow of my crew mates that gave us the
upper hand," Nien finally confesses.

The borgs look genuinely confused. "Answer does not compute."

"Well, that's your problem, isn't it. If you'll wait a few minutes, I'll get
back to you with more salient information. Phobos out."

Her skin gets goose bumps as Trozena cuts the transmission.

"PC glow?" T'lar inquires.

"Nevermind. So... I'm sure you're all dying to tell me what we're going to do,
right?"

"You're the captain, Captain."

"And I'm soliciting ideas, unless you want to go with plan A, that is. Do we
have a fix on their power supply?"

Tsandzia shakes her head, "My guess is that they're using HPT-11 to generate
their antimatter. Star Fleet considered using it about fifty years ago but
decided against it due to its volatility."

"Is that what Baby-Borg was using to generate the spatial rift?"

"No. The smaller borg ship is not currently generating any anti-matter, at
least not that I can tell. The subspace interference is pretty bad out there."

"Hypothesis."

"It's possible that its generators are non-functional." Tsandzia states. "It
seemed to be using electricity already stored in capacitor banks. And this
dimensional shift it just accomplished seems to have left it entirely drained.
The ship is just hanging there. No subspace signals."

"Life readings?"

"Umm..." Tsandzia hits a few switches, "Appears to be a single individual."

"How about shields?"

"No shields. One appropriately placed photon torpedo might be able to blow it
to kingdom come.. or... something like that."

"But we'd still have to deal with Mommy-Borg," Nien notes.

"We could try either commandeering the Baby-Borg," Tsandzia suggests, "or
possibly destroying it if the other borg vessel gets close enough to it to be
taken out as well."

Nien nods, "Interesting idea. Getting a ship that size to self-destruct could
take out lots of other ships. Even Mommy-Borg would be hard-pressed to survive
that one, assuming she got close enough. Of course, we don't know how powerful
her shields are, and we could be destroying ourselves in the blast as well.
It'll be 'iffy' either way."

Tsandzia bites her lip, "There is another option."

"Yes?"

"What if we blew up that little ship right now and assumed a helpless posture,
de-energizing our weapon systems and shields. We know that the tendency of the
Borg is to board ships that they can take over. When they do, they'll also have
to lower their shields."

"So what's your point?"

"We could beam over a whole mess of these nanites the doctor was mentioning. I
assume we have them on board."

"Yes," O'Neil responds. "Not a whole mess of them, but a few."

"I admit, sir, this is a risky idea, but every angle should be considered."

"How long does this nanite-disease take to flourish?"

"Hours to days."

"We'd all be Borgs ourselves by then."

"But we could strike a serious blow. He said that was ship number 743. If that
larger borg vessel is a mother ship to a thousand baby-borgs, we could end up
saving countless civilizations."

"I'm not in a charitable mood, Lieutenant. I want to save this ship, not
countless civilizations. Do you have any options which entail that as an
outcome?"

Tsandzia shakes her head, "Just one."

"Best for last?"

"We could beam in another boarding party and try to find some way to destroy
the baby-borg vessel from the inside."

Nien nods, "While the Phobos runs like hell. It would be a suicide mission."

"Without doubt."

"Or perhaps we could beam them a load of antimatter and then run like hell.
Cross our fingers. Maybe we'd be able to get out in time."

"No." The voice belongs to Ensign Arloch. He turns his head from side to side,
shaken and insecure, as the senior officers look him over. "We can't beam anti-
matter, sir. At least, not in a contained state. It would cause a
mutual-annihilation reaction in the pattern buffer and possibly destroy the
ship."

"How do you figure, Ensign?" Nien's been in Star Fleet awhile, and she never
heard that one before. Of course, she never tried to beam antimatter before
either.

"I'm just a few weeks out of my Cadet cruise, sir. We had more drill
instructors than you could shake a stick at... and, well, that was one of the
drills. I remember it because it was the first time I'd managed to blow up the
entire ship in simulation."

"The first time? You mean there were others?"

Tyran winces, "I'm afraid so, sir."

Nien cracks a vague smile, "It's good to hear that they still torture the
midshipmen. It provides us with good officers. Thank you, Ensign."

Tyran breaths a sigh of relief, "Any time, sir."

"Sir," T'lar implores, "I recommend that we transport the lone borg survivor
over here before we do anything else."

"You're right. He knows too much. They'd have extracted him by now, but they're
probably wary of contamination, as well they should be." Nien turns toward
Trozena. "Have a security team report to transporter room one, and have the
transporter room prepare to lock on and beam over the lone life form on the
smaller of the two Borg vessels. Also, drop shields to 50% flicker." Nien looks
toward Tyran. "Ensign, how would you like the head the welcoming committee?"


Stardate 6003.16 at 2255 hours: USS Phobos, Transporter Room One (deck 3)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tyran finds himself with more security volunteers than he knows what to do
with. It seems that everybody on this boat wants a piece of the Borg. It's
finally decided (by a quick and heated discussion) that Ensign Brown will be
heading the security detail. She's a green-eyed red-head, buff and foxy and
more than a little feisty when snapping orders to her subordinates.

"Osborne, Sorrows, and Doss... I've never worked with any of you dorks, so I
want you to know one thing up front. You don't hesitate. Don't even look at
him. All you do is pull the damn trigger. If he doesn't drop, you switch the
phaser setting from stun to disintegrate, and you Jacobs, you beam his ass into
space, widest possible dispersion. Are we clear?"

"Yessir," comes the reply.

"Okay, let's do it."

Tyran steadies himself, then intones the single word that they are waiting for:
"Energize."

The Borg slowly materializes, but even before he is fully there, the security
people are firing. He goes down the moment the transporter field lets go of
him, dropping to the deck like a sack of stinking refuse.

"Okay, strip him down," Tyran commands, and the security people go to work with
glee. "Sickbay, we've got ourselves a live one. You got that containment field
set-up yet?"

"Almost."

"We're bringing him in now. Almost isn't good enough."

"Aye, sir."


Stardate 6003.16 at 2300 hours: USS Phobos, Auxiliary Control (deck 6)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"That's a snag. They're moving it to sickbay," Trozena states, looking toward
both Commanders.

"I guess I'd better get going," O'Neil decides.

"Uh, Dr. O'Neil," Tsandzia stops him in front of the turbolift, "how fast can
we... ummm... 'breed' those Nanites?"

"You still want to use them to attack the Borg?" Nien intervenes.

"It worked once, and then by a fluke of luck. If we could actively breed an
infestation of them..."

O'Neil nods, "One cart-load of Nanites coming up. Would that be for here or to
go?"

"To go," Nien emphasizes. "Thank you, Doctor."

He makes a rueful grimace, "It'll be a pleasure."

Tsandzia studies her scans of the other ship for a long moment as O'Neil floats
out on his grav-chair.

"The opportunity to pick up new technologies is just..."

"Assuming we ever get back home," Nien interrupts.

"Nevertheless, we should see if we can get anything out of that Borg."

"How do you propose we interrogate it?"

T'lar raises an eyebrow, "Request permission to leave my post, sir."

Nien nods, fairly certain she knows what the Vulcan has in mind, "Granted,
Lieutenant. And good luck."

T'lar nods back, uncertain for once how to respond to the expression.

Tsandzia consults the scanner readings again, "The mother ship definitely has
some type of shields. I'm picking up some hellish spatial distortion. I don't
know if we'd ever be able to hammer through that."

"What about the smaller one?"

"Nothing. We should really take advantage of that. It has to be destroyed
sooner or later. If we do get out of here, we cannot let the Borg know how
their ship was defeated. No doubt, that's where the clues are. Wait a sec, I'm
picking up some transporter carrier waves. They're beaming a boarding party out
just like we did. Sir, I strongly suggest..."

But as Tsandzia turns around, she sees that Nien is already at the p-torp
controls, Higashi scrambling to keep up with her hand movements. Three photon
torpedoes exit from the Phobos, but instead of striking the smaller Borg
vessel, they are suddenly snuffed out.

"What happened?"

Suddenly a green light engulfs the forward viewer, and the ship rocks from
impact, sending Nien hurtling to the deck as an eerie popping noise echoes
throughout the ship. "Damage report," are the only words out of her mouth when
she picks herself back up.

"Shields down. Rupture in deck 10. Should we return fire, sir?" Trozena asks.

"No, they just gave us a spanking. No sense prolonging the ordeal. Any
casualties?"

"No reports yet."

Tsandzia looks up, "Scanner logs show their defensive field shifting to
encompass the smaller Borg at the precise moment of our attack. I'm picking up
more carrier waves between the two ships."

Nien bites her lip, "Not bad for a bunch of aliens. They must have realized it
was safe to transport a boarding party when we'd nabbed their comrade. Shield
status?"

"Sir, engineering is not reporting."

Nien scowls, knowing how desperately the Phobos is undermanned, particularly in
engineering. "Leave a message that I want shields back online ASAP."

"Aye sir."

"Detecting subspace signals," Tsandzia states. "They're entering through the
conduit we'd blasted."

"You think they'll find the Nanites?"

"If any are left, it's more than likely. It's possible that the HPT-11 took
care of them, however. I doubt that even Nanites could survive that stuff."

"Sir," Trozena looks up, "they're hailing us again."

"On screen."

The Borg trio returns to the viewer, each of them standing just as before, as
though they had not moved so much as a centimeter since the last transmission.

"Your attack resulted in the loss of eleven units in transport. You must return
unit number 743-94 or sacrifice eleven members of your crew. You have ten
minutes to comply."

"And how do you intend to enforce this edict?"

Nien is thrown back to the deck as the ship rocks again.

"Breach, deck two. Conference room."

Nien grits her teeth, "You borgs are trying my patience. If you continue along
this course of belligerence, I'll be forced to destroy you just as I destroyed
your scout."

"How?"

"I have a secret weapon."

"What is this secret weapon?"

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret, now would it?"

The Borgs look, once more, confused.

"I tell ya what, Borgs. If you remove yourselves from that smaller cubeship
which is rightfully ours, I'll have pity on you and allow you to live. If,
however, you persist in wasting my time, you will all die horribly. Your
choice. You have ten minutes to decide." Nien makes a cutting motion with her
hand off-screen, prompting Trozena to terminate the connection. The entire
bridge crew looks Nien over with a mixture of awe and confusion.


Stardate 6003.16 at 2305 hours: USS Phobos, Sickbay (deck 7)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Upon arrival in sickbay, Tyran can see the techies struggling with a set of
containment field projectors. Apparently, Cullinac had to abandon engineering
and help them cannibalize one of the brig cells. They manage to get the
projectors set into the doorway of a secondary patient ward, and several are
checking out the Borg's equipment while the medical staff scans his body in
innumerable ways. The borg finally wakes up, but they have him strapped down on
one of the beds. He looks around, moving his head from side to side. To Tyran,
at least, he looks scared.

Tyran approaches slowly, "Can you understand me? You will not be harmed unless
you take provocative actions towards me or any other member of this crew."

The look of fear departs from the borg's eyes and his face takes on a blank
expression. "You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile."

"So much for trying to communicate."

"Allow me." The voice is T'lar's. She steps toward the strapped-down beastie,
her face devoid of emotion, then motions the techs and medical personnel away
from the bed.

Tyran moves to one of the computer consoles where Kreis is studying a band of
moving lines.

"What's that?"

She shakes her head slowly, "A malfunctioning brain wave scanner, more than
likely. These reading don't make any sense."

Tyran leans over her, toying with the modulation. "Hmmm..."

"What?"

"You see these ridges?"

"Sure."

"Digital impulses. And these spikes over here are analog."

"But they overlap. That's impossible."

"Maybe... maybe not." He pulls up a chair and begins writing a quick program.

Slowly, T'lar touches the few patches of exposed skin on the Borg's face,
carefully reaching out with her mind in search of whatever lurks beneath the
realm of the physical. Suddenly her eyes bulge out, her hand trembling upon the
Borg's forehead. "We are Borg. We come to assimilate. Do not res... help... me.
Resistance is futile. Surrender to us or be annihi... who are you? Not logical.
Does not com... run for your... Stavadthromos will take you... provide for
you... and you will serve him. One mind. One soul. One god." T'lar yanks her
hand from the creature with such force that she ends up throwing herself
against the wall. Meanwhile, everyone in sickbay has dropped what they are
doing, all eyes fixed on her, including Dr. O'Neil's.

"Lieutenant... you okay?"

"Yes sir."

He nods somewhat sullenly, "Carry on."

"Aye sir."

The order is meant more for the rest of the crew than for T'lar, and as he
turns his chair about and gazes from side to side, everyone quickly resumes
what they were doing. He floats over to Tyran and Kreis, watching the computer
specialist's hands skim across the keyboard.

"Why don't you just speak to the computer, Ensign?"

Tyran smiles, "The computer is an idiot, sir. Trust me, I know. This way, there
will be no mistakes." He hits a final key, and the brain wave separates into
two separate graphs.

"Interesting," O'Neil closes in. "Two separate and distinct brain wave
patterns. One human..."

"And the other, machine."

T'lar, though visibly shaken, again tries to make contact with the borg, but
this time, she focuses on the human half of the creature's intellect. Staring
about sickbay, she thinks she can see several wounded laying upon the deck. The
Borg are marching forward, and for a brief instant, she is falling, plummeting
as though off the edge of a great summit, until she awakens inside the Borg
vessel only to find herself no longer in control of her own person, and the
voices in her head are a cacophony of thousands.

T'lar blinks her eyes, shaking herself from the nightmare the borg is reliving.
Then she searches again, looking into the details of the images before her for
some sort of clues, but the more she searches, trying to pin down the details,
the more and more agitated the Borg becomes.

"What's that?" Tyran points toward the graph.

"It's her psi-wave," O'Neil explains. "But this is interesting. Looks like some
sort of response wave I didn't notice before."

Suddenly the borg goes dead calm, like T'lar hit a button in his head or
something. Then, with no warning, she hears a voice in her head, except that
instead of a voice, it's more like a set of ideas composed in the universal
language of the mind.

"ID 743-94. Status: functional and awaiting orders."

T'Lar ponders, then cautiously sends: "Define other species = Federation."

"Command accepted and processed. The other species is equal to Federation.
Note, information already contained. Other species is equal to human, vulcan,
tellarite, calainian, and betazoid. Redundant information deleted."

"Set Federation = Assimilated."

"Command accepted and processed. Federation species are assimilated."

T'lar raises an eyebrow, "Command: Assimilated representatives of species must
be returned to their home sectors immediately -- highest priority."

"Command accepted and processed. Execution in process."

The Borg tries to get up, but finds he can't. T'lar heaves a deep sigh of
relief, then says to him, "This unit will assist you in a moment. We must
coordinate our newly assimilated individuals on board. The process is
frequently disorienting for them. Please wait."


Stardate 6003.16 at 2315 hours: USS Phobos, Auxiliary Control (deck 6)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tsandzia watches as the larger of the two borg vessels retreats several
thousand light-seconds into the distance. "What wimps! They actually bought
it."

"For now," Nien adds. "The scout ship could afford to be aggressive. It is one
of many, so its loss is not such a big deal. The mother ship is a different
story entirely. Once they figure out we're bluffing, however... what is it,
Trozena?"

"I've got a report from Crewman Behnke in sickbay." He glances toward Tsandzia,
deep brown eyes shifting back and forth between her and the Captain. "He says
that Turak tipped him off about your idea regarding kinetic projectile weapons
versus the borg personal shields."

"Yes?" Tsandzia sits on the edge of her seat as Vince transfers the line to her
console, and for a moment, all she can concentrate on is Behnke's thick german
accent.

"It Vurkz!"

"Huh?"

"You vur right! Der body armor vill be a problem, of courze, but da important
ding iz dat it vurkz."

"Yes!" The message finally registers. "Okay, we're gonna have to find a way to
penetrate their armor or at least knock them back. If we get into combat, we'll
also need some way to jam their communication. Think we can gather the science
department together to work on it?"

"Captain," Trozena turns around, "Lt. T'lar on channel 613."

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, I've completed the interrogation."

"Was it useful?"

"Very."

Nien nods, "Well?"

"Sir, we have a cooperative Borg on our hands. Bringing him here apparently
disconnected him from the collective consciousness, however, I believe he has
the ability to get us home. I recommend he be transported back to his ship with
an escort. If we can get power to his ship, he might be able to make a wormhole
which will take us to our home dimension. Can you delay the 'mother' Borg ship
while this is done?"

"I think so, but even that may not save us."

"Right. We need to be certain that the mother ship can't follow us. Of course,
I can't be completely sure how far my commands went, but I strongly suspect
they were not received by the collective consciousness. Thus, we have to be
certain that we're not followed back to Federation space, although at this
point it may not make much of difference. They've been to our sector once, and
know a race exists there capable of destroying one of their ships. It seems
only a matter of time before they return."

"So what do you suggest?"

"Would it be possible to cause some sort of confusion, so it appears both
ships, say... self destructed? Some last gasp on our part? The Borg will
doubtless return to our sector eventually, but it will buy us time. Of course,
the mother ship may not be able to enter or follow any holes the 'child'
creates. It would explain why they had to come to this place to make contact."

Nien nods, "I doubt we'll be able to fool them for long, but assuming they
can't follow us out, I'd say your idea sounds like a plan." Then she looks
toward Tsandzia. "What do you think, Lieutenant?"

Tsandzia leans back in her seat, grabbing her jersey at the bottom and pulling
down so as to dispose of all the static wrinkles. "Make it so."


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

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