ftp.ee.pdx.edu/2014.02.ftp.ee.pdx.edu.tar/ftp.ee.pdx.edu/pub/frp/stories/startrek/adv1/turn09

Text File | 1994-09-10 | 32KB | 778 lines

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                           Star Trek: Play by E-Mail
                              The Forbidden Years
                               Campaign Write-up
===============================================================================
                                 Adventure #1
                             Flight of the Phobos
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                    Turn #9
                               Midnight Massacre
===============================================================================
              Copyright 1993 Jim Vassilakos / All Rights Reserved
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                                  Cast & Crew

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


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

When last we left our semi-heroic Federation friends, they were making their
escape from the Borg via a wormhole. However, the shields of the Phobos fell
under the onslaught of the Borg's powerful energy weapons, and numerous
boarding parties of pale, black-armored visitors began beaming aboard.


Stardate 6003.17 at 0000 hours: USS Phobos, Sickbay (Deck 7)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gunner sits in bed, upright, gravbow in hand, bolt loaded, sweaty palmed, and
as nervous as a midshipman on his first day aboard a real starship. Suddenly
the entire deck jolts several times, and the unmistakable sound of a hull
breach reverberates throughout the ship. Of course, the lights have to fail,
and perhaps due to some quirk of wormhole geometry (or more likely a negligent
maintenance staff), the emergency lights refuse to kick in. He hears the
familiar whine of a transporter beam, accompanied by a faint green luminescence
toward the doorway.

"Everyone down!" Gunner lurches forward, scrambling as best he can to the foot
of his bed. He fires his bow into the darkness trying to be as accurate as he
can, hoping that the emergency lights will soon shine forth, and cursing the
day Star Fleet skimped on light bulbs so it could save a few credits.

Perhaps due to skill (but more likely due to sheer luck) the explosive bolt
connects with its intended victim, sending the alien's green blood spraying all
over the injured lieutenant.

He slaps the comm-unit at his bedside, "Security to sickbay!! We are under
attack!"


Stardate 6003.17 at 0000 hours: USS Phobos, Computer Core (Deck 5)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tyran is uploading the tricorder data into the ship's computer, when the entire
floor rocks back and forth like some sort of earthquake. For a brief instant,
the inertial dampers are caught in lag while attempting to compensate for the
hit, throwing Tyran into a row of black consoles. The lights go out, and for
several seconds, all that illuminates the computer core are the indicator
panels on the computer itself. Picking himself up, Tyran sees several Borg
materialize a few meters away from where he's standing, their bodies emersed in
a haze of green transporter waves. The beams wobble and blur, perhaps due to
the strangeness of wormhole-space. When it is over, only one is left standing.
The other seven fall to the floor, body parts left smoking and mutilated by
their own transporters. The remaining Borg aims its weapon down the corridor
where Sirith is rushing out of his quarters as Gavuzzi, coming around a corner,
yells for the Vulcan to duck down.

Still equipped with his phaser from the recent boarding expedition, Tyran pumps
the power level to max and fires, nailing the Borg in the back. Fragments of
the Borg's armor shatter and explode as the creature vaporizes, leaving behind
not so much as a charred skeleton. Several nearby access terminals are pock-
marked from the blast, however, the computer core itself is not damaged.

Sirith picks himself up from the floor, seemingly oblivious that his life has
just been saved, and walks over calmly, inspecting the damaged terminals. "You
might consider a lower setting, next time."


Stardate 6003.17 at 0001 hours: USS Phobos, Auxiliary Control (Deck 6)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tsandzia stops at the door as Nien and the others are heading for the
turbolift. "Sir, requesting permission to stay behind and guard auxiliary
control."

"Granted. You and Trozena can coordinate the rest of us. Higashi, you'll stay
also. T'lar and Brown with me."

Nien, T'lar, and Brown enter the turbolift, tacitly leaving Tsandzia with the
conn. Suzy looks quizzically at her Captain once the lift's doors shut. "Where
to, sir?"

"Where would you go if you wanted to destroy a starship?"

She nods, "Destination... engineering."


Stardate 6003.17 at 0001 hours: USS Phobos, Computer Core (Deck 5)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gavuzzi patches a line to auxiliary control. "Killed us a Borg up here. Young
Arloch saved our butts. Do internals show any others on deck?"

"Negative." The voice is Trozena's, "But there seem to be some just above you.
Deck four sensors showed t-waves and internal weapons fire."

"What do you want us to do? Go up there?!"

"One sec," Vince looks toward Tsandzia for instructions. She shakes her head,
watching the internal sensors and crew location summary.

At Vince's station, a summary chart is displayed showing how many personnel are
currently located on each deck of the ship (according to the computer; if they
hiked the stairs instead of taking a lift, the record would probably be
incorrect). [In the following chart, the *'s represent transporter-wave
detection by the internal sensors (i.e. initial positions of Borg boarding
parties). The #'s signify that energy weapons fire has been detected. The
computer just counts heads. It doesn't keep track of the location of every
distinct individual like in ST-TNG (or aboard the Excalibur).] In consulting
the summary, Tsandzia is all too aware that some of the personnel counted may
already be dead.

Deck      Qty    Key Areas
-----------------------------------------------------------
1          0     Main Bridge (destroyed)
2     *    0     Main Conference Room, Sciences
3          5     Transporter 1, General Labs
4     *#   1     Officers Quarters, Rec Facilities
5     *#   4     Computer Core, Quarters, Officers' Mess
6     *#   3     Aux Control, Quarters, General Mess,
                 Transporter 2 and 3 and emerg. transporter
7     *   15     Sickbay, Med Labs, Quarters, Brig
8     *#   5     Main Sensors, Quarters, Rec Facilities
9     *#   6     Main Engineering, Fabrication Services
10    *#   1     Cargo, Life Support Services
11         4     Main Shuttle Hanger, Warp accessways, Main Deflector
                 Controls, Life Support Services, Cargo
12    *#   2     Shuttle Storage and Maintenance, Cargo

           3     Turbolift #1 (currently en route from deck 6 to deck 9)
           0     Turbolift #2 (currently at deck 7, idle)

"Can you bring up camera shots of the lifts and stairways?"

Vince nods, "If the motion sensors pick up anything, they'll tell me, and I can
display it."

"Good. And can you freeze the turbolifts from here?"

"Absolutely."

"Excellent. If they begin moving between decks, freeze them in place and
communicate the lift coordinates to transporter #2. Higashi, cover the
transporter. If they try to use the lifts, we'll freeze them in place and beam
them out over the starboard bow."

"Uh, sir... I'm not checked out on transporter equipment."

Trozena looks up, "I can do it, but I'm of better use here."

Tsandzia grits her teeth, "Chief Gavuzzi?"

"Aye."

"We can't locate those borg with any precision. And according to this monitor,
the Commander is heading toward Engineering."

"She left the bridge?"

"To protect the ship from a bunch of suicidal Borg, it seems like a fair
assessment. Who do you have up in the core?"

"Aside from myself, Sirith, Arloch, and Ahumada."

"Okay, first sweep the deck. Make sure the comp-core is secure. Then leave
Sirith and Angelo on guard duty. Arloch will take a lift to main engineering
just in case the Commander is outnumbered."

"What about me?"

"You'll get off here and assume a post manning transporter room two. Morchainte
out."


Stardate 6003.17 at 0002 hours: USS Phobos, Engineering (Deck 9)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the turbolift doors open on engineering, Nien and Brown dive to either side,
their gravbows drawn and ready. There is only one Borg still alive in the
chamber, and he is closer than either of them thought. Nien finds herself
hurtling head-first into the creature, firing her gravbow and blowing its
weaponed arm clear off its body. Unfortunately, the beast's left arm can also
be lethal, and though in considerable pain, the Borg grabs her neck in its
mechanical gauntlet and begins squeezing. Almost simultaneously, however, it's
head, neck and shoulders suddenly disappear in an icy blue glow, vaporized by
T'lar's hand phaser. Nien keels over, the borg's severed arm still connected to
her neck as Ensign Brown and Crewman Parker (who has just rounded a corner)
work on prying it off her.

"You okay, sir?"

"Never felt better," Nien gasps, borg "finger" marks still visible on her neck.

"Another moment of that, and you'd of been done for," Parker notes.

T'lar frowns, "Sir, I recommend that we send somebody to life support services
before we're all done for."

Nien looks at Parker, "Is this deck clear?"

"Yeah, that was the last of 'em."

"Who else is here?"

"Hackman, Jacobs, and Cullinac."

"What about Martin?" Suzy inquires.

"Dead, so is Crewman Doss."

Nien bites a lip, "Okay, Brown, you stay to back up the others. T'lar, you're
with me." She steps into the turbolift, "Destination... life support."

"Error. Must specify precise deck. Life support services is on both deck ten
and deck eleven." The computer returns.

"Destination... deck twelve," T'lar announces. "We can use the circulation
access conduits. Sneakiness might be in order."

"Agreed."


Stardate 6003.17 at 0002 hours: USS Phobos, Auxiliary Control (Deck 6)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Trozena struggles to keep up with the traffic flow over his comm station.
Though Tsandzia has some knowledge on how to use the equipment, she's quite
certain that she couldn't do the job he's doing even if her life depended on
it. "Decks eight and nine reporting clear. Weapons fire detected inside
sickbay. Turbolift #1 en route to deck 12. It's T'lar and the Commander."

"There was only one set of carrier waves detected on this deck, right?"

"Affirmative. We're clear."

Tsandzia nods, "Casualties?"

"Engineering reports two dead. Updating summary chart."

Deck      Qty    Key Areas
-----------------------------------------------------------
1          0     Main Bridge (destroyed)
2     *    0     Main Conference Room, Sciences
3          5     Transporter 1, General Labs
4     *#   1     Officers Quarters, Rec Facilities
5     Clr  2     Computer Core, Quarters, Officers' Mess
6     Clr  3     Aux Control, Quarters, General Mess,
                 Transporter 2 and 3 and emerg. transporter
7     *#  15     Sickbay, Med Labs, Quarters, Brigg
8     Clr  5     Main Sensors, Quarters, Rec Facilities
9     Clr  5     Main Engineering, Fabrication Services
10    *#   1     Cargo, Life Support Services
11         4     Main Shuttle Hanger, Warp accessways, Main Deflector
                 Controls, Life Support Services, Cargo
12    *#   2     Shuttle Storage and Maintenance, Cargo

           2     Turbolift #1 (currently en route from deck 9 to deck 12)
           2     Turbolift #2 (currently en route from deck 5 to deck 6)

"Get me a report from sickbay."

"I'm trying. Nobody's answering."

The lift doors open, and Gavuzzi exits. "Reporting for duty, as ordered. I
still don't think we should leave the computers alone with only two people
stationed there."

Tsandzia grimaces, "Protecting engineering is the top priority."

"Right, but if they get their hands on the computer..."

"If they get their hands on the computer, we'll pull the plug and go to manual
systems."

"What if they have their own plug?"

Tsandzia points to turbolift #1, "Open a channel."

"Aye."

"Commander? Just a warning. There be bad guys on deck 12."

"Noted."

"Also, do we need reinforcements in Engineering?"

"Couldn't hurt."

"Somebody reported it was clear of the enemy."

"For the moment, Lieutenant. We have to keep it that way. It just takes one
shot to rupture antimatter containment. If they do it, we're all dead."

"I know, sir, but I'm considering sending available personnel to the computer
core. It may be under-protected."

"You have the conn, Tsandzia. Do what you think is best."

"Aye sir. Morchainte out." Tsandzia looks toward Malek Gavuzzi. "Report to
transporter two, Chief. If Vince sends you any coordinates, beam whatever's
there off the starboard bow. Got it?"

"Aye. But what about the core?"

"I'll go there myself it need be. Now go. Vince, get me deck three, general
labs voice-comm."

"Aye." He lets go of the door, allowing the turbolift to carry Ensign Arloch
down to engineering.

"Science crew, this is Lieutenant Morchainte. The Phobos is being invaded by
parties of Borg. Arm yourselves immediately and proceed to the turbolifts. We
have reason to believe that there is a team of invaders on deck two and another
on deck four, so proceed cautiously."

"I'm getting a malfunction on the stairwell camera between decks two and
three."

"Malfunction, or did somebody blow it off the wall?"

"Probably the latter."

"Who's on deck four? Damn. If this is correct, then he's all alone."

"Deck four," Trozena consults a log, "Looks like Keith. One sec... Keith, you
there? There's no response."

"Still no response from sickbay?"

"...zzztztz... This is O'Neil. We're okay down here. Bellasario took out the
only one that made it. The rest beamed in rather incompetently."

Tsandzia nods, "Understood."


Stardate 6003.17 at 0004 hours: USS Phobos, Shuttle Maintenance (Deck 12)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Computer... lock doors."

"Doors locked."

The turbolift slides to a stop at it's destination outside the deck 12 shuttle
storage and maintenance facility. From the bursts of noise opposite the door,
it sounds like there's a fight going on. Nien loads her gravbow, checks her
phaser, and looks toward T'lar for a signal that she's ready. T'Lar prepares
her own phaser and raises an eyebrow, wondering vaguely what sort of signal
Nien was expecting. After a moment's reconsideration, she lies fully prone
smack in the middle of the lift and eyes the door, phaser ready, trigger-finger
twitchy with anticipation.

"Computer," Nien almost whispers, "unlock doors."

"Doors unlocked."

They open, and as Nien feared, the battle is in the form of a shootout between
two heavily shielded opponents in a cluttered maintenance bay. The lift
entrance is painfully exposed, and just as the doors open, the last of the
defenders is hit, completely vaporizing his body and leaving scattered bone
fragments sliding across the deck.

"Oh shit!" Nien dives for a storage bin off the side, shooting and rolling into
cover. Her explosive bolt flies wide, hitting a tank of compressed oxygen,
sending the contents spurting out as an icy fog as the tank itself slams
against the opposite wall like a punctured balloon. T'lar's shots are not much
better, striking a spare shuttle access hatch and the chamber's only emergency
light.

Despite the ruptured tank, T'lar can hear the clanking noise of the Borg's
footsteps, and in a moment her keen Vulcan ears indicate that it is shifting
along the perimeter of the chamber from left to right, probably trying to get a
clear shot at the Captain.

"It's coming around the other side!"

T'lar sees a green bolt of energy rip from somewhere along the perimeter,
striking the bin which Nien was using for cover with uncanny accuracy. She
raises her weapon to return fire, but is immediately trampled by the Captain
who uses her body as a spring board for a not-so-daring escape through the
lift's roof hatch.

"Computer, close doors! Come on damnit!"

"What the..." T'lar follows her upward into the turbo-shaft over the lift
itself, and after Nien closes the hatch behind them, she sticks a finger in
each ear and looks at the Vulcan with a rather worried expression, "We don't
really need a shuttle maintenance bay, do we?"

In a brief instant of complete insanity T'lar feels her eardrums pop several
times in succession, as though a thunderous clap from Almighty God wielding a
pair of tritanium cymbals crashed down on her, rendering her deaf and mindless.
As if that wasn't enough, the ceiling of the lift begins to glow a dull orange,
setting the seat of her pants on fire. Luckily, the fire is quickly put out by
a diabolically placed fire-extinguisher just overhead as well as by the rush of
air escaping through the lift's ceiling.

"QAZAK'ITHOG'MAGUT'THAGOP!!!!"

Nien wonders what the Vulcan is saying, then decides she doesn't really want to
know. "I'll take that as a negative."

T'lar composes herself as best she can, with much growling and gnashing of
teeth. The effort alone is an admirable one, considering that she's had her
butt burnt, been hosed down with fire retardant, is trapped in a conduit that's
losing atmosphere, can't hear anything with her once-sensitive vulcan ears
other than a loud ringing noise, and has an aching back because her commanding
officer just used it as a jumping ramp.

"I was just suggesting that we get out of the turboshaft before we suffocate to
death... sir!!"

Back in Auxiliary Control:

"What was that!?"

"Somebody must have detonated a bomb," Trozena remarks.

"Or a phaser." Tsandzia looks sidelong at Vince, watching his jaw drop in
perfect synch with her own.

"Perimeter sensors show a hull breach on twelve."

"It's Nien and T'lar. They might still be in the turbolift. Get it back up
here, quick."

"Uh... no good, it's stuck. Should I seal off the turboshaft?"

"Wait, maybe they've got a communicator." Tsandzia hits the exo-comm, "Captain,
please report."

"...zzztttztztz... I'm kinda busy at the moment. Can you open the shaft access
to deck eleven before we run out of air in here?"

"Aye sir."

T'lar and Nien climb through the door, letting the pressure differential slam
it shut behind them.

"Sir... that was quite illogical," T'lar hisses.

"There was no other way."

"It was just one measly Borg."

"One can kill you just as easy as ten."

"There might have been other crew..."

"Not likely," Nien gulps, uncertainty showing in her eyes. "Look, if we ever
get out of here alive, you can have me court-martialed, okay?"

"But..."

"We were tactically disadvantaged. I just flipped the odds."

"Well, next time you decide to flip the odds..." T'lar's jaw halts in mid-
sentence as noise of gravbows letting loose their ammunition coasts down from
somewhere overhead. Despite a splitting headache, her ears obviously still
work. "Sounds like deck ten."

"Let's go."

T'lar and Nien scurry through a pair of circulation access conduits as quickly
as they can manage, secure in the knowledge that with a battle raging just a
few meters away, nobody is going to hear them. As T'lar peeks between the
blades of the filter-fan at the thin conduit's end, she sees two crewmen
getting blasted to bits by the Borg. Reva Balkom, the green-eyed deflector
specialist under T'lar's supervision, is one of them. From the looks of things,
the only crewman left is Jake Sorrows, and he looks fairly sorrowful that he
ever signed on with Star Fleet. Having expended the last of his explosive
bolts, he dives behind a freshwater storage tank.

"Hey, you guys can assimilate me, okay?! I don't care!"

"No time for assimilation. If you wish to live, tell us the location of your
antimatter."

"Blow me!"

One fires, blowing a hole in the tank Sorrows is using for cover. The charred
bones of several others crewmembers lay scattered about, smoking, as the two
remaining Borg steadily advance.

"Okay. You win. Deck nine. One floor up. You just take those stairs. Big blue
containment field. Ya can't miss it."

"We won't," the Borg continue advancing.

"Hey, we had a deal."

T'lar scans the deck with her tricorder for other Borg, picking up only various
pieces of sewage processing machinery. Just over the two Borg is a biological
sterilization unit. Her tricorder shows that the filtered sewage within is
heated to about 150 degrees celsius. T'lar raises an eyebrow, aware what a
small nick in the sterilizer's underbelly could do.

She aims her phaser and fires at the device. Instantly, the high-pressure, pre-
processed sewage is jetting out and vaporizing almost before it hits the deck
(and the two Borg who are standing conveniently underneath). They manage to
roll out of the way without suffering crippling burns, However, Nien's gravbow
takes one to the cleaners, T'lar second phaser shot being blocked by the
other's personal shield.

The one remaining Borg returns fire on T'lar but it's shot goes far to the
side, striking an electrolic fractioning unit. Within scare moments, the Borg
is hit twice by explosive bolts (fired by T'lar and Nien), rupturing its
metallic carapace and splattering the creature's innards over a wide area.

Sorrows hesitantly stands to full height, not so much as a drop of the sewage
spill staining his uniform. "Uhh... T'lar? Commander?" He folds his hands over
his belt and smiles nervously, "How nice of you to stop by."


Stardate 6003.17 at 0005 hours: USS Phobos, Auxiliary Control (Deck 6)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Did they make it?"

Trozena consults the display, "Looks like it. It opened and closed anyway.
Should I try for verbal confirmation?"

Tsandzia shakes her head, "No."

"O'Neil on line 600... wants to know where the Captain is."

Tsandzia scowls and hits the comm-switch, "Doctor..."

"What's going on up there, Lieutenant?! We haven't heard word one..."

"The ship is on emergency status. Get as many people as you can on their feet,
or otherwise mobile, and supply them with the gravbows already distributed.
Send as many as you can spare down to assist in securing engineering. We don't
get a second chance at this, so we need everyone who is not indispensable to
you. Morchainte out." She closes the channel before he can respond. "Ensign
Trozena, you have the conn."

"Where are you going?"

"There's still no response from deck 4, right?"

"Right."

"Then that's where I'm going."


Stardate 6003.17 at 0006 hours: USS Phobos, Main Engineering (Deck 9)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tyran turns around as the doors to the stairwell open wide, allowing the
entrance of several medics, a receptionist, and a pen pusher.

Suzy smirks, "Looks like Doc O'Neil sent all the non-injured enlisted, and kept
the officers where he thinks it's safe."

Tyran shakes his head, "He just wanted his best people around the wounded."

"Maybe. I was kinda hoping for a lieutenant, though."

"You just don't like being in charge of this size company. What's the matter...
superstitious?" There are now thirteen people in engineering, and Ensign Brown
has a certain reputation when it comes to strange beliefs.

"Who said I'm in charge? We're both the same rank, Tyran."

"Yes, but I'm a science officer. You're security."

"So?"

"So go secure something," Tyran smiles.

Suzy grumbles, "I'm not superstitious."

"Of course not."

Ensign Brown casts him a dark glance, then proceeds toward the newcomers. "Okay
people. We're taking a defensive posture around the lift, stair access, and the
circulation vents. You see a Borg, you shoot him with one of these. Now keep on
your toes, and keep your fingers crossed. Got it?"


Stardate 6003.17 at 0006 hours: USS Phobos, Rec Room A (Deck 4)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tsandzia peeks through the window in the sliding door accessing Rec Room A from
the stairwell. The emergency lights are off, as though the maintenance people
decided they could spare the bulbs and batteries for essential areas only. At
the press of a button, the door opens with a hiss, and she slinks inside,
making her way by touch and memory to a sliding door at the far corner.

Apparently the corridor linking the officers' quarters was considered
essential. The emergency lights work here, and Tsandzia can see the scattered
bones of what was once a human being. She flips open her communicator.

"I'm with Keith Byron."

"How is he?" Trozena queries.

"Not good. My tricorder shows the deck clear. I'm proceeding to deck three."

"Be careful."

"Roger that."

Again, she slinks up the stairwell, wondering absently why the Borgs are going
up instead of down. Engineering is in the other direction.

The general labs are a mess. There are a fair number of bones on the floor near
the turboshaft, including one dead Borg. Looks like the science people got
caught waiting for a turbolift. Tsandzia finds Reggie, the RG-32 trashbot,
against a wall with his circuitry blown asunder. Then she notices a slight
fluctuation in her tricorder readings. As if somebody is projecting a sensor
suppression field or...

"Don't shoot!"

Kasuko and Crewman Reiner are there, gravbows trained on Tsandzia.

"What in hell are you doing here?!"

"Trying to rescue you," Tsandzia retorts.

Hazel presses an index finger to her lips, motioning Tsandzia forward.

"They went down that corridor. We were afraid they'd come back."

"How many?"

"Three."

Tsandzia gulps, "Well, there's three of us."

"Yeah, but they're better shots then we are. Let's get some back-up, okay?"

Tsandzia flips open her communicator. "Trozena, we've got three Borg on deck
three."

"Uh... Tsandzia..."

"Requesting back-up."

"Tsandzia, we came out of it."

"Out of what?"

"The wormhole. I've got the Excalibur on long-range scanners. We're home."

"Almost. Send some back-up. That's an order, okay?"

Suddenly, the three women hear a familiar though distant whining noise of what
sounds like a transporter beam. "Oh shit... they're using transporter one."
Tsandzia bursts into a sprint. By the time she gets there, however, the three
Borgs have disappeared into a blue haze.

"Check coordinates," Katsuko advises.

It only takes Tsandzia one look, "Main engineering. They're going to main
engineering." She opens a channel to auxiliary control. "Trozena, send the
Excalibur our logs. We may be SOL." Then she hits the repeat key on the
transporter console and dashes to the pads.


Stardate 6003.17 at 0008 hours: USS Phobos, Main Engineering (Deck 9)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So... uhh... just out of pure curiosity," Tyran mumbles toward Suzy, "what is
the best phaser setting for Borg-hunting?"

"How should I know?"

"Well, I went to full power and plugged one of 'em, and it made a real mess.
Sirith was actually annoyed with me."

"Sirith?"

"He's our resident Vulcan."

"How fascinating. If you really want my advice, I'd say don't even bother using
a phaser. These goons are best hunted with the mystical power of kinetic
projectiles. My personal preference is the gravbow, mark one. It's designed and
produced by Tsandzia Industries, Incorporated."

"Good company?"

"The stock is a reliable performer."

Tyran grins, accepting the spare gravbow, "I guess I should think about
investing."

"Only if you're into recreational electrocution." Suzy suddenly drops her smile
as the hum of a transporter beam is heard. They're materializing right next to
the antimatter containment field. "Hold fire!" She turns her gravbow around and
prepares to clobber the nearest Borg in the face with the bow's stalk. Tyran,
realizing he's one of the strongest people present, takes her queue and gets
beside another.

"I think I'll stick with the phaser," he points the weapon right at his borg's
head as it appears, firing from within the perimeter of the creature's own
personal shield. At point-blank range, it's a shot that can't miss. The Borg's
head partially disintegrates due to the sheer proximity of the blast, toppling
backwards and to the floor.

Suzy hits her's square on the nose, directing the cartilage back into the
borg's skull. It also topples backwards, not in the least bit enjoying the free
ride before it too is phasered to death at point-blank.

The one in the middle, however, cannot be stopped. Protected by the
interposition of the others, it has point-blank access to the antimatter
containment field. Enough time to rupture it (and to consequentially destroy
the ship) if that is its choosing. Instead, it takes a small box it has in its
hands and presses it against the containment field. A strange red light on the
device flashes several times in quick succession, and for a split second, Tyran
can see the box leeching antimatter directly from the field itself.

"No!" he screams, grabbing the Borg by the midsection and throwing its carcass
clear over his head, the awesome burst of adrenalin provided by Tyran's strange
genetic engineering suddenly accessible and all too willing to be of service.
The Borg lands with a thud and barely escapes a flurry of chops, punches and
kicks to the head, only to be blasted with an explosive bolt by Suzy when she
decides that the foul creature is far enough away from the antimatter
containment field to be disposed of in relative safety.

Tsandzia materializes, gravbow drawn and looking somewhat relieved. "Three dead
borgs... looks like I missed the party." She grabs a tricorder and begins
taking readings of the containment field.

Tyran collapses, exhausted. It's been a long time since he's used his martial
arts training, so long that he didn't think he'd ever use it again. The Borg's
little box is still blinking, however, almost unnoticed save for one perceptive
calainian with a tricorder.

"Detecting a huge power build-up from this thing," Tsandzia announces. "Oh,
shit! It contains antimatter! I think its containment is about to fail!"

Tyran flips open his communicator. "Malek, find my coordinates. There's a
metallic box less a meter in front of me. It has antimatter! Reverse the phase
transition matrix, get a t-lock, and beam out the antimatter. Just the
antimatter!"

"What? Are you crazy?!"

"Just do it! If there's no positive matter in the buffer, there will be nothing
for it to react with! I blew up the ship last time, damnit! You think I'd make
the same mistake twice?!"

About seventeen seconds later, somewhere off the starboard bow, there's quite
an explosion, for even space is not entirely vacuum. Except for a sprained
ankle and a bruised elbow, however, nobody is hurt. Tyran breaths a long sign
of relief, guessing that the adventure is finally over. But, of course, guesses
can always be misinformed.


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