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-Captain Zane, Commanding Officer, USS FEYNMAN<br>
-Captain Zane, Commanding Officer, USS FEYNMAN<br>
-Commander Horatio Sinclair, Fleet Intelligence Officer, BLUE FLEET<br>
-Commander Horatio Sinclair, Fleet Intelligence Officer, BLUE FLEET<br>
<h3 style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS','Arial'; color: royalblue; font-weight: bold;">USS FEYNMAN: Moving the Rock - Episode II</h3>
<h4 style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS','Arial'; color: royalblue; font-weight: bold;">by
Michael "Mike" Dailey 2-19-1997</h4>
STARDATE: 90219.2120<br>
SCENE: USS NOGURA II<br>
MD: 4.1650<br>
Both squads of security troops gazed beyond the NOGURA II's
viewports, into the bitter, numbing realities of combat. Majestic, and yet
gargantuan when compared to their FEYNMAN. The CHEYENE class starship that
had engaged and pursued the runabout now lay to their port side, dwarfing the
NOGURA II. Sleek in the design of her pearlescent hull, save for the missing starboard
side of the saucer section.
Starfleet officers and non-commissioned officers alike dealt with the
risks and hazards of space. That loss had touched, and wrenched at the hearts
and minds of nearly every trooper, save J.C. Starfleet losses had been overwhelming
recently, especially in SILVER. If this mission didn't have some success, the
BISMARK, PEARSON, and HAWKING could follow as SILVER's casualties mounted.
*Spirits, we've got to help them,* the CSO thought to himself. Swallowing hard, J.C.
tried to suppress the screams of their ghosts in the back of his mind. *I don't remember
a CHEYENE on regular patrol in this sector.* Then, it occurred to J.C. the may not
even been 'fleet, perhaps Maquis or renegades? Grey fleet?
Another shuddering though came to J.C. * If Lt. Jerran were to order his
squads split-up, J.C. would resolutely object, in the log if it came to that.
With just fourteen people total, the odds were already leaning in a direction he did
not favor. Their luck, they would board a troop transport.
Gradually everyone regained their composure, except for SCPO T'boc, who of
course never lost his. Returning to their seats, J.C. called his three NCO's T'boc, Karr,
and Tamarov.
"LT. Jerran will give us the 'go' any minute. As soon as they maneuver into position
and locate a appropriate point of entry for us." He halted as the front cabin door parted
to deposit the FEYNMAN's Counselor, Ens. Landers. Nodding to Loren, J.C. continued on
briefing his NCO's.
"I want a final weapons check. No last minute surprises for us." ordered the CSO.
"Sir," T'boc added, "I recommend a comm check also. In addition to serving a useful
purpose, it will provide a distraction from the waiting period." Everyone wore the
standard hands-free comm headset. Two channels, one for squad-level communications,
the other tied into the NOGURA II. Both scrambled, of course.
Alex, standing a few paces behind SCPO T'Boc, made a strange face as if to say
'I was about to suggest that', but decided to leave the Vulcan NCO alone, for now.
Mr. Karr, the most recent security NCO on the FEYNMAN, remained silent likewise.
"So ordered, Mr. T'boc. Complete all checks in five minutes, then have the troops
stand ready, Alex." A trio of 'aye Sirs trailed them, as they barked out the necessary
orders. J.C. turned his attention back to the inquisitive Counselor.
"What's on your mind, Loren." J.C. checked both channels of his own comm unit, though he
had already done so at least four times.
"Hey, I'm supposed to ask that question." Loren painted a sly smile on his face. In the
few months their friendship had grown, J.C. knew the Counselor was scheming something.
"Need an extra man?" asked Loren, seemingly from out of nowhere.
"With 'Captain Jerran's' approval, sure." J.C. reached over beside his seat,
grabbing his MARK-VII rifle. He held it upright, and tossed it to Landers. "That is,
if you think you can handle one of these." Loren picked the weapon from mid-flight.
"Now you really don't want me to remind you about my last qualification score, do
you 'Sir'?" *Touche,* good one, Loren.
"Mr. T'boc, get the Ensign set up in blacks and gear. He'll be joining us." ordered
J.C.
"Aye, Lt. Allard."
"Loren, how quick can you get rid of your pretty blue uniform," said J.C.
[SNIP]
Darkness. Beyond darkness. Alex and Mr. Karr's squad were beamed into the freighter's
bridge, while J.C. and T'boc's squad with the addition of their versatile CNS were beamed
into Engineering.
J.C. made a quick sweep of the area, grateful for the light mounted upon
his rifle. Chilling coldness of the freighter was evident as he could see their breath
vapors in the light. Eight including himself, all accounted for. Reaching on the side of
his comm set, J.C. keyed the transmit and diagnostic toggles twice in rapid unison.
Jerran would be looking for this signal, which to anyone else would appear as 'space noise'.
Once back aboard the FEYNMAN, he would thank Bat for that little trick he had shared.
Cold, dark, and J.C. covered his mouth, as did a few others. The freighter, with
age in excess of fifty years or more, had evidently not been cleaned or aired out since
it's construction. PO/3 O'Rorke nearly lost his breakfast, but regained himself. A quick
look at Loren told he was not much better shape. Giving the signal to fan out, the group
broke off into pairs. J.C. motioned for Loren to stick with him.
Engineering was dead, in both power and crew, as many bodies, or remnants of
such lay sparsely about here and there. Extensive damage from exploding consoles
and falling structural pieces were the warrantors of death. Of the three freighters
in the convoy, one had succumbed to the battle, and the second had been a victim of it's
own toxic cargo. Not exactly the outcome Captain Zane had planned, but then when
did plans ever develop properly. This one, the lead ship, was the only one left to board.
Briefly startled at Alex Tamarov's voice in his ear, J.C. switched to channel 2.
"Sir, No resistance at all. Actually only three survivors, and none are conscious
or in condition to offer any resistance. They do need medical attention though."
said the ACSO.
"As far as the bridge, 90% destroyed. No power. Perhaps if we had, we could access the
computer, if this junk heap even has one." J.C. agreed, expecting a portion of the hull
to simply fall off any minute.
"Acknowledged. Send two men back to the NOGURA with the wounded, and advance toward
engineering. We'll proceed towards you, and meet." ordered J.C.
"Aye sir, Tamarov out." J.C. motioned for Loren to follow. Through engineering, the
came to an access ladder leading down. It took both men to force the manual override
lever down to release the hatch. Gazing into the eyes of his friend, J.C. held his
own rifle, unaware his knuckles were turning white.
"I'll go down first. Shoot ANYTHING that moves, Ensign." J.C. ordered with a forced
calm. Loren did need to be a telepath or esper to know how J.C. felt, as he shared
the same uneasiness. Loren aimed his rifle-light beam down the hatch ladder, but
revealed nothing but continued blackness of damp darkness. J.C. tuned to back down
the ladder, rifle clutched tightly in his left hand.
Step after cautious and gradual step, J.C. descended. After a dozen or so,
he looked down, and from the powerful beam of Loren's light, could still see nothing
more than the blackness. Looking up, Loren shrugged.
Continuing on, the ability to breath 'good air' was disappearing as he made
his descent. He had climbed down nearly fifteen meters. "Loren, I don't think this
leads anywhere. We may..." but the sentence never concluded. The hand that had
grabbed hold of his ankle in the same instant all color drained from the CSO's face.
Clutching for dear life to the ladder rungs with his right hand, J.C. pivoted and
brought the rifle to bear on more than a dozen pairs of eyes.
"LOREN, HOLD YOUR FIRE", he blurted out, though knew not what forced had allowed
him to think. Shining his light, they saw their faces matched their forms, ragged,
dirty, and probably undernourished.
Submitted,
Mike Dailey
splatter2@qtm.net
<nowiki>********
* NRPG *
********</nowiki>
Hello all. Well, our battle already strayed us a bit from the original plan,
so I (of course) took another little detour. <G> Joseph, enjoy interrogating the
three 'guests' Alex will have beamed over. I'm sure Jerran is as good an inquisitor
as a pilot? Hmmm. (How many light do you see?? ....)
Kevin - Well, you wanted to come along, so here you are. Hope you don't shoot J.C.
accidentally <BG> Develop the dozen+ 'survivors' as you wish... refugees? or
perhaps slave laborers? Also, order my troops about as you wish. You're an officer
and all are NCO's or below.
Team 1 - You guys are quiet??? Melanie, I wondered what Meleah was up too..<G>
FEYNMAN - Talk about surprises from nowhere! I thought she was recaptured and
sent back to some prison - rehab colony???
Cheers All!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *<br>
* Lt., j.g. J.C.M. Allard CSO - USS FEYNMAN Alt.Starfleet.RPG          *<br>
* Lt. (Dr.) D'doj Zzawj Ckorji - OPS/20 - USS E. BLACKWELL SILVER FLEET *<br>
* Lcdr. Jordon Kabreigny CNS - USS BURKE GREEN FLEET                    *<br>
* Lcdr. Ion Steiner L.C. - SFDOC TEAM ALPHA-1 SFDOC                    *<br>
* Codr. Johan Baurr - COMSFDOC "All I ask is a tall ship..."            *<br>
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *<br>