Background Posts

[Captain Falla]

OFF: This thread is for posts taking place before your character's arrivial in Mission Zero.

ON:
(USS Colorado -- Commander Yarzin Falla -- 8 days before MD1, 0700)

The Colorado swooshed through the blackness of space, fleeing the Cardassian cruiser. All the Colorado had was medical supplies, nothing of particular value enough to risk a confrontation with a Starfleet ship. This fight had been going on for two hours now. Yarzin still remembered the first haunting memories.

"All personell, Battle Stations. This is not a drill." came the crisp voice of Lieutenant T'Mar over the shipwide intercom.

Yarzin especially remembered the chill he felt as he realized that a Vulca would not put the ship in battle stations unless the situation was dire indeed.

"It's firing again," reported Ensign McDowell.
"What could they want from us," Yarzin wondered out loud.
"Sir, there's a debris field bearing 090 mark 50." Lieutenant Spencer alerted his commander. They were very eager to get this Cardassian ship off their backs. All of them were.

"Ensign, go to course 090 mark 45 on my mark. NOW" Yarzin yelled.

The Colorado changed course and the larger Cardassian ship followed, but failed to make the turn sharp enough... and plowed staright into the debris field, making the field larger and several holes were punched in the ship at warp speed. The 10 crew members of the Colorado stared in wonder. Either there sensors were malfunctioning... or they're getting desperate.

"Mr. McDowell, set a course for Starbase 375 and engage. I've got to talk to Admiral Warner in person to report this. Because if they're willing to risk that kind of destruction, something major must be going on. I am going back to sleep for now. Long battles unnerve me."

[Lieutenant Collums]

(U.S.S. NOBEL, Orbit of Cardassia Prime - Lieutenant Matthew Collums - 2 days prior to MD1, 2347 hours)

Exhausted, Matthew Collums fell into bed, still dressed in his sloppy slacks and t-shirt, lavender-spattered lab coat still around his shoulders. Tossing a hand up to block the dimmed lights, he groans as the comconsole beeps, message waiting. 16 straight hours in surgery and he was beyond endurance, but he thought the cardassian youth would survive... perhaps even with all his limbs still intact.

"Ungh..." He reaches over and hits the console with a fist. It might be a medical emergency, after all. It didn't occur to him until after he hit the button that an emergency would have resulted in a hail on his comm badge. Text scrolled onto the screen, barely comprehended at that moment. "Transfer orders? NOW?" Marked as high priority, no less, immediate transfer by shuttlecraft if necessary to Starbase 375 then onto the U.S.S. Denmark as Chief Medical Officer. A groan, and he punches the console again. "Whyyy? I just want to get back to my lab at Starfleet Med..." He passes out instead of complaining further.

***

(U.S.S. NOBEL - Lieutenant Matthew Collums - 1 Day prior to MD1, 0614 hours)

He'd been working the comconsole for an hour, trying to get hold of his superior back at Starfleet Medical, getting more steamed with every 'Please Hold'. His eye had started to twitch with irritation by the time Captain Lewis answered, his image finally forming on the display. First AM for him, too, as he was still holding his cup of morning coffee. "Lewis here. What do you want, Collums?"

A grit of his teeth, and he finally grinds out, "What's the meaning of this, Lewis?" Captain Reggie Lewis had been his CO since returning to Starfleet Med a few years ago, and he'd thought the two men had a good understanding, a solid working relationship, and had even become something of friends, but right now there wasn't any friendship in the icy demand.

A frown from Lewis, then a sip of his brew. After a few long moments, he reached up to his neck and pointed at his rank pips, the four circles of his rank spit-shined and polished, gleaming beside his carotid artery and adding a touch of shine to match his white hair. Pulling rank, a code they'd developed over the years that indicated when he was acting as his boss, not as his friend or coworker. Another sip of the brew, and finally, the gnashing younger officer bites out, "Captain. Lewis. What... purpose does this transfer have?"

The older officer finally smiles. Message sent. "You're always on the lookout for the next medical breakthrough, Lieutenant." The strong emphasis on the rank made it nearly an insult, but considering Matt's low regard for ranks and uniforms, it merely added a hint of seriousness. "You're out there because you're one of the people who knows Cardassian physiology, but more to the point there's only so much you can learn back here, separated from the action.

"Now, the Denmark's going to be on the Cardassian border for her first mission with task group zeta . It's remote, it's tactically critical, and it'll put you in a position to deal with Cardassian physiology directly for a while. If you'd bothered to look at her specs, she's designed to assist with planetary evacuations and wide-scale emergencies. Put two and two together, and you'll be far more likely to see the real scoop on Cardassians on the Denmark than here behind a desk.

"More importantly, I'll be retiring in a few more years. I'd like to recommend you for the job, but unless you have some real field experience, the top brass'll never put you in charge of the Starfleet Med research division." Lewis points at Matt with his finger. "That's why I want you out there. Keep your nose clean, learn a little military discipline, and you'll be a shoo-in. But, sink out there, and there won't be enough rope on Rigel to bail you back out. Besides, I just put your name in the transfer bucket for that task group. It was Captain Falla that accepted your worthless hide." His grin became wide, cheshire cat.

Matt slowly allowed these revelations to sink in. "So, waited until I was out of range before pulling the rug out from under me? Wanted to keep me from slugging you, I bet." It was a minor complaint, more one of being caught off guard. He didn't like being caught by surprise. Not like this. Still, there was a hint of mirth in his voice, just enough to show he was slowly wrapping his mind around it and coming to accept it. Scientific analysis overcame emotion on this one... and if this is how he'd get the interesting projects, he'd play his little marionette part. "Fine, fine. But I'll be sure to pay you back for this one, Lewis. Oh, yes, my revenge will be sweet... if I can ever get back to Earth from out here. Collums out." He killed the comm with an irritated swat of his hand, then began packing his few belongings.

They'd be sending out the contents of his quarters, of course, since this was a short-term emergency trip, but it could be that he'd end up on the Denmark without his supply of normal civilian clothing for a short time... other trivialities began to pour through his mind, preparations for the transfer that would begin as soon as he could get his butt to the hangar deck.

OFF: (EDIT: Timestamp Fix)

[Lieutenant JG Rawlings]

(USS Legacy -- Lt. Tikal Rawlings -- 4 days before MD1, 1609)

Tikal smoothed her uniform so it lay flat against her body. She was getting ready for her next-to-last duty shift, since day after tomorrow they would be arriving at the space station where her new posting- the USS Denmark was waiting in dry dock for her and the rest of her new crew mates.

Tikal wasn't overly enthusiastic about it. Never very sociable, the prospect of having to completely re-immerse herself in 'hellos' and name-remembering wasn't pleasant. She would have preffered to just stay aboard the Legacy, in her comfortable position and never look back.

She glanced across her quarters at the neat stack of containers that held her decorations, clothing, and necessary supplies. Tikal sighed and re-pinned her combadge to the front of her uniform, and headed out the door, carefully turning out the lights on her way. After a beating last year during the final days of the Dominion War, the last thing the Legacy needed was a power drain.

Coming into engineering, she was greeted by a few quietly-murmured hellos and greetings, and Tikal nodded to a few of the crewmembers standing about. The chief engineer over her, Sam, came up and gave her a smile. "I guess this isn't a bad time to say that the warp coils need a checkup?"

Tikal made a faint noise of sarcasm. "No, it's a horrible time. Forbid that I might have to do my job!" Tikal said. Sam grinned and handed her a tricorder. "Then get to it." Tikal took the tricorder and headed to the access port.

(USS Century -- Commander Reanna Duron -- 1 day before MD1, 1800)

Reanna relaxed into her seat as the Captain gave orders for the Century to hook up to the space station. She felt mildly excited to be going aboard a new ship, but also a bit wryly angry at being yanked from her comfortable position about the Century.

Glancing at the tall human man beside her, the Captain of the Century, the man she had had time to become aqcuainted with, and befriend for the past year, she felt a keen sense of regret that she would not be able to continue the friendship- at least, not on such a level as they had been accustomed to.

She also sensed a feeling of regret and sadness coming from him as well. She had served faithfully under him, and he obviously was not very happy at her for accepting the new posting.

Yes, it had been Reanna's choice. She had accepted, but now she regretted the desicion- a little bit. But she had to admit to herself that the friendship between herself and the Captain had been getting a bit too friendly- it would never do for the two highest-ranking officers aboard the ship to have a romantic relationship.

Reanna turned her attention back to the station and the docking process, as the helmsman slowly eased the bulk of the Century to a soft landing at the arm.

OFF: (EDIT: Timestamp Fix)

[Lieutenant Collums]

(Shuttlecraft Branson, somewhere between Cardassia Prime and Starbase 375 -- Lieutenant Matthew Collums -- 1 Day prior to MD1, 2207)

'Travelling by shuttlecraft has to be the worst possible way to get around long-distances.' Matthew was left pretty much to his own boredom aboard the tiny Type 15. His few belongings in the aft compartment save for a PADD, he had plenty of time to reflect and look at the schematics for the U.S.S. Denmark displayed on the tiny screen.

Considering that he had only barely passed his shuttlecraft piloting exams in the Academy and had rarely put hand to the controls since, it was a minor miracle that he'd managed to lift off from the Nobel without scratching the hull. Much. Okay, he'd managed to clip one of the warp nacelles on a cargo box that was too close to the bay doors, but it wasn't like he'd damaged anything important. The engineering panel in the shuttle had assured him of that, repeatedly, despite the chuckling comm officer that had directed him away from the Nobel.

Quiet and serene, and the incomprehensible mix of engineering details and schematics wasn't medical, scientific, nor related to ancient pistols nor vintage phasers. Within a short time, Matthew is nodding off, mind wandering back to his time at the Academy.

***

"Hey, gramps!" The young cadet was smirking as he addressed Cadet Collums, clearly enjoying the discomfort the hated title always gave him. Since he'd completed a doctorate before joining Starfleet, he was older than all the students and some of the instructors, too. "You're gonna be the pilot in the boarding battle sim this afternoon. Think you can handle delivering us intact this time?"

He sighed, and turned to the younger kid... cadet. His mind had to correct that instinct to think of his classmates as kids, despite the age differential. "Someone has to deliver you guys to your death at the hands of the other team. And, the pilot tends to live longer than anyone else on the team. Living is my kinda job." He had tried to not react to the hated nickname. He'd bandaged up some of these kids himself, now his years of medical experience and research skills afforded him no respect from his 'peers' and raised expectations from his teachers.

The cadet opened his mouth to add some more insult to injury, but was interrupted by the alarm klaxon sounding. "Alert! Red group cadets, to your shuttles for boarding drills! Red group cadets, to your shuttles!" Almost as one, the two cadets turn and rush down the corridor. They were timed, after all, and a poor turnout would reflect badly on their grades. Arriving a few seconds behind the younger cadet, he grinned through his panting. The fact that he'd nearly kept up despite the extra years and some extra kilos of weight was a good indicator of his progress.

Sliding into the pilot's chair, he ran through the pre-flight checklist at high speed, checking things off on the PADD. "Got air masks back there?" An affirming yelp from the back, and he shoves the device back into the slot it came from. "Everyone on board?" While he'd been preflighting the shuttle, his fellow cadets had all arrived and begun putting on armor and pulling out phasers, readying to storm the old starship in conjunction with the other teams. A swat on the control panel sealed the shuttle door, releasing the clamps that held the shuttle in place.

A touch on the thrusters, and the shuttle moves off the starbase, then turns toward the designated target. Beads of sweat form on Matt's brow as he tries to finesse the craft with the unfamiliar movements necessary for piloting. Would that he had a hand tractor or a medical tricorder under his hand, but no, he was the 'pilot'. The 'medic' was in the back, checking vital signs in the other cadets and strapping on his own phaser.

Considering his barely passable shuttle skills, this had to be someone's idea for hazing him. But, there was nothing he could do except try to deliver his human cargo to the best of his abilities. A few touches, and the shuttle twitches jerkily in a minor course correction. Their assigned location, the port side engineering airlock, was nearly centered in the viewscreen, but something seemed wrong with it, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. A few keys afforded a close-up of the hatch in question, and he was puzzling over it when he felt the presence at his shoulder.

"My grandma flies a shuttle faster'n you, Gramps." The same cadet, what's-his-name, Jacobs, was kibitzing over his shoulder, distracting him as he tried to make sense of the image on the screen. "Yeah, well, your grandma doesn't have to fly with you over her shoulder, does she?" The cadet snorts, then leans against the wall, watching Matt intently, predatory.

Irritated, Matt powered up the shuttle a little more, closing the distance to target quickly. Further study of the lock was shoved from his mind as he refocused on trying to pilot the ship. Just following orders. He could do that, right? Just do what he was told. A few touches of his fingers, and the shuttle flipped end-over-end, bringing it's circular hatch around so it pointed at the airlock. A few more touches on the controls, and he had it about centered, sliding backwards at the officially proscribed speed for docking.

The crunch of metal protesting abuse reverberated through the shuttle as it smacked into the airlock. Matt silently chided himself for neglecting to slow down for a smoother seal as his passengers were tossed about in the back, but they responded admirably, immediately recovering, and opening the door to rush with abandon to their assigned combat position.

***

Awakening with a start, Matt frowned at the interruption to his rememberances. A carbon-dioxide filter was past it's replacement date, and the system had gone to the secondary bypass system, thus lighting up the diagnostic panel and buzzing. Tapping the control, he shifted his position to a more comfortable one, resolving to stay awake this time.

To be continued

[Lieutenant Collums]

(Shuttlecraft Branson, somewhere between Cardassia Prime and Starbase 375 -- Lieutenant Matthew Collums -- 1 Day prior to MD1, 2354)

'All systems normal... nothing left to fix.' He'd changed out the carbon dioxide filter an hour ago, and puttered around the tiny cabin, tightening access panels, fluffing up chair cushions, and dusting surfaces compulsively. Finally, a plop into the pilot's chair and he was left with pulling up random sensor data and overanalyzing it.

A class J gas giant wasn't quite out of sensor range. Perhaps a few sensor sweeps to fill the time, although gas giants tended to be quite boring overall. A flood of chemical formulas, spectral analysis, visible light readings, gaseous analysis... it's not long before Matt's falling asleep again.

***

He was alone in the shuttle now, and per protocol was on guard. The last phaser had been sitting there ready for him when he'd stepped away from the pilot's station, and he'd naturally picked it up and took station near the door, protected by the bulkhead.

He'd been the butt of several practical jokes at the hands of his younger classmates, although they'd been less successful once he started pre-studying the details. Knowledge was his best weapon in avoiding the pranks, plus his ability to manipulate the hyper-competitive youngsters subtly to his will. The hotshots wanted to win, regardless of the cost.

Thumping footsteps of running people brought him out of his reverie, and he glanced around the bulkhead to see what was approaching. "Ack!" He pulled back into shelter. Without any armor, a single phaser shot would count him out, and he was determined to at least live longer than his team. This time. Sticking his weapon around the edge, he pressed the button.

Nothing.

The running cadets from blue group would be on him in moments, and he was holding an empty phaser. "Jacobs!" He smashed the button that closed the shuttle door, the hiss and crash of the doors following a breath later. Triggering his comm badge, "Collums to Jacobs. I've got blue team cadets here and a dead phaser. Requesting assistance." No reply.

He grumbles under his breath, then grabs a toolkit off the wall. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could figure out what was wrong. The power levels indicated it should work, but it wasn't. A few moments and the back was off the phaser, the maze of circuitry revealed, power supply here, emitter there... control panel... button. Simple sabotage after all, the button was disconnected, but he had no laser solderer in the kit to reattach the wires. In moments, assuming the blue cadets had half a brain among them, they'd have the door control bypassed and entry into his shuttle, no time.

Slice, cut, strip, and the exposed wires were hanging out the top of the weapon. Rising from his seat, he pointed the gutted phaser at the door, ready as he could be. The click from the door, and it pops open a few inches, manual override. A lick of the fingers, and he touches the two exposed wires, pinching them together. The beam of light strikes the door, just above the crack. Another pinch, and he made it through the gap, once, twice, before one of the enemy beams made its mark.

The transporter sparkles immediately consumed Matt, tearing him apart and sending him careening through space to the pad in the station on the heels of the two cadets he'd just sent here himself. The gutted phaser falls from his hand as he materializes on the pad. He bites out some choice words before stepping out of the way of the next cadets. He'd lost.

***

He shook himself back awake, glancing at the chronometer. 0217 hours. A deep frown, and he checked his position on the instruments. Even the gas giant was well out of his range now, some indications of dust and asteroids ahead, but nothing immediately in range. Perhaps some more studying of the Denmark was in order. He had the med bay layout and specs, after all.

[Lieutenant Tanith]

{The USS Fawn, Starbase 375, 2 days before MD1, 1200, 1400 hours.}

"Yes, Captain," Aine said, saluting. "I will make you proud." She turned away with the orders Captain Riley gave her. She was pleased to be given this assignment where there would be only her as Counselor. Aine felt she was ready, but she pleaded with whoever listened that she wouldn't screw it up.

After receiving her orders from the Fawn, Lt. Tanith went into a shuttle to Starbase 375. In the aftermath of the sabotage of the USS Tori, everyone was on edge. Their thoughts and emotions hit her mind and her skin until she found refuge in her overnight quarters. The sabatage of the Tori... she didn't want to think about it. People suspected everyone, even her... She tried to meditate, but unable to, started packing for her assignment on the Denmark.

***

{Starbase 375, 1 day before MD1, 600 hours}

After little success trying to sleep, Aine, packed already, went to the gym. There, she spent hours exhausting herself until noon. At the cafeteria, she met up with her one-time friend, Ari, son of the captain of THE Kaur.

For some reason, Aine didn't want to talk about her mission. But she did tell him about her headache. The healer that Iri was was able to massage and hum her head back to peace. He told her that he was now the Captain of the THE Kaur and that he was there getting supplies for a long voyage. "Good luck," Aine told him, easily getting away before she had to give him any information.

Parting, Lt. Tanith headed to her room once again, trying to figure out why she felt like she couldn't tell Iri about her assignment.

***

{Star base 375, The night before MD1}

~Asleep, Aine fell into a terrible dream:

{Shuttle 1010220, leaving THE Kaur, and Starbase 375, A long time ago.}

Iri walked with Aine as they headed to the shuttle bay. "It's so cool that you get to go to the Academy. I so wish I could go, but I have to stay here and carry on the family business when my Da' retires."

"It is a great responsibility, you know. When I was younger I had fantasies of running this ship through the Trade. But, now... I don't think I have the capabilities that you possess. You would make a great captain.

Shrugging off Aine's comment, Iri gave a hard smile as he tried to hide his feelings. "No matter what," he said, "I'll always love you and be your friend." Before he walked away, he kissed her cheek, and Aine walked into the shuttle where her parents were waiting.

When they landed, Aine kissed her parents as she grabbed her bags. Her father saluted, bowing, as he told her how proud he was of her. Returning the gesture, she smiled, proud to finally be given the opportunity to make something out of herself.

Her father brought something out of his pocket. It was House crest. Her mother had fashioned it into a pendant with wings that stood for freedom of their closed ideas, and an eye that stood for watchfulness. With tears in her eyes, Aine thanked both of them.

And, as was their manner, the three of them left without saying good-bye.

Aine watched out of the bay window as the ship took off, fist raised in the traditional Klingon salute. She was about to turn away when the shuttle exploded. Her head burst with her parent's pain, even though they were far away by this time.

{Star base 375, The day of MD1}

Gasping, Aine sat up, the pain she had earlier, and the pain from her dream, now doubled as she tried to make sense of what was going on.

She still liked Iri as a friend, but ever since that night, when her parents died on the shuttle, she couldn't trust him in the times that she ran into him again.

Wincing as she made her way through the halls of SB375, she went aboard the Denmark, went to her room intending to unpack, and fell asleep on her bed...