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Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
Act 1: The Wanderer and his Shadow
Location: Sector 42/11, TF Arioch, Bridge Standard Solar Time (SST): 05.00 Date: 321/12/19 'The Navy, the adventure of a lifetime', Senior Navigator Jack Johnson thought as the clock indicated that the last hour of the graveyard shift had begun. He was glad the night was over. All of his datascreens promised clear sailing throughout the sector, and the only other officer on duty was a young, sour-faced pilot who hadn't said a word since the beginning of his shift. He sighed. With another 59 minutes on the clock, he might as well try to break the silence. ,,It's incredible, isn't it?'', he said - eying the drink standing next to his console. ,,We, as a race, have evolved for millennia. We've defeated every challenge nature has thrown at us. We've overcome war, disease and famine.'' He sighed. ,,Yet we still drink poorly synthesised coffee from plastic cups. What do you make of that?'' The pilot threw him a dirty look. ,,I take it as a sign you should shut up and start concentrating on your job'', he scowled. Jack smiled. ,,Not much of a job to do out here, is there? Nothing but rocks and dust for solarmiles to come.'' The pilot, a tall man everyone called 'Happy', flipped a switch and stood up. A flickering light on Jacks datascreen indicated that the autopilot had just been activated. ,,What is with you, Johnson?'', inquired the pilot as he slowly strolled towards the Navigators chair. ,,Did you graduate on the technique of complaining and damaging morale?'' Jack threw him a winning smile. ,,I consider it less of a technique and more of an art'', he replied, suddenly noticing the dark gleam in the pilots eyes. ,,Oh, and in case it slipped your mind, I outrank you, as implied by the senior in ‘Senior Navigator’. You as much as lay a finger on me, and you'll be vacationing in the void before the day is over'', he threatened. Although he was far more worried about the kid then about himself. Many members of the crew started displaying erratic and sometimes even violent behaviour after spending months on a small, isolated vessel such as the Arioch. Behaviour that could mean the end of their career. The pilot turned red and clenched his knuckles. ,,Apologies sir'', he said, emphasising the last word. ,,Think nothing off it'', Jack said as he produced a deck of cards. ,,Care to play a hand?'' The pilot let out a soft groan and returned to his seat. ,,With all due respect, sir. You're pretty f*cking crazy'', he said as he sat down. Jack shrugged. ,,That's the very reason we're out here, my friend. Practically everyone on this ship is either too well trained, connected or experienced to let go, but not nearly reliable enough to set loose in the Inner Systems. So Command assigns us these Deep Space missions to keep us from embarrassing the Navy until it is time for us to die for the cause.'' 'Happy' looked over his shoulder, ,,I never took you for a cynic, Johnson'', he stated. Jack spend a few seconds shuffling his cards before replying. ,,I'm not'', he said after he was done. ,,In fact, I volunteered for this mission.'' |
Ricor Messman
After the first fitting he presented a comical sight. The federation greys seemed to mock his appearance, offering no contrast to a skin pale as the Sophian moons. Fabric dangled forlorn from the wire-thin arms he'd folded around a fragile chest in a fruitless attempt to quell his shivering. Hah. If he'd had training, it was only in following the woman around.
In an ordinary life, Chief Engineer Messman would have dismissed him. 'Report to sickbay, and don't come back until the mission's over. Boys like you just get in the way.' Best weed 'em out early, and if that means a smaller crew it means less hassle. You can't mourn the loss of what you never had. A wry smile crossed the man's face. It was never that easy, so he prayed to Miran she had some skill at taking in a uniform. Else he might lose his gruff expression come assembly - and he needed the respect. Not long from his bunk, shoving around goo in the comparative sanctuary of the officers' table, his thoughts unfolded like a freshborn nebula. This was a familiar ritual, the comforting meditations of his own temple. Unfortunate that its spawn, the longings, the pains in his gut, the eternal second guesses, were such unwelcome company. 'There's no time for this,' he would say in defiance, and 'There's no point.' Brief jolts which brought the world into focus, for all the seconds that they lasted. With a forceful push he shoved himself away from breakfast. All these faceless figures milling about in front of him weren't helping. Mesmerizing scurrying was the last thing he needed now. "Always the hardest hour," he muttered, promising himself the rest of the day would improve. Activity, the pacing behind his seat, that would bring him round faster than a freezing cold shower. Or better, at least. He'd already braved the latter. A glance at the clock. Still too early to make an appearance. |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
Jack Johnson sat alone at his table. The look on his face serving as an effective deterent against the company of the crewmen that were desperately looking for a seat, in these busy minutes before the first shift. He groaned as he compared the latest medical reports to the duty roster. According to the CMO, the void-syndrome had claimed another three victims over the past week. One of them had been overheard talking to his own shadow. An hour later, he had disabled security and stepped out of the airlock, which was now guarded day and night.
Jack put down his coffee. According to the Medical Directorate, the number of VS-related casualties on Deep Space missions rarely exceeded 5 percent. Yet only a few months into the mission, half a dozen people had already been hospitalized and an additional three people had taken their own lives. ,,Twelve percent'', he sighed. He wasn't a religious man, yet he prayed every night that VS wouldn't claim him. It was the paralyzing, all-consuming fear of the blackness that lurked behind every window. The void that was never more than a few hundred meters away. Even spending years in space didn't render a person immune. Rumor had it that even Captain Valentine, with his decades of experience, had been hit hard. Apparently, the captain had locked himself in his quarters. Although only the CMO and the Chief of Operations knew the truth of it. In the meanwhile, the ship was being run by a handful of officers and a skeleton crew. Needless to say, morale was suffering. The lack of activity on the other of The Line also proved to be a tainted blessing. With no unusual activity whatsoever, the crew spend their long shifts wondering when the void would begin to enter their nightmares. 'Ignorantia legis', Jack thought. Even after centuries in space, humanity seemed to be oblivious to the laws of the void. ,,Perhaps the Void-Syndrome is the punishment for our ignorance'', he muttered. ,,What is that sir?'', asked one of the kitchen staff. Jack waved him away and stared at the sole window in the mess, which had been covered with a poster of the New Terra pin-up of the year 320. Navigator Johnson shuddered as he realised he could almost feel the emptiness behind it. As he got up and left, he couldn't help but wonder if it was more than the fatigue. |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
Uytio sighed; she was faced with that decision again. The decision that came to her each and every time she awoke: did she spend those fifteen extra minutes in bed, or did she see to her hair? Choices, choices. Tying it back was all well and good, but those knots always bothered her throughout the day.
After a moment, ‘necessity’ won over laziness. Despite her hair being shoulderlength, it was still a chore and those who were neglectful rarely were promoted. And so, she rose and as she always did, found the bathroom, showered, tackled her hair, changed out of her jumpsuit and into her uniform and ensured she was fit for duty. Efficent-like. Her shift was still a while away, but she always gave herself plenty of time. That recreational period kept the craziness away. A good book was key. Escapism: the way out of the dull tedium of life. Still, boring was good; it meant no one was getting killed. Having ensured her bed and locker was as it should be – tidier than a cadet at ‘bootcamp’ – she grabbed her book and made her way to the mess hall. After getting breakfast, she sat down at a random table and flipped open the page she was at… |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
Scott Avery
145..146..147..148..149...150.. Wiping the beads of sweat from his brow as he stood up from doing a round of push ups, Scott looked around his quarters. Bed was made, the day's clothes neaty folded and placed on top of his foot locker. Everything was in it's place, it had it's own order and thats the way he liked to keep it. He stepped in the shower and rinsed off and then got into his uniform. Sliding the chair out from under the desk, he sat down to check his orders for the day. "Good Morning Corporal Avery" chimed the computer voice as it scanned his retinas. Scott proceeded to check his roster for the day, first on the list was to report to the medical lab for a check up. Good times, no VR here! he thought. After that he was going to head to the rec area and then get some breakfast. He checked the clock, it was still several hours before it was served. At that he put everything back in its place, put on his baret and checked in the mirror to assure the placement was correct. He had done this many times and knew it was correct, but out of habit he checked anyway. With a nod he headed on his way. |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
'Priority message for the ranking officer on duty', stated the annoyingly cheerful computer voice that was only used for the internal-comm-system. Jack groaned and vowed to have it replaced with the regular, gruff military voice-set. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and silently cursed the computer for calling him back to the bridge, less then an hour after his last shift ended. The Duty Roster subroutines remained a mystery to him. He glared at the console. By the looks of it, the message should have been send to Chief of Operations Hamilton over at the Science department. How much longer would it take the Greys to get all systems in working order? ,,Tech-officer'', he barked at the Engineering-Liason on duty. The young man leaped out of his chair and nearly tripped over his own feet as he ran to the Command station. ,,Sir?'', he enquired a few seconds later. Jack showed him the message. ,,The Computer is malfunctioning again'', he concluded. ,,If this happens during an emergency, it could spell disaster for the whole ship.'' The Tech-officer frowned and reached for his datapad.
,,Uh sir.. I think you might want to open that message yourself'', said Comm-Liason Cathy o' Hara while wheeling her chair towards his own. Jack frowned and re-examined the message. It had the mark of the medical department on it. Oh god, he thought as he pressed the display-button and watched the flustered face of the CMO appear on the screen. ,,Abraham here. We've got a..eh.. problem'', he said - sounding very tired. ,,Hamilton has just been brought in. When she didn't show up for duty, security went to take a look. Apparently, she was in the process of painting her walls with her own blood'', the CMO paused for a second. ,,It's VS, or VR, or whatever the hell the crew calls it'', he sighed. ,,But by far the worst case I've ever seen. Could be the stress of having to take over from Captain Valentine. It could also be caused by our close proximity to The Outlands. But those are just theories.'' He wiped his face with a rag and signed out. Jack felt like slamming his head into the wall until it went numb. ,,This is not happening'', he said to no one in particular. ,,Uh..sir?'', enquired the Engineering-Liason. ,,Nothing, you can get back to work'', Jack said. He turned to face his terminal. ,,Computer, who is currently in charge of this ship?'', he enquired. The computer responded immediately. ,,Captain Valentine - unavailable. COO Hamilton - unavailable. CTO - not present. Command currently falls to Chief of Engineering Messman'', the computer concluded. The Senior Navigator leaned back and considered this development. He'd only seen Messman during staff-meetings and the man seemed to be a bit of a hermit. Hardly the person to keep the ship together. Still, going against the system was probably a bad career move. ,,Computer, put me on speakers'', he ordered. A moment later, a familiar tune indicated that he could address the crew. ,,Attention crew. This is Senior Navigator Jack Johnson'', he announced. ,,I regret to say that acting captain Hamilton has been relieved of duty due to..ah.. a case of the Sophian Flue. There is no need to be concerned. According to the CMO, he has been quarantined.'' He wondered if anyone would believe the lie. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added: ,,And would Chief Messman please report to the bridge. Johnson out.'' |
Ricor Messman
"Let's see what the rock has to say then," he told his screen even as he adjusted his uniform. "I'm heading up now."
Chief Engineer Ricor Messman rose from his station, ignoring the elevators on his way to the launch bay. An enormous hall and potential beehive, his cursory glance revealed only three pilots lingering near a craft and the two engineers they were watching. "Rend," he spoke, loudly. The eldest of the pair looked up from the stuttering TFF with all the appreciation for interruption a true surgeon might have shown in the process of checking the intestinal tract for leaky fittings, or whatever they opened men up for. The difference lay in the fact that Ceemaw Rend was a big, strong man holding hefty metal equipment. The Chief Engineer allowed that Rend might well be more intimidating than even himself. "What," grunted Rend. As practical men with fifteen or twenty years of manual labour behind them, neither cared much for titles. The respect rode on the bear's growl. "Miram take her pup to the litterbox?" asked Ricor, though it was plain he didn't expect an answer as he interrupted part-way through the shrug. "I'm heading for the bridge. Some asteroid they want me to look at. Tell her she's got command of you lot." "I could boss 'em around," offered the engineer, his moustache bristling with enthusiasm not reflected in the rest of his face. Messman snorted in disdain. "I ain't going round pulling what's left of my crew out of hiding when I get back." He turned and walked out of the launchbay, pretending not to hear the offer of keeping all separated bodyparts in plain sight. Listening to the elevator music, he nodded to himself. A chance to experience the Outlands from up close had been one of his reasons for taking this mission, and he wouldn't belie his interests. Still, he envied Ceemaw. His own work involved too many monitors these days. Guys like them should be allowed to get dirty, and it was no accident they viewed the more advanced, cleaner Federation technology with some distaste. So there was a queer Class-C on the way then. While he appreciated the notification, he wasn't sure what they expected him to say about the thing. "Wait 'till it's closer and try not to crash into the thing" was about the extent of his helpfulness. The 'ping' announced his arrival on deck one, and several others spilled out with him, disappearing in ones and twos until at last he stood alone in front of the bridge doors. Throwing back his hair and adjusting the jumpsuit a last time, he entered. "Chief Engineer Ricor Messman reporting, sir," he spoke with mild apprehension. |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
Jack supressed a wry smirk. He'd never thought he would see the day on which a grease monkey would claim the Captains Chair. Ah well, a first time for everything. ,,It would appear that you have the Bridge, Chief'', he said - nodding towards the Command Station in the centre of the room. ,,With Hamilton in sickbay, you are the ranking officer on the Arioch. And as it so happens.. we also have a situation that requires your expertise. ''
Comm-Liason Cathy o' Hara stepped forward and used a datapad to activate the main screen, which displayed a small asteroid. ,,This is astroid A-1190C. At 05:19 hours this morning, it entered active sensor-range. Ten minutes ago, we picked up an active comm-signal that seems to be originating from somewhere inside the rock'', she said - while working the datapad. ,,Unfortunately, both the A-1190C and the device that is broadcasting the message appear to be damaged by prolonged exposure to high astral radiation. As a result, the signal is corrupted. We estimate we will be able to salvage between 42 to 44 percent of the message within three to four hours. However, we might be able to decode the complete message if we can get a hold of the broadcasting device.'' Jack stepped forward and pointed to the monitor on one the terminals, which was now displaying the results from a number of scans. ,,As you can see, the Asteroid is deteriorating rapidly. Judging by the current rate of decay, we would have to salvage the Comm-unit with the hour. Unfortunately, the computer has calculated that the succes rate for such an endeavor is only 51 percent, and getting worse with each passing minute. Since we know nothing about the origin of the signal, I strongly recommend we do not pursue this course of action.'' He smiled viciously. ,,Glad it's not my call.. sir.'' |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
Philbert Sigismund Wolf
"It is time to wake up. It is time to wake up. It is time to wake up." The digital alarm clock was capable of continuing for hours and most probably would as Philbert had forgotten to switch it off when he had left his quarters after waking an hour earlier than his usual waking hour. His plate, meticulously cleaned was the only remainder of the breakfast he had just had. He spared a cursory glance to those inside the mess hall as he stood up. One was reading a book, three pilots were just coming in from their night shift. Life was continuing as normal, despite all of these cases of Void Syndrome. Philbert brushed a crumb off his immaculately white lab-coat and left the mess hall. In the absence of any valid alien specimen finds during their voyages so far, he was stuck with trying to learn as much as he could about VS. Strangely, almost morbidly strangely, he was looking forward to the slight excitement that examining these psychological cases brought to his otherwise dull days. A female computer voice greeted him after the usual retinal scan at the entrance to the medical areas. Work was about to start. |
Ricor Messman
For a time, he simply stared at the monitors, scowling like a lemon cake while the brightly coloured charts were reflected in narrowed eyes. At last he drew himself up and almost got a grip on his expression.
"Hah, he barked sourly. "Good one sir." "Could have fooled me, sir." he went on. "If I may suggest, sir, play it on the other officers too. For a fact, Squad Leader Itaio'll love it with his breeding, sir." Every single Sir was spoken with something bordering on contempt, yet just balanced on the right side of tolerance. Him, captaining a federation destroyer. The joke was beyond all realism. He even thought he could see pity in the eyes of the senior navigator. "If you want my advice on the asteroid, sir, don't send people out unless you're sure it's low risk. Ain't nothing alive down there and we don't know what it's saying until it's well past. Could be UTA or TC age propaganda or a toothpaste commercial for all we know. "Permission to return to post now, sir?" |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
OOC: Note that each vessel only has one Chief Engineer
(The Bridge) Jack regarded the Chief with pity. Here stood a man that was totally unfit for Command. Unfortunately, so was everyone else. ,,You might have noticed, Chief. But we're a few Command Officers short'', he said as he gestured at the various empty seats. ,,The Captain is as crazy as a Transcendant and the COO fancies herself the female Van Gogh.'' He wondered what would be worse. Having this hermit take charge, or taking the risk that his name would pop up next. He wasn't completely sure where the post of Senior Navigator was located inside the Command Structure. Presumably, it was somewhere at the bottom of the pyramid, since he had about the same security clearance as the cook. ,,All right, Chief. If you don't feel up to the task, you can ask the doctor to declare you unfit for Command. I'm sure the good man can work something out. After that, perhaps you can head over the Science Department and oversee the decoding of the signal.'' Jack smiled and glared at the Captains Chair. ,,Or you can take a seat and ensure I don't have to interview another dozen people for the post.'' Comm-Liason O' Hara threw the two men an inpatient look. ,,Sirs, the asteroid is about to move out of range. Your orders?'' Jack frowned. He had to admit that Messman had a point when it came to the asteroid. None of the scans indicated the thing was a man-made threat, but there were stranger things out there than cunningly disguised flying bombs, propaganda-devices or illegal radiostations. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what the hell a comm-unit was doing on an asteroid in the galactic outback. |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
(Sickbay)
,,Ah.. Doctor Wolf. Perhaps the sorcerous ways of the Xeno-Medici will provide an answer to our questions’’, scoffed the CMO. It had always been obvious that Doctor Abraham considered the implementation of alien plantlife in modern medicine to be a new form of herbal medicine, but the growing stress had effectively axed his ability to put his grievances in perspective. In his eyes, everything that didn’t resolve the ‘VS-crisis’ (as he had lovingly dubbed it), was a needless distraction and thus: a part of the problem. Nevertheless, he hands you a number of datapads before making his way to the door. He leaves without saying another word. The, not very encouraging, information on the Pads make it clear that the CMO had run every perceivable test on his VR-patients. As a result: you now know everything from their blood pressure and heartbeat to their brainwaves. You soon realise that you won't have the time for too many tests of your own. Most of the doctors are currently off-duty or running simulations at the Research Department, which means that you are expected to interview the crewmen that are scheduled to recieve their psychological check-up. |
Ricor Messman
"Nevermind the asteroid," muttered Ricor, wishing he'd thought of this before. A bit of reprogramming would have kept him down in engineering with not a care in the universe. It made no sense in any case; unlike Hamilton - Sophian flu? Not a chance - he'd no insight into the other disciplines. It was a military mission, so put a sergeant in charge. Or a flyer at least. Engineers were there for support, to keep the eight or more decades old craft working well enough for others to benefit. Abraham meanwhile seemed to get away without trouble. Probably declared himself unfit.
And that was another cause for worry. There were statistics, of course, but to lose both the captain and his aide in just days smelled rotten. Might be the CMO, might be someone or something else, but he felt uneasy lining up for an acute case of void syndrome. He barked a laugh. "All right then, he said, already identifying the first symptom: suicidal behaviour. But someone had to engage in damage control, and that was something he did understand. "Comm-Liason, get Abraham and find out when the captain and COO can return to their posts. Senior Navigator, I need to know how far we are from the nearest Federation planet, the Wayfarer and that other place we were supplying." He ambled over to the big chair, standing behind it rather than sitting down. He considered accessing the high level files with mission data, but soon changed his mind. Not something he wanted to make his business. |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
(Barracks)
Deep Space Operations had never been popular among the military personel, since the only enemies to fight were the constant boredom and the occasional overgrown fauna on certain fringeworlds. In the meanwhile, during the dreary eight-hour shifts, there was little to do but count to 28.800. Today, the duty roster held few surprises. ,,Muh’tabi and Jones. Security detail on deck 1. Avery is currently undergoing a check-up at Medical and Aldera, you’re the standby pilot for Cicero-1’’, said the sergeant. ,,Consider yourself lucky. Should the Arioch be boarded by ‘little green men’, you can be the first to jump ship’’, joked Corporal Muh’tabi. You realise that you probably did get lucky, since the alternative, being on security detail, meant keeping quiet and spending the day looking for new spots on the wall to stare at. Although sign language did allow for some small-talk. Shuttle detail was generally considered to be a ‘fun’ job, since one could spend the day monitoring the internal comm-traffic. |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
(The Bridge)
,,The closest Federation outpost is a small monitoring station near The Outlands. In fact, we are scheduled to dock there in six days. There are no Federation planets nearby, although there is a small inhabited moon in the Kamonyo-system, at about two days flight. It appears to be registered to the Copernicus Directorate.'', Senior Navigator Johnson said, after reviewing the astral charts. Comm-Liason Cathy o' Hara scowled and walked to the Command Station. ,,Sir, I can't seem to raise doctor Abraham on the comm'', she whispered. ,,According to the computer, he left Medical a few minutes ago, and he isn't answering his portable comm-unit.'' |
Ricor Messman
The acting captain of the TF-Arioch pulled a dirty rag from a pocket with practised ease and wiped his hands.
"Keep trying," he told the Comm-Liason. "Maybe some helper of his knows." Fresh to his role, he already felt unpleasantly isolated. As chief engineer he spent hours chasing after errant crewmen and monitoring their work on the floor, stepping in here and there to offer aid, expertise or a comment. Here, inexperience aside, all he could do was wait, build up to a fume and trust others told him what he needed to hear. He was determined not to linger overlong. Ricor turned to the navigator. "We can't fly the Line without command. More ships may've vanished this way, crews going directionless and insane. If they don't recover soon I'm aborting this mission, and the only question is if I do before or after we supply that station. How much time do we win heading straight for the Wayfarer?" |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
Philbert Sigismund Wolf
"Professor," he whispered underneath his breath upon being referred to as Doctor, but did not want a conflict with his superior officer, so put on his best smile while the CMO continued. Philbert took the datapads but scanned the contents only with feigned interest and threw them down on his desk as soon as the CMO had left. He longed for his research laboratories and solid ground underneath his feet. This voyage had so far provided nothing remotely interesting to him from a scientific point of view. The Void Syndrome had been interesting in the beginning, but after a couple cases there was nothing new to see and a cure was still far away. Only mildly interested, Wolf uploaded the raw data from the datapads to his computer and ran a few simulations, the results of which he uploaded to one of the datapads and placed the pad on the CMO's desk. He then gazed over his daily to-do list. Not much before lunch, just two routine psychological check-ups. Senior Navigator Johnson was the first on the list. "Message originating from Pro-" he cleared his throat before continuing, "Doctor Wolf to the attention of Navigator Johnson," he said once he had opened a direct comm-line to the bridge. "Routine psychological check. Report to sickbay." Wolf had never been strong on respecting communication protocol. Philbert already wished that the morning were over. He was definitely not looking forward to such vulgar medical work. Even studying the boring results of the VS tests seemed more interesting in retrospect. |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
Meanwhile Uytio read from her book. And read a little more. Finally, she put it down with a sigh. It had been less than ten minutes but she could not seem to stay focused.
Professor Wolf's work was always so interesting, despite just how incredibly dry he was.. 'Cognitive functions of silicium based life-forms'* was interesting... She shook her head; if her concentration was slipping, perhaps it would be best to get her check-up early. It had never slipped like this before. And so, still carrying her book in hand, she headed over to the sickbay. Seeing that the Professor was busy, she hesitated and looked around for his assistant. --- OOC: thanks to Dplax for his character's book title =) |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
(Bridge)
"Routine psychological check. Report to sickbay", echoed the voice from his Comm-Unit. Jack groaned. Such things always came at the worst of times. ,,Johnson to sickbay. Please reschedule check-up. We're having a bit of an emergency up here.'' He turned to face his console and requested a number of navigational charts. ,,Sir, Wayfarer 6 is six weeks and two days away at maximum speed'', he said - after running a simulation. ,,Turning the ship around now will win us thirteen days, but will leave the station without supplies.'' ---------------------------------------- Comm-Liason Cathy o' Hara frowned. None of the Section Heads had seen the CMO, and she didn't have the clearence to use the internal sensors to find his Comm-Unit. Still, it was impossible to vanish from a ship of this size. ,,Sir, the doctor appears to be missing. Do you want me to get Security to track him down?'', she enquired. |
Ricor Messman
The cusswords which tested the acoustic qualities of the bridge were anything but becoming of a captain. Not even Lex, the new boy at engineering, could spawn this many can't do's in a day. Was this normal for a captain? He doubted it. In fact he began to suspect Valentine and Hamilton were listening in after all.
"I'm not going to play some cursed game of conceal and spy with that CMO," he said to Comm after settling down some. "And what you're telling me..." Ricor looked to the navigator, his expression that of a man who just found out what his dinner was really made of. "Is this outpost is one hundred and ten percent in the opposite direction, and by the time we reach the station we're over two months along." After hearing of the sheer distance involved, the chief engineer'd given up on flying the destroyer straight to the station. Granted, this was space and everything took some time, but he'd no desire to fly this patrol without command and, if this void syndrome business kept up, without a crew besides. There'd been ten or so cases already. Many more and the medics couldn't handle it, others'd have to leave their posts, crazed soldiers'd start killing and it would be a miracle if whatever was left by that time could so much as pilot the ship a solarmile dead ahead. Was he panicking? Very likely. Ricor interrupted his pacing. "COO was right. Just gölz on for the next six days. "And see what research has on the C-class message" With his mind made up, he could use the distraction. |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
(Bridge)
Senior Navigator Johnson flinched. Only a few minutes into his new job, Messman already seemed to have lost his nerve. Still, as long as his orders continued to make sense, there was no need for him to get alarmed. He glared at the Comm-Log. There was a single voice-only message from Research, which indicated that it would take several hours to decode the message. They did, however, have some progress to report. The device appeared to be broadcasting two seperate signals, one of which was considerably more complex than the other. ,,Sir, Research has no significant progress to report.'', he said. ,,However, they have managed to pick up two seperate signals, one of which is more extensive and harder to decode than the other. They want to know which one they should focus on.'' |
Ricor Messman
"Let them sort it out," sighed Ricor, with no intention to oversee every trivial detail of the crew's activities. He could wait four hours to hear it all. Hah. He could wait a week before having any real choices to make now. The man sat down and leaned back in the captain's chair. Now there was a depressing thought.
Messman sat up. "Computer, put me though to the crew," he ordered, waiting for the tone. "Attention crew," the message began as he'd heard others put it many times before, "This is Chief Engineer Ricor Messman. I'm replacing COO Hamilton as acting captain of the TF-Arioch. We're docking in six days as planned, so keep your portpasses ready. Captain out." With that settled, he addressed the others on the bridge. "Now I want your names, some coffee and a crossword. Oh, and tell Miranda Lex she's taking my position. |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
Philbert Sigismund Wolf
"Acknowledged," he replied to Johnson. Philbert glared at his screen. Now that the Senior Navigator had said that he did not want to come curiosity was burning inside him as to why. The logs showed that this was the second time the man asked to have an appointment rescheduled for unspecified emergency reasons. Wolf was just about to make a note about this for the CMO when the loudspeakers turned on and Messman's voice told him about the new situation. Thinking again he decided to let Johnson off the hook and not report this second rescheduling. A change of captains could be considered an emergency. Philbert looked up from his screen and was surprised to see that two people had wondered into sickbay while he had been on the com with the bridge. He rapidly searched his mind for names to associate with the faces. Avery...Corporal Avery, that was the man. But for the life of him he could not remember the woman's name. "Corporal Avery," he called out to the man, "Navigator Johnson has remitted his psychological appointment, therefore if you request you can undergo your examination now." Before waiting for a reply he turned to the woman. "I see you are looking for someone else. I am the only member of the medical staff here, so if you would please wait in the waiting room over there," he said pointing, "while I finish with the corporal." |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
The woman hesitated, then respectfully inclined her head, "Er, actually sir, Professor, I was looking for you. I was hoping to reschedule my appointment in three days time for today. I see you are busy though; perhaps I should come back later?"
She still held his book in her hand. |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
Philbert Sigismund Wolf
Finally someone who addressed him correctly! And he almost gasped as he saw that she had one of his books in her hands. He almost forgot about Corporal Avery for a moment, but then checked himself and his vanity and smiled back at the woman. "I'm remorseful, but Corporal Avery was scheduled for this antemeridian. However as you heard the Senior Navigator can't come, so why don't you come back in about two hours?" |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
"Yes Professor, but I am on duty then." Uytio paused, "Might I convince you to inform my superior before I leave? I do not wish to keep you from the Corporal, Professor, sir, but..."
Shrugging helplessly, she smiled tightly at him. Wolf nodded, and wrote a few lines on his computer. "I'll be expecting you then." With a nod, Uytio flashed another smile at him and turned and left. She returned to her quarters long enough to stow away her book and began her shift... |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
(The Bridge)
It took less than five minutes before the cook dutifully wheeled in the servicetray with the coffee. Jack stared at the spectacle with some amazement. Coffee on the Bridge, this was definately working out. ,,Uh, pardon me..'', he began - but the cook threw him a look that implied that the coffee was either reserved for the ranking officer, or that he still hadn't forgotten about last months 'incident' in the canteen. Rather than press the issue, Jack decided to focus on his work and forwarded the Duty Roster for the Bridge to the terminal of the acting captain. The Bridge Crew was typically made up of about fourteen people, half of whom worked for Operations. There were also the pilots, and the liasons for the various departments. Their main job was sorting out information, as well as translating the techno-babble their supervisors inevitably directed towards the captain from time to time. |
Scott Avery
"Sir...err.. Professor,
You could have taken her before me, it would'nt have been a bother, but now that she has headed off, I reckon yer stuck wit me!" he said with his usual boyish smile. At that point as he was about to walk in, his comlink chimed in his ear, <i> " We seem to have lost ourselves a CMO. He has not been seen since he checked out after his shift in the Medical Section. If found, he is to activate his comm-unit and contact the Bridge ASAP. His living quarters are located on Deck 2: room number 27. -Comm-Liason Cathy o' Hara hmmm </i> Professor Wolf, it would appear there may be an issue. When was the last time you spoke with the CMO, he isnt responding to Command? |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
Philbert Sigismund Wolf
Philbert paused, just as he was about to ask the first question of the psychological checkup. "I saw the CMO this morning as I came in. Didn't speak much, then left." |
Scott Avery
"I saw the CMO this morning as I came in. Didn't speak much, then left."
Hmmm well that isnt good, mayhap we can reset this psych test so I can look into matter's a bit further? It wouldnt be good to have him running amok. |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
The endless sensor-data on the various displays seemed to have an almost hypnotic effect Jacks weary mind. Text and images danced through each other until finally, there were only colors.
,,By feigning ignorance of the truth that is all around us, we condemn ourselves. How can we not see?'', whispered a soft voice in the back of his head. Jack realised he was holding a book. And as he browsed through the pages, he found that all but the last one were blank. 'Thus the offender is punished because he employs "free will," that is to say, because he acted without a reason where he ought to have acted in accordance with reasons. Why did he do this? But it is precisely this question that can no longer even be asked: it was a deed without a "for that reason," without motive, without origin, something purposeless and non-rational', the author concluded. Jack knew it was all wrong. They were being punished for the choices they didn't know they had made. The blissfull ignorance that had served as a shield for so long had turned out to be a death-trap. A moment later, the inkt began to run and the book fell from his hands, through the floor, into the black. The buzz of his comm-unit tore Jack from his slumber. It was a priority message from Research. ,,Yeah?'', he groaned. ,,Sir, we've decoded a part of the first signal. It appears to be an S.O.S. of some kind, but a complex one. As if we're missing part of the information. Definately not your regular military signal. Possibly Copernicus Directorate.'' The scientist sighed. ,,You know, this would actually be easy if the signal wasn't corrupted to its core'', he said. Not feeling particulary social, Jack signed out and forwarded the message to the acting captain. He needed sleep and a strong drink. And preferably not in that specific order. |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
Philbert Sigismund Wolf
"No problem," he replied and then turned back to his notes and data pads. He was determined to make at least some progress on the VS syndrome this morning. With all these people cancelling their checkups...he wondered whether that woman, whose name he still couldn't remember would come or not. Thinking that he should at least know her name, he brought up a list of the ship's crew on his monitors. |
Scott Avery
With a salute and a firm "SIR" Scott did a 180 and headed down the hall towards the CMO's quarters to first check there, if nothing surfaced he would investigate the lab area's and then continue out from there.
|
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
(Scott Avery)
As you enter Deck 2, you encounter a steady stream of off-duty crewmen that are heading towards the Training Room or the Canteen. However, the narrow corridors near the crew-quarters turn out to be nearly abandoned. Not surprisingly, the door to the CMO’s quarters is locked and your calls are met with silence. Either he isn’t here, or is he unwilling or unable to let you in. If you feel you have sufficient cause to enter the room of a senior officer (and are ready to go in), you can radio Security and request an remote-override of the lock on the door. |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
(Sickbay)
The Medical Department was a beacon of sterility on the otherwise rather decreptid and unclean ship. The beds that were lined up along the wall certainly looked more inviting than those in his own quarters, Jack realised as he scanned the room for any sign of doctor Wolf. ,,Ah doctor. Do accept my apologies for the delay’’, he said mildly as the man finally entered the room. ,,If you have some time, I’ll take the psych-test now.’’ He glared at the clock. ,,Don’t take too long though, I have to be back on the Bridge in half an hour.’’ |
Ricor Messman
He thanked Research for their efforts so far before dismissing the message. There wasn't a chance of going back for survivors, and Ricor was glad for that. The last thing he wanted was a bunch of Seedies to mind. He'd heard tell they 'used up' hundreds of human slaves in their experiments. A quest for knowledge was one thing but neither the acting captain, nor, he suspected, his crew, felt torture and murder were an acceptable means. On top of that, soldiers were always itching for a fight.
FCP continent, seven letters, third one U. |
Scott Avery
<i> Hmm career decision time, to force the way in or let it ride </i> "Security, this Corporal Avery, please unlock CMO's quarter doors, there has been a lack of response to questioning and requests from the bridge and I need to gain access to ensure security has not been breached or that CMO has not been harmed. Over..." with that he took a deep breath and waited ready for whatever may be on the other side of that door.
|
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
"<i> <font color=gray> hearing a dry chuckle from the other end of the line. ,,Ok, Scott. But we're sending your ass to the captain if things turn sour. Let us know if you require any assistance.''</font color=gray></i>"
The doors opened swiftly and Scott stepped into the room checking in all open directions not sure what to expect. There is only one single light lit, so it takes him a few seconds to adjust to the low light and notice that there is someone lying face down on the floor. It could be the CMO, but there is no way to know that for certain unless he take s a closer examination. "<i> What is that smell</i>" He pulled his mag light from its place at his belt and turned it on shining it into the dark corners of the room before he went in any further. "Scott to security, I have found a body, entering the room for a closer inspection. There is a foul odor emiting from the room as well" over... |
Re: Dystopia: The Fallen Angels
Philbert Sigismund Wolf
A glance at his computer screen. Still forty minutes left before Uytio Aldara should be coming around. And work on VS can wait. Not many chances of success anyway...somehow Philbert felt that the breakthrough was going to come from a completely unexpected quarter. "Nice of you to have come. Let's get started then. Anything in particular you want to verbalize about? Or shall I just ask the usual questions?" |
Scott Avery
Examing the room as he went in and seeing nothing threatening, Scott slipped on his respirator in case of contaminated air, he knelt down by the body and attempted to check for a pulse and listen for breathing.
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