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******************************************************************************* Star Trek: Play by E-Mail The Forbidden Years Campaign Write-up =============================================================================== Adventure #1 Flight of the Phobos ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Turn #10 Side-by-Side =============================================================================== Copyright 1993 Jim Vassilakos / All Rights Reserved ******************************************************************************* 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: ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A list of those killed in action since the recovery of the Phobos: Samuel Gibbs, Ensign, Security Donald Janson, Ensign, Security Charlene Rehorn, Ensign, Medical Rodolfo Juarez, Warrant Officer, Geology Margaret Mitchell, Warrant Officer, XenoBiology Johanes Behncke, Warrant Officer, XenoArcheology Reginald Watson, Master Chief Petty Officer, Engineering Elizabeth Wilder, Petty Officer, 2nd Class, Deflector Control Martin Bains, Petty Officer, 2nd Class, Communications Keith Byron, Enlisted, 1st Class, Communications Joseph Harris, Enlisted, 1st Class, Cargo Penny Sullivan, Enlisted, 1st Class, Engineering Suji Fujinara, Enlisted, 2nd Class, Security Clyde Osborne, Enlisted, 2nd Class, Security Reva Balkom, Enlisted, 2nd Class, Helm William Doss, Enlisted, 2nd Class, Security Cheryl Krugar, Enlisted, 2nd Class, Engineering Henry Manson, Enlisted, 2nd Class, Cargo Ten of them are from the Excalibur, the other eight being original crew members of the Phobos. Thirty-eight people have survived to tell the tale. Stardate 6003.17 at 0020 hours: USS Phobos, Auxiliary Control (Deck 6) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Phobos and Excalibur float side-by-side in the region of space that was once a site of battle (albeit a rather lopsided one) between the Phobos and the Borg invaders. "This is Lt. Morchainte of the Phobos. We have a number of injured personnel, and our ship as a whole is quite damaged. Could your sickbay standby to receive our injured?" "Affirmative, Phobos. Excalibur standing-by." "Also, I believe our ship's log has been uploaded. I would recommend sending it immediately to Star Fleet HQ on the highest priority available. Thirdly, our engineering department has been virtually eliminated. We'd appreciate it if you could send us someone to do a check on our warp drives and systems in general to make sure that all systems will function well enough to get us to the nearest port-of-call." Nien enters, looking somewhat tired. "The wounded are in place. Go ahead and tell the Excalibur to beam them aboard." Tsandzia nods, "Energize at will, Excalibur. Captain Elineva, you have the conn." Nien takes the center seat, collapsing like a dead mule. "You transferred our logs?" "Such as they are." She nods, "Captain LeBonk isn't going to like wading through video records. She's going to want a concise report from each of us, probably individually if she decides to stick to the regs." "Understood." Turning toward Trozena, "I want a complete damage report, including a list of those who are either confirmed dead or are missing." "Aye sir." Tsandzia takes a seat at her science station, copying Tyran's data from the ship's computer to an isolinear media device at her station. Then she begins writing a recommendation to Star Fleet to install safety belts on the bridge and in auxiliary control, trying to figure out the number of bruises she's received from all the times she was thrown to the floor. Stardate 6003.17 at 0030 hours: USS Excalibur, Sickbay ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bellasario taps the comm-link on his bed's armrest, "Bellasario to transporter room #1. I'd like you to call the Phobos and get Ensign Trozena down here." Then he leans back, watching as Dr. O'Neil hovers from bed to bed, stopping in front of his. "Are you still up, Lieutenant?" "Last I checked." "I'll have Joan fix that problem," O'Neil grins. Gunner stifles a snarl, rubbing his arm where he'd been injected by the dangerous, hypo-wielding nurse. "If you don't mind, I'd like to do some catching up before you send me off to see the sandman." "Don't worry, Lieutenant. The Captain won't be expecting a report from wounded people, and the way you refuse to sleep, I'd be surprised if your condition hasn't actually worsened." "Actually, I'm much better." Gunner tries pushing himself into a full sitting position, but thinks better of it as the pain in his chest becomes unbearable. "I'll be the judge of that, and I say your condition is downright pathetic." O'Neil looks up as a young man in ensign's garb enters sickbay. Recognizing Trozena, Gunner waves him over, and with deep-set brown eyes, the young Ensign gazes down at Bellasario who is currently the closest thing he has to a department supervisor. "Ensign Trozena, reporting as ordered, sir." "Have a seat, Ensign. You look tired." "Thank you, sir." Trozena takes a seat, dark cheeks glimmering in the dim purple light which characterizes the 'small hours' within the Excalibur's sickbay. "I think we can start with a status report. What's been going on while I was out?" "A great deal." Trozena makes his long and laborious report, much of it in harrowing detail, stopping at the quizzical look on Bellasario's face when he's done describing how T'lar mind-melded with the Borg, thereby enabling its reprogramming. "T'lar got through to him, huh." Gunner grins, "Just goes to show that what I've been saying about vulcans all these years is true. They're more machine than any other race in the Federation." The Ensign doesn't respond, instead keeping whatever personal prejudices he might hold toward vulcans to himself. "So what happened after that?" "She, it, and Ensign Arloch beamed aboard the deserted borg craft. They somehow managed to get the wormhole generator functioning. While we were escaping, the borg craft was destroyed, but another fired on us, and beamed aboard about a hundred attackers. Only about a sixth of those attackers made it safely. The rest were mutilated in-transit by their own transporters." "So at least we know that their famed transporter technology has limits. And now that the battle is over... what's the body count? How many of us did they kill?" "About a dozen. It could easily have been a lot worse. Lt. Morchainte designed the recoilless gravbows. Without them, we'd of had a very hard time." Gunner nods, "Very commendable. Anything else of newsworthy value?" "We're still gathering all the details, but it seems that one of the borg had access to the antimatter containment unit for long enough to cause a rupture." The statement takes a moment to sink in. "They why am I still alive?" "Apparently, our destruction was of secondary concern. Arloch says that the borg was carrying a small box, and that it used the box to suction off a small amount of antimatter." Gunner's eyes narrow at the news. "Suction off antimatter?" Trozena nods, "We managed to beam the stolen antimatter off the ship... just in time, too. If it wasn't for Arloch, none of us would have made it." "What purpose did the box have?" "We don't know. Apparently the borgs needed antimatter to make it operate, however. We've beamed it aboard the Excalibur for a thorough examination. I can say this, however. Nine minutes past midnight, comm-logs show a sudden burst of omega radiation. The intensity goes right off the scale. I'm assuming that the box caused it." Gunner scratches his head. Omega waves are used in real-time subspace communication. The only problem is in generating a strong enough burst. They decay at an exponential rate, making them reliable only for relatively short distances, well under a light-year. The Federation has only had the technology for about twenty-five years, making it essentially brand new by modern standards. If the borg have found a way around this problem, it means that they could essentially be sending a real-time signal thousands, perhaps even millions of light-years. But to who, or rather, what? "Send a communique to Starbase 75. Find out if they received the same burst." "Aye sir," the Ensign turns to leave. "Oh, and Vince... thanks for hangin' in there while I was out. From what you tell me, it seems that the entire staff has performed admirably. Thanks for covering my ass. And let everyone know that they'll all be getting commendations when we get the Phobos back to port." "If we get back to port. The ship is just barely holding together as it is." Gunner frowns at the Ensign's clear lack of confidence. "Cakewalk, Ensign. Remember, no matter how bad the ship looks, and I know it looks bad, the hard part is behind us. You'd do well to have the same outlook. Dismissed." O'Neil approaches after Trozena is gone, seating himself alongside the lieutenant. "So, you ready for your shot?" "Tell me, Doctor. How long until I can get out of this insipid sickbay? All I want to do is get back to work. There's this blasted vulcan helmsman out there who's stealing my press." O'Neil smiles, "A calainic science officer, too. You'd better watch your rear end. They might decide to transfer you back to the Defiant." "Over my dead body." "If you don't get some sleep, it may very well end up that way." O'Neil surreptitiously connects the hypo with Gunner's other arm. "That was... sneaky." Bellasario manages to voice, before succumbing to the tranquilizer's effects. Stardate 6003.17 at 0930 hours: USS Excalibur, Conference Lounge ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tsandzia paces back and forth in the conference reception area, uncertain what questions Captain LeBonk has planned for her. When she's admitted, Commander Elineva is exiting the chamber, and the Captain's Yeoman is cleaning the table of breakfast trays. "Grab a seat, Lieutenant." "Aye sir." "As you can see, I've just had breakfast with the Commander. She's had a great deal to say about you." Tsandzia, unsure how to take the comment, says nothing. "There's one thing that puzzles me, however," LeBonk continues, "Why, precisely, were you planning on having the interior of the Phobos flooded with HPD-18? Oh, would you like a roll?" "No sir. Uh... well... the HPD-18 really made sense at the time. We were going to be reducing the Borg advantage. It assumed they'd want to take us alive. By flooding the vessel with explosive gas, they'd be unable to use their energy weapons. See, the primary advantage the Borg boarding crews had over us was that their energy weapons could affect us while ours couldn't affect them. The goal of the gravbows and the HPD-18 was to reverse that premise, in essence, to flip the odds." Tsandzia shows LeBonk her self-designed gravbow, complete with explosive ammunition, wondering how many weapons manufacturers she could put out of business if she quit Star Fleet and took up a career in the private sector. "As it turned out, we were able to use the HPD-18 in a different fashion than was originally intended. By beaming it outside the ship, allowing the gas to expand rapidly in vacuum, we were able to screw with their scanners at least temporarily. HPD-18 has a high ion content. It is quite radioactive, and it spreads over an immense area quite rapidly. That type of uniform motion generally plays havoc with just about everything, and the moving ions would make just about every electrical and magnetic detection method futile." LeBonk looks back, either unconvinced or intrigued, Tsandzia is not certain. "Well, sir, our brainstorm brought up many good ideas. We decided to opt for the least dangerous, and through a stroke of luck, it worked. If the damaged borg craft hadn't been able to generate that worm hole, things would have gotten... well... very tricky. I'll be the first to admit that I was pretty skeptical of T'lar's plan. But it did work. In the end, though, the nanites proved to be the most effective weapon we had. These borg creatures *will* be back, and when they come, the nanites might be the key to our survival against a full, all-out invasion." LeBonk raises an eyebrow, "I assume you've been told about the omegaon burst we detected." "Yes. It seems that the Borg tried to keep track of our location. If there are any others elsewhere in our universe who can detect that burst, you can be sure they'll come. It's only a matter of time." "So you think the box was a one-shot homing device." "Absolutely. They wanted us alive. That's for sure. When they couldn't have that, they took the next best thing. The location of our society." "Commander Elineva has already given me her opinions as to the likelihood of a borg invasion, as you say. She tells me that the mother borg vessel was actually afraid of the Phobos." "Well, the blast that wrecked the smaller Borg ship obviously led the mother ship to believe that we had a weapon which could produce massive amounts of physical damage. The fact that we never used it may cause them to believe that it was, for some unknown reason, non-functional. But they have no reason to suspect we have anything other than an effective energy weapon." "Then they won't suspect nanites." "No. We destroyed the evidence on the way out of there. They won't expect anything other than what we told them to expect." "And do you think that, by itself, will pose a deterrent?" Tsandzia pauses in consideration. "They'll probably try to verify the weapon's existence with scouts. At that point, we'll have two choices. Use the nanites on the scouts or attack them with conventional weapons. It is my belief that we're better off not letting them know what we're capable of if at all possible until we can destroy the hub of their civilization in a single, well- coordinated stroke." "Then you don't think there's any chance of making peace?" "If their leader, this so-called Stavadthromos, decides to extend the olive branch, we should be willing to come to the negotiating table. But in all seriousness, I can't see that actually happening. Right now, their most dangerous weapon, aside from their sheer bulk, is their ability to drop behind our borders undetected. If, in our examination of the tricorder and sensor readings, we cannot find a way to reproduce the wormhole generation effect, we might at least be able to gain some fundamental knowledge that would allow us to create effects which would 'skew' their transition through the wormhole and back into normal space." LeBonk nods, "Stop them from doing it, in effect." "Or make it very hard for them to do it safely. Unfortunately, there are not many people schooled in wormhole geometry, much fewer experienced in it. Even assuming we manage to decipher the Borg vessel's file format, understanding the information presented is going to take a team of highly trained specialists." "I understand that you have some experience on that angle. Your personnel file shows you having served two years at Research Station 29, orbiting Cavum Nethrys." "I was working with Dr. Gordon Van Dalen." The Captain's green eyes narrow. "Forgive me if I'm confused on this, but wasn't he committed to a psychiatric reserve on..." "Gamma Persephone VI. Yes, he was. Genius and instability often run side-by- side. With your permission, however, I'd like to try to get a communique through to him." The Captain winces, "I don't doubt his ability, but..." "But he's in a psycho ward?" Tsandzia completes the thought. "He's there because I put him there... because the prospect of failure was something he couldn't live with. Even though he's arguably insane, he's still one of the most brilliant scientists alive today. In the field of wormhole geometry, there is no equal. No one even comes close. Not that I know of, anyway. Sir... I feel very strongly that I've got an obligation to tell him about this. And he may be able to help us, if we're lucky." Stardate 6003.17 at 1200 hours: USS Phobos, Main Engineering ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jimmy-Joe Hawkins chews the end of a strip of beef jerky, poking his head down between the old plasma injection units aboard the Phobos to check the wear on their magnetic constriction toroids with a technical tricorder. He smiles for a moment, then pops his head back up, several other engineers dancing around him trying to figure out what he's up to. "Sir... if you don't need us, we're thinking of hitting the galley for some lunch." "Go right ahead. Be my guest." "You coming?" He sticks the half-eaten strip into his back pocket and lowers himself head- first back into the plasma pit. "Nah. Already ate." Their footsteps wane into the corridor as Hawkins has himself another look-see. The reaction of his boys is to be expected, he tells himself. Half of them are scared silly by this old technology. Star Fleet must have figured that "the brightest and the best" meant "they who are on top of the new stuff but don't know dogmeat about the old". Made for a great crew, as long as they stayed on the Excalibur where they didn't have to deal with anything except their own specialized areas. Trying to fix a derelict like the Phobos, however... that was something only a seasoned veteran could hope to accomplish. Somebody like Chief Watson. Now why'd they have to go sticking a fine engineer dirtside like he was some sort of grunt? "Yep, just as I thought." "What?" Hawkins jumps suddenly, banging his head against an arkenium-duranide valve plate. "Ow!" When he gets himself back into a sitting position, he sees a young ensign standing before him. "Uhh... Ensign Tyran Arloch... reporting for duty, sir." "You have a heck of a way of introducing yourself, Ensign." Hawkins rubs his forehead where it stings. "Who sent you down here?" "I sent myself, sir." "I see... and where is your post?" "Computer core. I just wanted to see if I could help out in any way." Hawkins lets out a giggle, "Well if that isn't a butt-nugget. Come over here, Ensign." Tyran lowers himself into an upside-down position, side-by-side with the lieutenant commander, his eyes involuntarily scrutinizing the backbones of three of the plasma injectors, each of them polished shiny and spotless. Hawkins' strip of jerky falls out of his pocket without the engineer even noticing, the bottom of his shirt slipping down toward his shoulder blades exposing a strange looking holo-tatoo on his lower back. He points his finger like he's about to cast an ancient curse. "Ya see that, kid?" "Uh... yes sir." "Ya know what it is?" "A plasma injector." "No. The thing that's on the injector. It's a nalgetium-serrite constriction toroid. It's obvious that you guys must have scoured this place down on a regular basis. I could hardly tell how new it was compared with the rest of the equipment." "Uh... yes sir. Lt. Commander Hutchenson was very particular about keeping everything clean, sir." "White hanky inspections, eh?" "Yes sir. On a regular basis." Tyran feels a rush of pride. "Listen to me, Ensign. Cleanliness is next to hellishness. I want to be able to look at a piece of equipment and say, 'yeah, that's about ten years old... or no, that's brand new. You can tell from the way it's sparkling.' With this boat, everything sparkles! I mean, what's the point of even having eyes?!" "Yes sir." Tyran begins to wonder how he got himself hanging upside-down in a plasma pit with a raving lunatic. Then the lunatic grabs his shit collar. "No." "Sir?" "No, my name is Jimmy-Joe. Some people call me JJ. Others call be 'double-J' for short. You can hold onto your 'sirs' until the brass is watching. Got it?" "Uh... yes si... uh... JJ." Hawkins grins, "That's my name, kid. You smile when you say it." He lifts himself out of the pit and steps over to the computer access terminal, Tyran following hesitantly along. "Okay, now that we know how old everything it, here's the dilemma. The original toroids on these injectors, judging from the age of the boat, were probably series-K. They were old, okay? Now they're using series-M. They changed the equipment. Upgraded. Got it?" "Yes s... yes, I got it." "But when you upgrade like that, what else do you have to do?" Tyran pauses to consider the question. "Well, you have to make sure the joints are corrected or you'll get stress on the unit." Hawkins shakes his head, "That would have shown up on the diagnostics. Look, you've got a system that is, in theory, capable of somewhere in between warp 6 and warp 8, but for some reason, it will only operate at warp 5. Why? Because the plasma injectors are overloading at anything above warp 5. And you already know that the injectors are an upgraded system. C'mon, kid. This is practically textbook material here." "Well, I'm not an engineer. I'm a computer systems specialist." "All the better." The statement throws Tyran. It has to be something wrong with the computer. "Uh... wait... the injection cycle." Hawkins grins. "Right... but what about it?" "Uhh... the computer controls the injection cycle." Hawkins drops his smile. "I think that's already been well established. Try telling me something I don't know." "The computer was never hit." "It doesn't matter. C'mon... you're micrometers away, here." Tyran blinks a few times, a sudden burst of raw inspiration hitting his skull like a sledgehammer. "I got it! When they rebooted the computer after the attack... it went to the protected archives. It assumed we were using the injection cycle for the old series-K toroids." "Bingo," Jimmy-Joe grins from ear to ear. "You just passed Engineering 101. Now get me access to the local-mods software so we can activate the revised injection routine." Tyran nods, seating himself at the computer access terminal, "I'm on it." "Oh, and kid... you'll do okay." Stardate 6003.17 at 1215 hours: USS Phobos, Auxiliary Control ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tsandzia sits at her science station, going over the sensor logs, trying to find some regularity to the subspace disturbances from inside the wormhole. She finally sighs and turns to the communication console, typing out a communique to her one true mentor. To: Dr. Gordon Van Dalen at Gamma Persephone VI Subject: Sustained Wormhole Effect Observed! Dr. Van Dalen, I am somewhat proud to present you with the observations and data I collected while observing an alien vessel create and enter a worm hole. Not only this, but we successfully followed the alien vessel to a micro-universe. Of course, you and I know that we literally could have been *anywhere* in the cosmos. Unfortunately, the aliens we met could not be reasoned with, but we were able to overcome them. In the process, we were able to download information from the alien ship pertaining to wormhole generation. I have analyzed what I can of the sensor and tricorder data, and I am presenting both my early speculations and the untranslated data gleaned from the alien ship's computer. I look forward to hearing your analysis. Perhaps, one day, your dream of entering a controlled wormhole will become a reality. Signed, Lt. Tsandzia arul Morchainte Science Officer, USS Phobos Stardate 6003.17 at 1230 hours: USS Phobos, Main Engineering ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "C'mon, kid. We're not getting any younger, here." Tyran shakes his head, "There are literally hundreds of separate programs dealing with plasma injection. I can't even tell which are core and which are variants." "Why not?" "Well... it's like nobody was taking the time to document what they were doing." Hawkins shakes his head with a smirk, "No, they were probably too busy clippin' their nose-hairs for those white-hanky inspections. What about the duty log?" "I already skimmed through some of it. Most of it I can only barely understand. And there's all sorts of notations referring to different personal logs." Hawkins grits his teeth, "So have the computer scan through them all." "No... it's not that smart." Hawkins hits a comm-port on the wall. "This is Commander Hawkins. Patch me through to the Excalibur's computer, please." "Aye sir." The line goes dead for a moment. Then, in an a sedate, synthesized voice: "Please state authorization." "Hawkins, James Joseph, Lieutenant Commander. Verbal query, delta." "... Verbal query accessed. Live long and prosper. Response?" "Die quick and fester," Hawkins retorts. "Die quick and..." "Klingon proverb," he explains to Tyran. "Obviously." "... Authorization confirmed. Hello JJ." "Hello sweetheart. First I'd like you to deactivate verbal query delta." He glances toward Tyran. "It's not that I don't trust you, kid. Just regs I got to follow." "... Verbal query delta deactivated." Tyran raises an eyebrow, "That's okay, I don't trust you either." "Sure you do. Computer, my friend Tyran is gonna give you full access to the computer archives of the USS Phobos." Tyran smiles, punching a few keys. "It's restricted to read-only." "That's fine. Now computer... I want you to skim through the maintenance logs and find out at what stardate the plasma injection toroids were last replaced." "........ Information unavailable." "I don't believe these people." Tyran looks up, "It's probably referenced to a personal log." "Okay, computer, check the personal logs for the same information." "........ Query search complete. The plasma injection toroids were last replaced on 5904.14." "Nice work, computer. Logout." Hawkins turns toward Tyran, "Okay, narrow your search to something around that date, and you should have no problem finding the series-M injection software." Stardate 6003.17 at 1800 hours: USS Phobos, Officers' Mess ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "It's going real smooth," Tyran nods, dunking another block of purple tofu in the mu-shu sauce. "That whole thing with the plasma injector could have taken days without Hawkins." Tsandzia looks confused, "He told me you were the one who figured it out." "Yeah, after he led me right to the answer. He practically had to beat me over the head with it." "Well, you're not exactly an engineer." "Oh, I had enough training to figure that one out. I should have put it together myself. I knew that our computer had been rebooted. It was all pretty obvious." "In retrospect, everything is obvious." "Yeah, but the thing that really threw me... the Excalibur's computer." Tsandzia nods, "I've heard it's pretty sophisticated." "It's unbelievable. You think there's any chance I could get a transfer?" "A transfer?" Tsandzia stares back at him, placing her tall glass of volucris fluid back on the table. As his immediate supervisor for the remainder of the voyage, she can't help but wonder if the question is a negative reflection on her. "Why would you want a transfer?" "Oh, c'mon. I mean, look at this ship. No offense, but it's a piece of junk by comparison." Tsandzia sighs, a bit relieved. "Well... how can I quarrel with that? The Phobos is old. It's been a long time since it's seen the inside of a space dock. Heck, they might just scrap it after this. I mean... after the borgs twice totalled the bridge and Nien totalled the shuttle maintenance bay with her phaser overload." "Yeah, that was slick, wasn't it." Tyran chuckles, "I don't think they'll send her to the scrap yards, though... but there will definitely be a long lay-over at our next port. To put it in JJ's words, the Phobos is essentially a battle-trodden wench who's due for shore leave." "JJ?" "Jimmy-Joe. I probably shouldn't be telling you that." He takes a bite of the tofu, swallowing the chunk without chewing. "The thing is, depending on where we end up, I could be missing out on a nice long shore leave. We'd have to help-out on the overhaul, of course, but it's got to be better than picket duty." Tsandzia smiles, "You don't like the long patrols, eh? You'll get used to them after awhile." "I can stand the patrols. It's just that if I'm gonna be isolated from civilization for months on end, I'd rather be on a vessel like the Excalibur. There's lots of opportunities there... things you can learn that you just can't get anywhere else." "True, but I think you'll find that it's also a lot more stifling. I used to serve on the big ships, and... well... I guess it just takes a certain kind of person. I mean... there's a lot of showmanship, especially among the officers. I just got sick of it." Tyran grins, "You? Got sick of showmanship?" "It's true. I like the peace and quiet... when I'm not busy fabricating explosive bolts or moving around large quantities of acidic gas." "Or frying the computer's circuits. Look, just think about it. The Excalibur is the first of the beta-excelsior model. Depending on her performance, an entire Class may be named after her. There's even talk of her superseding the old USS Federation as the Fleet's flagship." "That won't happen." "Why not? The USS Federation is eighteen years old. That about how old the Excelsior was when it lost the honor." Tsandzia smiles, "And so you think that because you saved the ship, that they're gonna pin a badge on you and send you wherever you want to go?" "I'm not the only one. Getting out of there alive involved a lot of people, you and T'lar especially. Think about it... if we all ask for reassignment together... assuming the Phobos is gonna bite the bullet... you see what I'm getting at? I mean... they owe us, right?" Tsandzia shakes her head, "I wouldn't take that line of reasoning if I were you. And as for transferring to the Excalibur, I don't know what Star Fleet plans for us, but I assume we'll hear something when we get to Albuquerque Station." "We're going back to Albuquerque?" Tsandzia nods, "It's our home port, Tyran. But I wouldn't bank on us staying there very long. Knowing that we are the first Federation representatives to encounter the Borg and live, I would expect that all personnel who survived and might have important information about the Borg will be immediately sent back to Star Fleet headquarters for a full debriefing in person. Of course, I'm not running Star Fleet, but with a catch this big, I don't think they're going to leave a single stone unturned." Tyran shrugs, "Earth's a long way from here." "And the Borg may not be." "Well, if that's what's going to happen, then nothing we say or do will make any difference, but when it comes right down to it, we are essentially heroes right now..." "Heroines. There's two females in this so-called 'we' so you might at least be democratic about the gender of your nouns." "Fine, we're heroines. So we might as well use it for something instead of just sitting around waiting to see what happens. If we all do this together, at least we have a shot at getting in the front door and having somebody listen to us." Tyran smiles. "Did you hear they need a science officer? They have their helmsman pulling double-duty. You would fit right in, Tsandzia. I could get a post in the computer core. And what better computer system than the Excalibur's to work on cracking the Borg-OS, not to mention figuring out wormhole geometry." "That doesn't help T'lar." "They won't mind having a back-up on helm. Nor does it hurt to have an extra telepath on board. She's both. Look, all I'm saying is that me maximize the odds of being taken seriously if we all make the request together." T'lar steps up to the table, "What request?" "When did you walk in?" Tsandzia scoots over, making space. "When I found out the food-synthesizers had downloaded the recipe for 'manitaria stonahno'. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" T'lar sits down beside her with a plate of what looks like steamed mushrooms. "Tyran was just suggesting that we all hitch a ride on the Excalibur... permanently. That is if my overly-militaristic background doesn't interfere with your sense of logic and restraint." T'Lar takes a bite of shroom, eyes cold and expressionless when she finally swallows. "It would seem your unhealthy concern with blowing things up rather than getting us home has... saved all our skins. Thank you, Lieutenant." Tsandzia smiles, "You didn't do so badly yourself. Your plan did work, after all." "Oh... you mean you noticed?" "Just barely." T'lar nods, "The two of us do seem to complement each other rather well. It would seem only logical that we be kept together in the future, wouldn't you say?" She arches an eyebrow. "Our ideas do seem to mix better than," Tsandzia takes a sip from her glass, contemplating how she should complete the sentence, "better than I had initially thought they would. Yes, it would be a good idea." Tyran grins, "So we're all together on this, right?" T'lar swallows the rest of her mushroom. "It's worthy of further contemplation." "Well don't comtemplate for too long. Heroism is like health food. It makes you feel good, but eventually the taste wears thin." Tyran stuffs another chunk of tofu into his mouth, wondering if they really have a hairball's chance. _ /| Jim Vassilakos \`o_O' jimv@cs.ucr.edu ( ) jimv@wizards.com U Riverside, California ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- This Star Trek PBeM is archived on ftp.cs.pdx.edu in pub/frp/stories/startrek -----------------------------------------------------------------------------