ftp.ee.pdx.edu/2014.02.ftp.ee.pdx.edu.tar/ftp.ee.pdx.edu/pub/frp/stories/startrek/adv2/turn43

Text File | 1994-09-10 | 26KB | 654 lines

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                           Star Trek: Play by E-Mail
                              The Forbidden Years
                               Campaign Write-up
===============================================================================
                                 Adventure #2
                              A Matter of Policy
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                   Turn #43
                              Victory and Failure
===============================================================================
              Copyright 1994 Jim Vassilakos / All Rights Reserved
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  Cast & Crew
  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------
  ST-PBeM GameMaster       Jim Vassilakos      [e-mail]
  Lt. T'lar                Ronnie Simonds      [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. Duran          Tony Hayes          [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. de la Sangre   Carlos Jensen       [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. Hawkins        Tony Hayes          [e-mail]
  2nd Lt. Xelha            Dave Shue           [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. tr'Remas       Dave Shue           [e-mail]
  Dr. Bannister            Jason Stripinis     [e-mail]
  Lt. K'tar                Steve Mays          [e-mail]


Stardate 6003.28 at 1850 Hours: USS Phobos, Computer Core
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"C'mon, damnit. Work!"

She knits the lines furiously in the dim light, checking the current's waveform
against the specs she keeps in her head. It ought to work, she keeps reminding
herself. Transmitting power from a phaser directly into the power main was one
of the many skills practiced at the Academy. But this ship is old. All the
equipment is different. Even the electrical specs may be drastically off-base.

"You're wasting your time."

Suddenly the lights come on, and they fall to the deck, gravity fully restored.
"Yes!"

"Like I said, an excellent idea. Now see if you can get the Commander on
the..."

Suddenly there's a pounding noise from the door. "I think that's him."

"Better safe than sorry."

Duran has to blink as the lights come on, squinting as the security camera in
the corner rotates to face them. T'lar and Pacal roll off to either side,
clenching their phasers in front of them. 'Don't Panic!' Duran wants to scream
at them, but instead turns toward the camera. "C'mon, lets go, we're wasting
time!"

A burst of static comes from the comm-unit beside the door.

"Who are you?"

Duran looks at Histlin, "Damn, Max, didn't you tell these guys anything?" Then
back to the camera before 'Max' can respond, "I'm Lt. Commander Duran, Star
Fleet Intelligence. Max is my supervisor on this mission. I'd be happy to give
you my entire autobiography, BUT NOT NOW!" Duran shouts in his most impatient
voice. He looks back at Histlin, "This is the best Star Fleet could provide?
I'd have been better off if you hadn't tried to help me." Again to the camera,
"C'mon open up. The longer we wait, the more control slips from our fingers! We
need to get that power back on line!" He throws up his hands in frustration,
"Max! Talk to them!"

Histlin nods, "It's okay. Open the door."

Inside the computer core, the four soldiers inspect the camera's feed with an
ominous sense of confusion.

"What about those two? That vulcan and..."

"They're okay," Histlin explains. "They've joined us."

"They've joined us?" They look at each other, now even more confused.

"Look, open the door. That's an order."

They shrug, knowing better than to question their commanding officer. People
have gotten spiked to the prow's of starships for that sort of thing.

As soon as he sees a clear shot, Duran opens fire, somehow managing to miss as
Histlin steps stupidly in front of him, barking orders about wanting a status
report. In a moment, their opponents are ducking behind every available piece
of cover as the room becomes soaked in wide-angled stun.

"Damnit, Histlin! Switch to disintegrate!" He fires again, wishing once more he
had a plasma thrower or something even more destructive. Phasers are nice when
you want to stun somebody, but in life and death situations, they often leave
something to be desired.

With four beams set on disintegrate, they advance in pairs, Duran and Histlin
destroying a control panel and frying the guy behind it while T'lar and Pacal
manage to take out two separate storage boxes, heating up the white, normally
solid, packing material until it's a bubbly goo spread over half the deck. The
two remaining Iotians are nearly plastered to the floor by the boiling proto-
plastic. But they're not dead. Not yet.

Pacal has to dive to the side as one aims for him, arm quivering in pain. A
moment later, four beams bore down on one who fired, reducing him to Iotian-
vapor for all intents and purposes.

When they're finally done wrecking carnage and destruction, Duran realizes that
not a single one of his party got so much as scratched. They stare at each
other, pleasantly surprised.

"Ugh," the last Iotian moans. Pacal grabs a fire-extinguisher and hoses the
woman down. "This one's going to need some medical attention."

"Good," Duran smiles. "If she does anything you don't like, fry her." He leans
down, "I make Max look like a nice guy."

Pacal nods, still feeling a little half-toned from his close brush with death.
The adrenalin in his system is at once invigorating and mind-numbing, a strange
combination for an altogether very strange day.

"We got lucky," T'lar finally states, realizing that the entire victory boiled
down to having them outnumbered and having the element of surprise. A few more
Iotians or a few moments later and things could have turned out very different.

"I thought vulcans didn't believe in luck," Duran grins, stepping over to the
computer's central diagnostic panel. There's not much of it left. But as for
the computers themselves, they don't seem to be harmed at all.

Back on the bridge, Vince suddenly sees various indicators light up. "We've
traced the power drain to deck six," comes Pacal's voice over the intercom.

"Are you alright? What happened?"

"All's well," Duran responds. "We have the core and we have another prisoner to
boot."

"Excellent. Casualties?"

"None. Even the computer seem to be functioning."

Vince settles back for a long sigh of relief. "How many were there?"

"Three."

Vince sits up, "Then that leaves two."

Duran thinks for a moment, then turns toward the woman who's still cringing in
pain from her burns. "Where are the others?"

She looks up, a coldness in her eyes. "You're going down for this one, Agent
Duran."

Duran smiles a disarming smile, but his eyes speak the truth: dark, cold,
filled with the energy of combat, the thrill of death. He closes the distance
between them with an ominous glare, bending down and grabbing and hand full of
scorched flesh as he pulls the woman close to his face. "Think so?" he
whispers. "I completed my mission, despite Max's interference. I completed it,
and I saved the crew from a renegade agent and his rebel followers. I'm a
fucking hero. The only thing you need to worry about is staying alive and
explaining YOUR actions." Duran pushes the Iotian away, wiping his hand on his
pants.

"Okay, we have two hostiles left on the loose, and our young lady friend here
doesn't want to cooperate with us. Last we knew they were getting beamed out of
the cargo hold."

"They may still be in the transporter room," T'lar interjects.

"Exactly my thoughts. There's one a few decks up and two on Deck 6.
Suggestions?"

Pacal looks up from the computer console he'd been studying, the adrenalin-rush
in his skull slowly subsiding. "Maybe we should ask 'Max' to locate them?"

Duran nods, "Not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all." To Histlin, "Can you do
your Max thing and call the others? Ask them where they are."

She leans down to their captive and snags the communicator from her belt. When
she opens it, however, she notices that it's already broadcasting.

"You're not gonna believe this," Histlin manages, showing Duran the display.

Duran looks around and makes a motion for silence, then stares at the
communicator for several seconds. He finally smiles, setting his phaser on
heavy stun. "Nice, very nice." He puts on his most smug voice, which is
particularly smug considering how much practice he's had. "I hope you two have
been enjoying the battle and subsequent tactical discussion. By now you know,
we have regained control of the ship and only have you two left to deal with.
You could make this easy on both of us and surrender, but I'm going to assume
you're not willing to do that, even though I AM, at this point, your superior
officer. Am I correct in that assumption?"

No response.

"I don't suppose you care for this wounded one we have here either do you? I
mean, if I kill her, it wouldn't change your mind would it?"

Not a peep.

"Good! Listen closely then... either you surrender now, or she dies." Duran
puts the phaser to her skull.

Nothing.

"You boys need to know when someone is bluffing and when..." Duran holds
the communicator next to the phaser and fires, "...someone isn't. Her blood
is on your hands now. I was so hoping that I wouldn't have to kill her."

"You're dead you son of bitch."

Duran grins, this time genuinely. "I think you'll find that I'm nowhere near as
forgiving as your previous supervisor, but just for the sake of good first-
impressions, I'll give you one last chance to surrender. Oh, and before you
answer, once we restore power, it will be an easy task to beam your sorry asses
into space... er... I mean the brig. So, what'll it be children? Surrender or
death."

The decision is as tacit as it is unequivocal.

"Good choice! I'm so proud of you! Why don't you tell me where you are, and I
can come right down there and kill you now. It'll make things much easier and
much more fun than just beaming you into space."

Duran waits for anything, even heavy breathing. They're not there anymore,
however. Or perhaps they just aren't very good conversationalists.

"I'm bored with you, call me if you want to surrender. Goodbye." Duran cuts the
link, then looks around, "I'm guessing they'll be along shortly. We should make
plans. Once we get the power restored, we'll call them again and use the comm
signal to locate them. Pacal, see if you can get ahold of engineering. T'lar,
you probably should stand guard at the door. Histlin, tie this one up and gag
her. I don't want any trouble when she comes-to."

Histlin nods, yanking some electrical wiring out of the damaged console and
using it to hog-tie the stunned prisoner. Not a particularly professional job,
but thorough as all hell. Duran grins, glad he isn't the one getting
immobilized.

"I got Hawkins on line 51," Pacal reports.

Duran nods, "Chief, how's it going? By the way, we're being monitored."

"Go to encryption," Pacal suggests.

"It won't help. Hawkins, you reading me?"

"Yeah, where are you? And how did you get internals up? I cut the power."

"Computer core, and we're operating on a phaser battery at the moment. There
are two hostiles still at large. The rest have been neutralized." Duran thinks
how much he likes the sound of that word, 'Neutralized.'

"You need the power back up?"

"We need the internal sensors up so we can find them and beam them away."

"Away?"

"Leave the details to me. I just need power."

"I'll git right on it."

"Good. Duran out."

Pacal looks a bit disheveled. "Sir, you don't really intend to space them, do
you? I mean, I'm sure now that we have control of the vital elements of the
ship, we can disarm them and lock them up again, maybe use stasis if we need
to."

Duran casts back a black stare. "Despite your occasional brilliant ideas,
Lieutenant, perhaps you should stick with steering and let me handle the
hostiles."

Pacal makes a peeved expression as Duran hits the comm-port again, "Hawkins,
you still there?"

"Yeah."

"As soon as possible we need to repressurize sickbay, we've had a few
casualties. Lt. St. James and Sarin are dead."

There's a short pause on the other end. "It's already been done. I'll have you
guys power in another minute or two."

Duran nods, chopping the link once more as Histlin approaches from the left.
"What now?"

"We wait. Once the power is up, Bridge should be able to find them with
internal sensors."

"You really gonna space them?" she sounds almost hopeful.

"The thought did cross my mind, but no, that was just me making idle threats."

"You know, you make them that much more dangerous if they think they have
nothing to lose."

Duran nods, "Which is why we have to stay frosty." Duran looks toward T'lar.
"Lets close the door and use the cameras like they did."

A half-minute later, they're locked in, as snug as a bug in a computer core.
Pacal, however, still has that tepid look about him. "Shouldn't we be getting
somebody down to transporter room two?"

"Bridge should be able to control things remotely."

"Unless they get cut off."

Duran blinks, "Cut off?"

"The remote connection. Sir, I'm just trying to analyze the situation from
their perspective. What would you do if you were them? Personally, speaking,
I'd be making a run for it."

"Run for what?"

"The shuttles. And we've done nothing to protect them."

Duran shakes his head, "If they bolt in a shuttle, we'll just blast them out of
space."

"Unless we aren't around to blast them out of space. I mean, we don't know what
sort of armament they managed to get their hands on. Even one protonic
grenade..."

"Would be detected by internal sensors well before detonation," T'lar states.

"What good is that if we don't have anybody at the transporters?" Pacal makes
a wide-eyed expression.

Suddenly several of the computers start chirping. Duran hits the comm-port.
"Hawk?"

"Power's back up."

"Great, do you have anybody in TR2?"

"Bannister's on his way."

He cuts the line, "Let's hope you're wrong, Lieutenant."

They suddenly hear the whine of a transporter beam.

"Shit, here they come!"

When the beam finally coalesces into substance, however, Duran can see that
it's not a person, but rather a thing. Instead of coming to pay their final
respects, they just sent along a little present. A photon grenade, and it's
buzzing like all hell!

Duran yanks out his phaser.

"No!" T'lar screams, "There's a chance you'll set it off!"

"Then cross your fingers!" He fires, reducing it to an invisible swarm of
subatomic particles. Almost simultaneously, however, there's a tremendous
noise, shaking the deck nearly to the point of splintering.

Duran leaps for a comm-port, "Bridge! Is anybody there?!" He grits his teeth,
realizing that the answer is quite blatantly negative. "Duran to Hawkins!"

"You guys still alive up there?"

"So far," he reports back. "But I'm worried about the bridge. They aren't
responding."

"It's possible the main trunklines are severed. I'll try to find out what I
can."

Pacal pulls himself off the deck, "Sir, I think we should investigate the
transporter rooms, while Histlin and T'lar check out the bridge."

"Agreed, but someone will have to watch our prisoner or we'll have to kill her.
Histlin?"

"No problem."

"T'lar, can you investigate the bridge solo?"

T'lar arches an eyebrow in response. "And what if there is no bridge to
investigate?"


Stardate 6003.28 at 1900 Hours: USS Phobos, Auxiliary Control
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Slender blue fingers dance across the control panel, focusing external sensors
back on the ship itself looking for hull breaches. When the image of the bridge
hits the main viewer, however, Tsandzia can barely suppress a gasp. To say it
is demolished would be a significant understatement. Suddenly a beeping light
flashes from the corner of the console. Bay doors? Shuttle bay doors? She hunts
around for the button to override, but by the time she finds it, it's too late.

"Bad news," Duran hears her voice sputter from his communicator. "The bridge
is... well... non-existent. And they're taking off in one of the shuttles. At
least, somebody is."

"Where are you?"

"Auxiliary control."

Duran sighs, wondering how she got back on board. "Do me a favor. Lock tractors
on the shuttle, scan it for life forms, and relay the data to TR1." He
continues toward the transporter room, stopping for a moment before walking in.

"What's the matter?" Pacal inquires.

"They may have set up some sort of..." He pulls out Pacal's communicator and
tosses it in front of the door, hoping the motion detectors will think it's a
person approaching. Sure enough, the door opens, and the communicator gets
sucked inside with the sound of rushing air. "...some sort of trap. Those
bastards set up a vacuum."

"So it would seem," Pacal intones.

"No luck on the tractor beam," Tsandzia reports. "They're out of range."

"Or they want us to think they are."

"Did you try opening hailing frequencies?" Pacal interjects.

"Yes. No response. According to sensors, they seem to be using their
communications equipment to broadcast a tightbeam transmission."

Duran shakes his head, "See if you can close all the ventilation shafts coming
to and from TR1." Aside to Pacal, "They may have just forced open a conduit
between the transporter room and the bridge."

"Internals report a vacuum," Tsandzia comes back. "I'm restoring pressure to
the transporter room."

"Thanks," he edges forward, looking toward Pacal. "When the door opens, you
shoot left, and I'll shoot right. Got it?"

"Got it."

A moment later they're inside, blasting away at nothing in particular. The
place is entirely empty, save for a photon grenade duck-taped to one of the
transporter pads. It's one of those with the rovlicon-polymer casings, nice for
beaming into enemy starships, and from the way it's buzzing, it could go nova
any moment.

Pacal races to the transporter controls, quickly noting the programmed delay.
"Don't fire on this one," he tells Duran. "They were planning on beaming it
into main engineering as soon as they were far enough away. Fortunately, they
over-estimated."

"Well, beam it into space."

"Gladly," Pacal dumps the small package a couple dozen kilometers off the
starboard bow, finally letting out his breath once it's gone. "Scanners show
that there are four life-forms inside the shuttle. I can't get a lock, however.
They've erected their shields."

Duran nods, "Beam me down to auxiliary control, and let Tsandzia know I'm
coming so she doesn't blast me." He ascends the pads.

"I'll let her know we're both coming."

They let the tingling sensation of transporter waves wash over them, the scene
changing from the transporter room to auxiliary control in a matter of seconds.
Tsandzia looks up from the scanners, Hawkins and K'tar entering from another
corridor.

"Well, I've got some good news, and I've got some bad news," Tsandzia reports
to all present.

"What's the good news?"

"Vince and Oein are alive."

Duran looks confused, "But the bridge..."

"Got blown to hell, I know. You ready for the bad news?" She waits for a moment
before shifting the channel to the main view. Vince and Oein are there, tied up
in two shuttle seats, one of their captors directly between them with a huge
shit-eating grin.

Duran glares at the screen, "Raise shields and lock weapons on that shuttle!
Pacal, put us on an intercept, now!"

"Intercept course, aye. Closing."

The Iotian grins, "Sorry, Duran, but you're just a little late." He glances
toward his wrist implant, "Time for you to die." He stares at the screen, smile
slowly fading, then back at his chronometer with a mixture of rage and
disbelief. Meanwhile, a few sensor bleeps report the harmless detonation of a
photon grenade a few dozen kilometers distant.

"We found your little going away present," Duran smirks. "By the way, that was
a nice trap you set for us. Ineffective but nice." He turns back toward Pacal.
"Are we in range yet?"

"Almost."

"Try knocking down our shields and I'll snuff these two friends of yours,
Duran, just like you snuffed Anna."

Duran laughs, "I didn't 'snuff' Anna, asshole. The phaser was set on stun. And
as for you 'snuffing' my friends, I sincerely doubt you'd be so stupid."

"Just try me."

"Kill them and you'll have no hostages to bargain with."

"We're in range," Pacal reports.

"Weapons locked on target," K'tar growls from his station.

The Iotian presses a phaser to Vince's skull. "You either back off or he dies,
and I mean now!"

Vince grits his teeth, "The Federation has standing orders not to negotiate
with terrorists. Duran, fire when ready."

"You idiots have signed your own death sentences!" Oein concurs.

Duran, however, can't bring himself to give the order, looking between the two
officers with a growing sense of frustration. He finally cuts the sound,
turning his back to the viewer so they can't see his face as he lets out a
string of curses in his native tongue.

Hawkins walks up, barely acknowledging the vulgarity. "You want options?"

"You've got one?"

"What? You didn't notice which shuttle they took?"

"The Dixie. Why?"

"I built her. I know her inside and out. Get me within transporter range, and
I'll beam them out through the shields."

Pacal turns around, "You can do that?"

"If ya know the resonance and harmonics of a given shield configuration, you
can tune the transporter to beam through it. It ain't easy, and the transport
cycle is greatly extended, but you can do it and I *KNOW* that ship. Trust me."

Pacal looks a little dubious. "But what if they changed the harmonics?"

"They'd have had to access the shield emitters and re-align the crystals and
then re-program the power-flows. They'd need a shuttle bay, a pile of
specialized equipment, and at least half a day. Just between you and me, Pacal,
I doubt they had either the time or the inclination."

Meanwhile, back on the shuttle, "What the hell are they talking about?"

"How should I know? I'm not a telepath."

Oein meanwhile, can only stare out the porthole into the dark beauty of space,
wondering if these few moments are to be his last.

"You goddamn fools!" Vince bellows. "Who the hell..." He gets backhanded before
he can complete the inquiry, however.

Oein looks away, not wanting to watch. Poor Vince. He thought this would be an
easy mission. No way. Sarin didn't even survive one day in their custody. And
now it looks like they might not either.

Vince won't be perturbed, however. "Just who the hell are you?! Killing and
kidnapping Star Fleet officers! You won't get away with it!!"

"Shutup, grand-pa."

"I'm not a grand-pa. My name is Lt. Commander Vincent de la Sangre, and I'm the
commanding officer of the Phobos!"

"Not any more."

The other Iotian laughs, "What d'ya say we just kill him now? Less noise."

Suddenly the sound comes back to the monitor, Duran's lean, blue face on its
screen. "Okay, you guys win. What the hell do you want?"

"Simple, asshole. Back off."

Duran makes a confused face. "You mean you have no demands? No prisoners to be
released? No bars of gold latinum?"

"Just back off."

Hawkins whispers to Pacal, "I'm almost ready. We'll have to drop shields to do
this, so drop 'em on my mark."

"Aye, chief."

Duran, meanwhile, just shrugs his shoulders. "Well, okay. If that's all you
want. You're sure now?"

"Go away. Now!"

Duran nods, "Okay, okay. I can take a hint." He turns to Hawkins. "You heard
the man. Are we ready?"

Hawkins finishes the final tweaks, "Now, Pacal!" Within a stunned moment, the
Iotians acquire a wondrously shocked look about them, the transporter beams
ripping at their atoms, disintegrating them even as they breathe.

"Oein and Vince are in TR2, alive and well."

Duran grins, "Good job!" Then, "Um, where are the Iotians?"

"Locked in transit. Do you want staff to handle it, or would you rather deal
with them personally?"

Duran yanks out his phaser and heads for the door without so much as a word.

"What?" Hawkins looks confused. "Was it a silly question?"


Stardate 6003.28 at 1930 Hours: USS Phobos, Sickbay
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vince sits impatiently on the edge of the bed as Bannister waves a medical
tricorder in front of his face "just one more time". Jake, not one to be
hurried, repeats the scan three times, just to be sure. "They always say, you
should refrain from getting stunned twice in one day if you can help it, let
alone twice in one hour."

Duran grins, trying to count the number of times that's happened to him. He
finally enters, "Sir, the remaining Iotians are secured in the brig."

"Excellent," Vince mutters. "God my head hurts."

"A common side-effect," Jake warns. "It should subside within a few hours."

"Can't you give me anything for it?"

"It's not highly recommended... giving medication for temporary states."

"I don't *care* what's highly recommended. I want aspirin!"

Duran nods knowingly, "Sir, not meaning to exasperate your headache, but
Albuquerque is asking for a status report. They apparently saw something on
their scanners, and they're asking if we need backup."

Vince groans, "Turn about and head back. I'll talk with Ash when we arrive."

"Aye sir."


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

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