USS Feynman MAR 1997

---

Home | New Players | Join Star Fleet | Star Fleet Library
USS Ranger | USS Yorktown | USS Circe ( Starbase Serenity) | Free Threads

---

U.S.S. FEYNMAN NCC-66000
March 1997 Posts

TOTAL MARCH 1997 POSTS: *TBD*

• USS FEYNMAN Main Page

• Stardate Keys

GRAND TOTAL POSTS: 720

Posts By Each Year

• 1996 Posts - 642 Posts
  
• 1997 Posts - 78 (Jan-Mar) Posts
  
• 1998 Posts - TBD Posts
  
• 1999 Posts - TBD Posts
  

---

USS FEYNMAN: Strength and Mortality

by Kristen Gant 3-7-1997

Stardate: 90307.1356
Scene: Sickbay
MD: 5.0300

The Trader-Monk had regained its feet, and dashed towards Dee's scent. Suddenly, silently, it stumbled, and crashed to the floor before it reached its frozen quarry. Glin'kharr smiled wryly. "Gotcha," he whispered. Then came the pain. He closed his eye and gritted his teeth.

Krysa watched almost in slow motion the events when led to the demise of the FEYNMAN's CMO. The echo of Dee's scream at the sight of the creature still rumbled in her ears even as the bodies of both Trader-monk and Kar'llian stopped moving.

Krysa rushed over to where the doctor had fallen, her heart beating loudly in her chest as she stepped out of the way of the creature. Dee stood mortified still watching it, as though she were afraid it would yet stand and attack once again.

"Doctor? Doctor??" Krysa said, though she was sure there would be no response. "Security to sickbay, NOW!!!" Even as she spoke a couple of med tech's ran in along with Dr. T'del.

"What happened?" The Vulcan asked with studied calmness.

"I'm not completely sure. It happened so fast, and we came in .. it was almost over by then." Krysa said, looking up at her with sad eyes.

T'del nodded and knelt down, her tricorder poised over the downed CMO. Krysa pulled out her phaser and pointed it at Dee. "Haven't you done enough? Why did you come back?" Dee looked at her, but Krysa was pretty sure she wasn't seeing her. Most likely anything she had to say now would go unheard. She sighed and tapped her commbadge. The Captain had to be told.

MD: 5.0315

As the Dee was led away Zane turned back to face Glin'kharr. He moved a few steps forward and then dropped to one knee beside him "Oh doctor....."

Krysa watched as they led the fake Ensign away, and then turned to see Zane drop to one knee. She felt his pain and walked over to him, crouching down next to him and putting a hand on his shoulder.

T'del looked up from her tricorder. Even with her non-emotional heritage, T'del's eyes were somber. "There is nothing we can do, sir."

Zane nodded silently, and Krysa could see his distress easily. She stood pulling on his arm, "Come on." He looked at her briefly, then stood, following her gentle lead.

She led him into Glin'kharr's office, where her hand fell away from his arm. The tall captain leaned back against the wall heavily. "This isn't supposed to happen," he said quietly.

"I know," she agreed, watching his dark eyes.

"Thanks for pulling me out of there before.." he began, but didn't seem able to finish.

She nodded, "I know how you need to be strong in front of the crew .. but to be honest .. I have an ulterior motive."

He looked up at her questioningly. She met his gaze and tears started to form in her eyes, "I needed a hug."

They looked at each other sadly for a moment, then Zane held out his arms and Krysa stepped into them and they grieved for their fallen crewmate. It was always sad to lose a fellow officer, even to happy events such as promotions .. but it was devastating to lose them forever in death. Not only was it the loss of friend and associate, but also it was a reminder of their own mortality. Something few liked to be reminded of.

For Krysa, Glin'kharr's death was only one more crime on Dee's head. And this time she would have to pay.

Regards,
Lt. Commander Krysa Jenn
Ops/2O, USS FEYNMAN

• • • 
      

NRPG: Okay, I took a few liberties with Zane, hope you don't mind, Andy.

Kristen
--
Kristen & Scott Gant
http://homepage.interaccess.com/~sgant/gant.htm

USS FEYNMAN: Time To Go

by Kevin Thigpen 3-10-1997

Stardate: 90310.1832
Scene: Xanthandi Supply Station, docking bay 3
MD: 5.1340

The undercover Ensign Loren Landers made his way to his shuttle with the station's first officer Naril closely behind.

The station master, who insisted on being referred to as only 'The Master', was difficult to bargain with. Fortunately those late nights at the academy playing poker had been worth it.

Loren had managed to keep an absolutely straight face when the Master had threatened to seize his cargo and outright kill him. Threatening the Master and his station with a thermonuclear detonator keyed into his vital signs had been a long shot, but one worth trying.

Fortunately, he'd bought it. Now all he had to do was oversee the installation of a few of the packs into the station's systems and then the rest would be history. Of course, this was only true provided nothing went wrong and the rest of the team kept a low profile outside the station.

Plans never go as planned though. Loren was soon to prove this theory true.

The doors to the shuttlebay closed behind Loren and Naril.

"I will retrieve the packs and then you can be on your way Mr. Darrian," said Maril.

The bay itself was pretty cluttered. Loren's shuttle rested off in one corner. Standing next to it was another Xanthandi soldier carrying his payment, in pressed latinum bars.

"Trothel has your payment, now give us the packs," spat Naril as the two stepped up to the loading ramp of Loren's shuttle.

Keying in the appropriate sequence and then placing his hand on his neck (more to enhance the effect of the pre-supposed thermonuclear device) Loren opened his shuttle.

In a small case directly in front of the door sat the crate of bio-neural gel packs.

"Get them," growled Naril to his companion Trothel. "Now, I believe you and I have some unfinished business Mr. Darrian."

Loren could sense the hostility coming from Naril and anticipated his next move.

The Xanthandi's sidearm came up and a beam of high energy flashed out from its muzzle.

Throwing himself to the floor seconds before the flash of energy, Loren barely managed to avoid instantaneous death. The beam tore past him into his open shuttle hitting the control panel. Sparks flew, but that at the moment was the least of Loren's worries.

The Xanthandi had searched and removed Loren's weapons prior to coming on the station. *Damn efficiently too,* he reminiscenced. Now, he was facing two fully armed Xanthandi who were hell bent on making him as dead as possible. It really couldn't get much worse.

"I know you lied to the 'Master'. You see, I'm no fool. I've been looking forward to killing one of your kind. Do beings of your race scream when they die? I'll make sure yours is especially painful for I do so love hearing people scream."

All during his tirade, Naril silently moved among the crates in the room edging closer and closer to Loren's last position.

Laying on the hard plexifloor, Loren ripped a few strips of cloth from his trousers and placed them hard on his wounded arm. His instincts had been right but not fast enough to save him from getting scraped by Naril's shot. *At least I'm not dead* he thought.

Turning his attention back to his situation, Loren's survival instincts kicked in. *Two on one. No weapons, but do have the element of surprise. They don't expect a fully trained Starfleet officer.*

Breathing deeply but silently, Loren gathered his thoughts and made his move.

Darting across some open space, Loren drew the fire of Trothel who also had taken up a position behind some crates. Loren expected this and took the last few centimeters to the cargo bay's control panel by diving headfirst.

Energy blasts stitched lines in the floor behind him, but that didn't matter. His hand slapped the control panel, finding just what he needed...the emergency decompression sequence.

Quickly he keyed in what he thought was the appropriate code, bracing himself expectantly. With the last keypunch he took a deep breath...

Nothing happened.

"Did you really think it'd be that easy?" came a voice behind him.

Naril stepped into view as Loren turned to face him.

"Now, it's time to see how you scream."

Naril threw his weapon to the floor as he charged Loren.

Loren sidestepped the man's rush and placed his hands on the man's collar. Using his forward momentum, Loren threw the man for all he was worth directly into the cargo bay's control panel.

The force of the Xanthandi's charge was so great that the stem connecting the panel to the bay's floor gave way as the entire control panel tipped over with Naril's head embedded in it.

Without missing a step, Loren grabbed Naril's weapon and trained it on the stunned Xanthandi named Trothel who had stepped out from behind hiding to see his commander die. He simply stared open mouthed at the scene.

Naril's limp form sticking head first into an up ended control panel and Loren with a weapon trained directly on him.

"Get out of here now!" yelled Loren, "or you die."

The man hesitated for a moment. Loren felt the same sensations he had felt moments ago, before Naril had tried to shoot him in the back.

Loren didn't hesitate. He shot and vaporized the Xanthandi where he stood.

What had to be done next, Loren wasn't looking forward to, but he knew it had to be done.

Retrieving the special interface Glin'kharr had made for use with the nanites, Loren made his way to one of the wall circuit panels in the bay.

Opening it and also cutting open one of the bio-neural gel packs, Loren spoke to the nanites and Dr. Pasteur one last time.

"Good luck, my friends. Do as much damage as you can."

["IT'S ABOUT TIME YOU GOT US OUT OF THOSE DAMN BAGS. STICK US IN A TUBE, STICK US IN A BAG. DON'T YOU EVER BOTHER TO CONSIDER WHAT WE THINK."]

"Of course I do Dr. Pasteur but I really don't have time now. My cover's been blown and if I don't get out soon..."

["OF COURSE HUMANOID LANDERS. GO. WE WILL TAKE CARE OF THE SITUATION FROM HERE."]

"Dr. Pasteur, thanks again. Your sacrifice.."

["YEA, YEA, YEA, THEY'LL BUILD A STATUE OR SOME OTHER USELESS COMMEMORATION FOR US. JUST GO...ALSO TELL GLIN'KHARR, I'LL SEE HIM WHEN WE GET BACK."]

"Understood."

Loren tipped the contents of the pack into the open wall panel and ran for his shuttle.

After repeating the same procedure with the other gel packs, Loren preped his shuttle for take off. Naril's shot had destroyed the weapon controls system, but the shuttle still could fly.

Hoping Naril's shot didn't do any other damage, Loren powered up his shuttle's systems and guided it through the blue glow of the bay's force field and into open space.

Respectfully submitted, Kevin Thigpen

[NRPG: Okay, the nanites are in place on the station and Loren is running for his life. Hope you guys aren't too busy to pick up a counselor turned trader. Also, I hope the time is alright. I guess Jerran looked at the chrono timer lots of times during the HARBINGER's evasion of the REVENGE.]

• * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
  

Ens. Loren Landers *
USS FEYNMAN CNS *

• *
  

Commander Kweee Hwichk *
SFDIPTF XO *

• *
  

Lt. Conrad Robicheaux (Ro'bo'sho) *
SFDIPTF Cultural Attache *

• * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
  

USS FEYNMAN: Catch Up

by Andrew Catterick 3-11-1997

SD: 90311.1400
MD: 5.0340
Scene: Bridge

Chief T'meq at tactical spoke up. "One of the fighters is gaining on us. It will be within firing range in ten seconds."

"Full power on aft shields. Captain to the bridge. Helm, evasive maneuvers." The Ensign's fingers were flying at OPS, and the FEYNMAN tilted to one side as the fighter flew past underneath the hull, firing full phasers at the same time.

The ship rocked as Zane stepped onto the bridge. "Damage report."

"Direct hit on aft shields. No damage," reported T'meq.

Zane took up his seat, as Krysa, who had followed him onto the bridge, took hers. "Where are the fighters now?"

"One remained aft, one is forward of the ship. The third has been,destroyed."

Scene: Cockpit, Lead Craft

Flight Lieutenant Gerach screamed out in rage as his craft shook from the turbulence triggered by the explosion of his port wingman. The other, now directly behind the Federation destroyer turned on its tail and began to run. Gerach cursed the young fool but deep within him, in the last small bit of free thought that had not succumbed to his anger understood. It was a useless fight and he knew he would die if he did not run. It didn't matter. He would kill as many as he could. With a surreal calm he spun his craft around and opened fire.

Scene: Bridge, USS FEYNMAN

Zane watched as the small fighter spun around and charged his ship. It was an act of desperation but one that could prove to be more than just a nuisance. "Divert 60% power from aft shields forward. Lock on to fighter." He paused and watched the small vessel charge down upon the FEYNMAN, its dual cannons firing wildly. He would give him one chance. The ship began to buck with the impact of the attack. "Damage?"

"Shields holding. Impact to primary hull, deck one in 3 seconds." The TAC calmly announced.

Zane frowned. What a waste. "Fire."

Raw energy ran down the discharge conduits along both sides of the primary hull. They joined near the center and lanced out at the kamikaze. In less then a second it was over.

"Status of the third craft?"

"Leaving sensor range now."

Zane nodded at the answer. At least one of them had understood the odds.

____________________________________________

MD: 5.0630
Scene: 10 Forward.

The pre-shift breakfast crowd was not its normal lively environment. Instead the crew sat in a quiet shock. A few spoke in whispers but most stared out into space or down on their meals. Zane spotted Krysa over at her usual corner table. After the excitement of the red alert an hour earlier she had decided against returning to her quarters for less than an hour of sleep. Besides, with all that had happened sleep had alluded her. Reaching the table Zane dropped down into one of the comfortable seats. Seconds later Bat had arrived with his usual morning meal.

He watched her push some food around her plate with her fork. "We're on our way back to our original position. Barring any more excitement we should be there by 1100 hours. Hopefully we'll be able to find some sign of Jerran and his team. We've been out of contact much to long.

"And what about the other away team?" Bat demanded.

"They'll be alright. I'm sure by now they've come up with something interesting. And if not they've probably moved on to SV107."

"hmmmpf." With that he stormed back to the bar.

Krysa looked up from her plate. "He's taking the doctors death very hard."

"We all are." Zane answered looking out into the nebula. "Still, two peas in a pod."

Despite her mood she smiled. "Bat liked nothing better than to sit an complain with the good doctor. I think they used to see who could snarl the longest."

"We all have our memories. We just have to hang on to them. As Commander Koreth might say, if Glin'kharr had to die he was lucky enough to die well."

Krysa just shrugged. She never understood this warrior type attitude that some of her fellow officers, Zane included, believed in. To die was to die, there was nothing good about it.

"What about Dee?"

Zane leaned back in chair and sipped at his coffee. Dee had been nothing but trouble since she set foot on FEYNMAN. It was too bad, he mused, that she had not become caught-up in the struggle in sickbay. "I'd like nothing better that to strand her somewhere in this Nebula. I'm sure I wouldn't have too much trouble convincing Fleet as to the necessity of it. But, its not worth the hassle that it will entail. And knowing Dee she'd find some where to escape. So I guess the only real option is to turn over to SILVER security. ZINDERNEUF due to commence operations soon. Rumour has it that its prison is going to be for the hard cases only. And a place full of psychotic criminals who can't be rehabilitated sounds just about right for Dee."

"I hope so. Although I wouldn't be surprised if she ended up running the place."

Zane considered the idea for a few moments before nodding. "Well that will be someone else's problem."

__________________________________________

MD: 5.1500
Scene: Bridge

"Captain's log, supplemental. We have been at our original patrol station for just short of four hours with no sign of Lt. Jerran's team and I am worried. On our return course we diverted long enough to pass by the Husnock moon which CDR Maril's team had been investigating. It had been abandoned but we did pick up a small message buoy that had been left behind. It seems that the base had failed to meet with the parameters Admiral Nicholas had given us. The team has since moved on to ST107 and we have received a coded transmission from Maril letting us know that they have arrived safely.

FEYNMAN is now heading in the general vicinity of the what Lt. Jerran had pinpointed as a prime location for a Xanthandi base. It is my hope that we meet up with them soon.

End Log.

<<<NRPG>>>

Just playing a little catch up.

Jerran's team. We are still 2-3 hours behind you so I'm figuring by the time we get there you guys will be in the middle of your escape from the base. Assuming you manage to retrieve Allard et al with that CONSTITUTION heading your way;)

Maril's team: So how is ST107 looking?

Jason:???

Respectfully,
-Captain Zane, Commanding Officer, USS FEYNMAN
-Commander Horatio Sinclair, Fleet Intelligence Officer, BLUE FLEET

USS FEYNMAN: Tie-In Post

by Kevin Thigpen 3-12-1997

Stardate: 90312.1508
Scene: Xanthandi supply depot
MD: 5.0730-5.0830

[NRPG: Begin Mike's Post]

Rounding back the way they came, shock stopped them as they faced a group of Xanthandi, equal in size, and from the initial look, as well armed. J.C. and the NCO's immediately dropped to the station deck and squeezed off rapid rounds at the Xanthandi patrol. Reacting quicker, the FEYNMAN and Kzin people were able to drop a few of the aliens before they fell back for cover. J.C. roared to his ACSO,

"Alex, get us out of here." Tamarov slapped his badge, a bit harder than usual.
--------------------------------------------------

[NRPG: Begin my post]

Loren felt the familiar tug of the transporter beam and something else. The tug wasn't like the other times he had transported. This one was different. He realized how different when the world around him went a white-gray and then returned to the way it had been.

He wasn't on the HARBINGER. He wasn't where he had been before. He recognized the place, for it was right outside docking bay three, where his shuttle landed. Looking around he saw none of the security detail that had come to rescue him.

Slowly, he realized that something went wrong with the transport, probably at the source. Somehow he had been beamed to another part of the station.

Loren knew he still needed to find out what happened to the rest of the detail. If they were in trouble it was more than likely going to be up to him to get them out of whatever trouble they were in.

----------------------------------------
[NRPG: More of Mike's post]
[SNIP Scene]

As soon as they picked off a Xanthandi merc, another seemed to take his place, then another. Seconds that seemed as hours elapsed. The Kzin was an excellent shot, and rarely did his shots not find their mark. T'boc stopped firing, probably to change the charge in his rifle. More minutes of time.

"T'boc, what are you..." J.C. started to turn to face the Vulcan squad commander. The business end of a double-barreled Xanthandi Ravanger rifle nudged him sharply in his cheek. T'boc was relieved of his rifle, and had two mercs' weapons aimed at his own head, with Tul'ru in the same situation.

• Seven of them, three of us. Not good.* J.C. moved to upright himself,

but the barrel of the Ravenger in his abdomen changed his mind for him.

Behind the group, two Xanthandi stood, officers by the looks of them. The taller one spoke to the ones gurading the FEYNMAN team, "Fry them here!, then clean up the deck!" ordered the pompous Xanthandi.

"NO!" The shorter, and older one countermanded, thankfully. "I have some questions for them." He motioned for the guards to allow Tul'ru and J.C. to stand. They were 'helped' up ungraciously.

"Solor!" the first looked at his companion in disbelief, "We cannot! Our orders..." but stopped. The older one, Solor had drawn his sidearm, and applied it to the side of the younger one's head.

"Lendon, these are MY orders." Solor spoke in such a nonchalant, placid tone, one would think he was discussing the weather. "I suggest you rethink which orders you wish to follow." Lendon opened his mouth to reply, but wisely chose to shut it as directed. Solor walked over to face Tul'ru. Two guards directed their weapons at each of the team's members.

"Ah. More Tukhba for the factories. " Tul'ru's growl was evident at the Xanthandi curse, who ignored the Kzin. Lendon behind him, Solor faced T'boc.

"Why were you chasing the trader Darrien. And where did you take him!?" asked Solor.

"We've been chasing his for a week now. He sold us some...WHUMP!" J.C.'s explanation was cut short by the butt of a Ravanger impacting the side of his head. J.C. actually giggled, *Silly Xanthandi. Why are you making it dark. We can still find you* as the CSO met the floor and darkness. Solor casually glanced at the fallen CSO,

"I didn't ask you, and from your tone, I don't believe you regardless." Wheeling to Lendon, Solor ordered,

"Escort these two to the Master's office. I'll question them there" He turned to leave, but paused and indicated to J.C.,

"pick that one up and bring him. ALIVE!" Solor glared at Lendon. "If he is not, you shall join him..." ----------------------------------

[NRPG: More my post]

Solor and the rest of the detail set off in the opposite direction as Lendon turned to carry out his 'new' orders.

Lendon reluctantly but obediently grabbed J.C. and pulled the unconscious man to his feet and carried him into the hallway. Dragging the bedraggled man through the corridor, rather roughly, Lendon made his way to the Master's office.

Grimacing he recalled how ruthless the Master and Solor were. Mercy was something long since forgotten for the men, or something never even learned. Lendon, thought that the man he was dragging was about to learn what a bad day really was.

Several meters down the corridor and rounding a corner he came face to face with the trader Darrian.

With a surprised look, "We thought the boarders had captured you. It would be a shame for you to miss conversing with the Master. He was so looking forward to conducting business with you." Lendon finished his last sentence with an insidious sneer plastered on his face.

"Lendon," whom Loren now Darrien had had the displeasure of meeting early that morning, "you speak as if this would have been a stroke of good fortune."

"Maybe," more of the sneer.

"Well, I'll tell you this much," Loren moved right up to the Xanthandi's face, "I think you're a fool."

Before, the man had time to react, Loren brought his knee up into the man's crotch. A pained look crossed his face before he crumpled onto the floor.

• Thank god, the Xanthandi aren't too alien* thought Loren as he realized

that in a bona fide fight he couldn't have held his own against the man he just had incapacitated.

A swift kick at the Xanthandi's head ensured that he would not be moving for a while.

Next, removing J.C.'s restraints and placing them on Lendon, Loren bundled the Xanthandi into a nearby access panel where no one was likely to look for some time. A strip of cloth torn from the Xanthandi's trousers would ensure that his yells for help would go unheeded.

Propping J.C. up against the wall, Loren next set about to revive his friend and crewmate. It took only moments for the CSO to wake up with a rousing start.

"Uhhh...how long have I been out," groggily J.C. asked rubbing his head.

"Not too long fortunately."

"They have T'boc and the Kzin," J.C. said as his mental faculties began to come up to par.

"They're probably being taken to be questioned by the Master. I can get us there, but it'll be up to you to get them out. I can't blow my cover just yet."

"Alright, let's get going," J.C. added starting to stand shakily.

Respectfully submitted,
Kevin Thigpen

[NRPG: Well, here is the patch post Mike. I leave the rescue of the other crewmates up to you. This is kind of a backpost occurring from about 0730 to 0830. In my post at about 1340 Loren escapes from the station and the nanites trash it. So Mike, we have LOTS of free time to have fun on the station (from 0830 to 1300 at least). We just can't blow Loren's cover though to remain consistent. After the 'fun' on the station is over we can get back to Joseph's last post where we head to rendezvous with the FEYNMAN.]

• * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
  

Ens. Loren Landers *
USS FEYNMAN CNS *

• *
  

Commander Kweee Hwichk *
SFDIPTF XO *

• *
  

Lt. Conrad Robicheaux (Ro'bo'sho) *
SFDIPTF Cultural Attache *

• * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
  

USS FEYNMAN: Cavalry

by Andrew Catterick 3-12-1997

SD: 90312
Scene: ST-107

In the blackness a screen flickered to life. A small amber cursor flashed patiently sending eerie shadows across walls that had remained dark for almost 50 years. Queries were sent out to the farthest reaches of the installation and were returned in an instant. Life began to swell. A multitude of characters and images flashed across the screen as it sought out the element that had triggered its attention.

In a millisecond the answer was relayed from the passive sensors: small craft had entered the system. It 'thought' back those fifty years to a time when the base had been inhabited by its masters. To the time when suddenly they were gone. No warning, just gone. It had continued with its duties but soon its adaptive functions deduced that the masters might not be returning. No matter. It could wait.

Now someone approached. It's subroutines ran through options for action. Its maintenance programming sought to reactivate the base and open the docking bay doors. As was normal procedure all incoming craft would be 'captured' by a tractor beam and guided safely into land. This directive was immediately overridden by the defensive systems. The masters had left. 'Reason: Unknown' pulsated in the middle of the now blank screen. It quickly shifted to 'Origins: Unknown' as the passive sensors gathered more information on the approaching craft. It was decided more information was needed before a decision could be made. An alert was sent out to all security functions to monitor the newcomers. As the systems began to once again shut down to quietly observe the visitors it decided it would risk one brief transmission. A small dish at the center of the base twisted itself towards the planet below.

______________________________________

MD: 5.1400
Scene: Bridge

"Captain, we're receiving some interesting information from probe number 4."

Zane spun around in his seat. Finally something. "Explain."

"The readings are being distorted by the nebula but it appears to be massive energy surges and discharges bearing 342 mark 8. It looks to be several ships. And I think the energy charges maybe weapons fire."

"Helm plot an intercept course, full impulse." Zane ordered before hitting the intercom contact on his armrest. "Red Alert, all hands to battlestations. I repeat, all hands to battle stations."

<<<NRPG>>>

Just a short one to a) throw Max and crew a little fun. Think HAL-9000;) b) catch us up with Jerran and company.

To keep things in the timeline the FEYNMAN will be arriving after the teams are all back onboard with Jerran and are running from the CONSTITUTION that is powering up.

Kevin: Nice bridge!

Jason: Thanks for the map of the base. Its really helpful being able to see something!

Respectfully,
Andy

-Captain Zane, Commanding Officer, USS FEYNMAN
-Commander Horatio Sinclair, Fleet Intelligence Officer, BLUE FLEET

USS FEYNMAN: Arrival, Part 2

by Melanie Pocknall 3-15-1997

MD: 5.0855
In orbit around ST-107

>"Tarrant to Cousteau"
>
><Cousteau here, we've completed our initial scans. We've detected no
>power readings or life signs.>
>
>"Agreed Cousteau. I suggest we dock in one of those three bays
>and begin our search."
>
><"I concur"> announced Meleah. Maril quickly added, <All shuttles,
>follow us in.>

SCENE: Back on the 'Cousteau'

Meleah entered the co-ordinates that Tarrant sent over, and then engaged the impulse engines. The entire crew was silent as they flew up to the large structure. Whether it was in awe or fear that if they spoke, Meleah would fly them into the shields, no-one would admit.

As they flew up to the shields, everyone held their breath. Everyone except Meleah, that is. She was impressed at the sight of the structure but considered the practice of holding one's breath to be detrimental to one's health. Therefore, she chose just to remain silent as the shields grew larger until they were filling the whole screen.

Meleah made a course adjustment, and the shuttle veered slightly to go behind the shield. There was no hole visible in the building, just solid walls. One of the crew pointed at the wall and commented on the lack of a parking space, to which Meleah calmly replied, "I believe Cmdr Koreth will take care of that."

Just after she had spoken, a hole appeared in the side of the building. Meleah assumed that Tarrant had opened the hole with his thoughts, although quite how he did that she didn't know but resolved to ask him later.

Without warning, three tractor beams emerged from various points along the outside wall. Each beam latched on to one of the ships and started pulling them towards the docking bays.

Meleah had almost moved to go to full reverse when Maril stated not to. "Let it take us in. Cmdr Koreth, did you trigger this?"

Tarrant's voice came back. [I didn't do anything. Either it's programmed to bring visitors in or someone's there waiting for us.]

"I don't like either of those," muttered Jazz from her seat. Maril chose to ignore the comment, concentrating on giving Tarrant some orders. Meleah noted the comment but decided to save the comment for analysis at a more convenient time.

The shuttles moved towards, then into, the base. The bay, although bare, was lit up, as if someone knew they were coming, and decided to be helpful. As the crews stepped out of the shuttles, Koreth commented, "I don't like this. It seems like someone, or something, knows we're here."

"Could it just be automated?" Maril asked.

"Considering that we do not yet fully understand Husnock technology, anything is possible. And as I am not picking up any life signs," she added, looking at her tricorder which was busily picking up readings, "which would seem to indicate that the tractor beams were activated by our approach."

"We'd better split up. Cmdr, Lt, choose a team to go with you. We need to find out just what this base was used for."

"Aye, sir," the two officers said at the same time. Meleah went to pick out a group of scientists and engineers, and then headed towards the nearest wall. "We need to find a transporter. There may be one along this wall."

The team scanned the wall, and it was Chief Pomeroy who accidently found the transporter. The team went through the transporter, Meleah first, to find out what the last setting was.

---

NRPG:

Well, we're in. I'll let you know later in the week where Meleah ended up :)

And, congratulations Andy, on the TFZ CO job!

Sincerely yours, Lt Meleah, CSciO, USS FEYNMAN, Silver Fleet.

Melanie.

USS FEYNMAN: A Terrible Thing To Waste A Mind...

by Michael "Mike" Dailey 3-16-1997

SD: 90316.1500
MD: 5.0815-5.1130
Scene: Xanthandi Supply Outpost
Station 'Masters' office

The Master regarded the Kzin and Vulcan unmoving before his desk. Disgusted by the presence of the cream-coloured Kzin named Thul'ru, he shot a sneer towards Solor for bringing that thukbah into his office. The older Xanthandi officer was apparently not accustomed to such rebukes, verbal or otherwise. *I'll deal with you later, old one,* thought the Master.

As for the prisoners, the Kzin would be just one more to toil in the factories for the few days until their kind perished from deprivation of food or water. The Vulcan, however, would perhaps prove beneficial onboard one of their ships of the line. Starfleets' wretched SILVER had caused many shortages lately, in manpower especially. Damn, them. But first some questions. The Master indicated to the four sentries who had escorted Thul'ru and T'boc into the office,

"Leave us. Return to your posts." Hesitation for a few seconds was all the Master would tolerate. "Now!" The spun towards the door before the Master finished his one word command. A look cast at Solor bid him to do the same. The Xanthandi officer bowed slightly in salute, and left.

Totally alone with the unrestrained prisoners, the Master reached underneath his desk. As either a bold statement of the Master's self-assuredness, or in direct challenge, he picked up his Ravanger rifle and lay it onto his desk in plain sight (and each) T'boc and Thul'ru. In a placid tone as if discussing current events with an old friend, the Master looked to T'boc, utterly disregarding Thul'ru.

"Now, enlighten me why you were chasing the trader Darrien?" he inquired. T'boc, staring at some point beyond the Master, gradually closed his eyes. "Vulcan, heed this one and only warning. I am in no mood and have no desire to play games..."

"We will say nothing to Kovoka like you!" Growled Thul'ru. Infuriated, the Master spun in his chair to Thul'ru.

"Be silent, thukbah!" he roared. He lay a hand on his Ravanger, but regained his composure. "I see you do not fear death. You shall make a fine carpet to some waste-extraction room." As they traded insults, the Master became aware he was perspiring, realizing that it had grown quite warm in the office. *I didn't thing I had become this worked up,* he thought. Thul'ru turned to T'boc, who still remained silent throughout their verbal exchange. Eyes still closed, and Thul'ru's acute hearing picked up very slow breathing.

"I really don't care if you answer me or not, for I will get the information I need from your companions when we apprehend them." said the Master, "and it will only be a matter of time until we do," he added, full of himself and his overflowing self-confidence.

Thul'ru knew continuing to badger the station Master was courting death, but he no longer cared. The Master's hand dropped from the rifle, and Thul'ru slightly flinched, expecting his demise to come. Instead, the Master dropped back into his chair, eyes bulging wide open, as if in horror or pain beyond conception. His mouth agape, but uttered no sounds save a few short gasps.

Looking closer, Thul'ru saw a single tear roll it's way down the Maters' cheek. The glimpse of Thul'ru's face was the last sight the Master saw before the Scepter came to claim him.

Beside Thul'ru, T'boc exhaled a long breath, regarded the Master, who now was slumped over the back of the chair lifeless. Quietly, T'boc muttered to Thul'ru, "It is done. But I ask that you do not discuss what has happened." Thul'ru took an involuntary step back, understanding what had happened. He had heard stories about Vulcan mysticism, and their tales of those who mastered the mind disciplines.

"T'boc, I am once again grateful to you and your crewmates." said the Kzin. Still shaken somewhat, even for a Kzin warrior.

[SNIP]

"Are you sure this is the right way, DARRIEN?" asked J.C. Feeling lightly uncomfortable at their new farce. Walking unarmed in the lead, Loren guided them from the rear to the Master's office, occasionally poking and prodding his 'prisoner' in the back with his own rifle.

• I'll get you later, Loren.*

"I'm sure. Just shut-up and let me do the talking." said the Counselor. J.C. turned and shot him a stern glance, but then eased up. Rank had dissolved between the two as they had come to see life and death together in the recent months.

Reaching the doors, J.C. and Loren paused while Darrien touched the door page. Nothing happened, frowning, Loren tried a second time. The doors opened to them, showing T'boc with a rifle aimed at them, and Thul'ru standing ready to pounce. The Master lay motionless in his chair, presumable dead.

"What happened," both asked in chorus. Thul'ru eased his posture. T'boc came to attention, and spoke in almost a whisper.

"Sirs, as a former Kolinahru Master, I regret my actions. I ask that we not discuss it further." J.C.'s mouth dropped in shock. Recalling bits of T'boc's service record in his mind, J.C. remembered he had gone through the standard training of all Vulcans, but didn't remember anything about the advanced disciplines. And T'boc was still considered a youth at 65, barely old enough to be a Master."

"O.K., let's get out of here..." said the CSO.

Submitted,
Mike Dailey
splatter2@qtm.net

• NRPG *

K.T. - Take it from here... there's time to wrap this up, then us be back on our ships before 1340.

RE: Hal... I liked 2010 better than 2001. IMHO.

Cheers! Mike D.

+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+ = Lt., j.g. J.C.M. Allard CSO USS FEYNMAN Alt.Starfleet.RPG = + Lt. [Dr.] D'doj Zzawj Ckorji - UNASSIGNED SILVER FLEET + = Lcdr. Jordon Kabreigny CNS USS BURKE GREEN FLEET = + Lcdr. Ion Steiner L.C. SFDITF TEAM ALPHA-1 SFDITF + = Capt. Johan Bauer COMSFDITF "All I ask is a tall ship..." = +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+