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Old November 11 2012, 11:55 PM   #63
DarKush
Rear Admiral
 
Re: UT: Refugee Crisis/Dark Territory-"Stealing Fire"

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USS Erickson
Main Bridge

Captain Redfeather swept onto the bridge from her ready room. She glanced at the main viewer before turning to her first officer. Commander Donar was already out of his seat. The large man had a grim expression on his face.

“Status report Mr. Donar,” she curtly requested, standing in front of her seat. The larger Angosian hovered over his.

“Sensors have detected a massive increase in polaric ion radiation,” he said, turning slightly in the direction of the science console on the upper deck of the bridge. Lt. Jilicia rattled off the location. The Boslic woman took a quick breath before adding, “Scans are also detecting the emergence of several subspace ruptures emanating near the Calderan Corridor.”

The captain’s stomach tightened. She knew there could have only been one thing that would cause such a massive spike in polaric ions or those spatial ruptures. She eyed her XO. The man’s lips drew into a thin line, and his dark eyes alit like burning coals.

She nodded at him, reluctant soldier to bred one. And then she turned around to gaze at the starscape streaking past them. Out there somewhere, beyond the stars, was the polaric ion regulator and a hell that it had just created. And they were galloping headlong into it.

“Do we know the status of the corridor?” She asked. The Boslic looked down at her console before answering, her features screwed in displeasure. It was all the answer she needed to know.

But the dutiful young woman answered anyway, “No sir. There is just too much radiation, the polaric ions in addition to the normal radiation stew to get definite readings.”

“Alter our course,” Redfeather ordered the Aurelian flight controller. For once, she glad it wasn’t Tim at the helm. He would surely have tried to leaven the moment with a joke, and the serious import of what was about to happen didn’t need any inadequate attempts at levity. The gravity of it needed to be appreciated and the calm of the storm needed to be reverential. Because soon everything, and everyone aboard Erickson would change, and Wyoma couldn’t promise for the better.

“Red alert,” she added, “and modulate our shields to account for intense polaric ion radiation.”

The captain took her chair. Commander Donar sat down seconds afterward. She leaned over to him and lowered her voice. “Do you think the corridor was damaged?”

“Impossible to say,” He quietly replied, “However with the polaric ion eruption being so close to it, as well as the ruptures…”

The captain wistfully shook her head, “One of the great galactic wonders, possibly destroyed, an avenue of exploration perhaps closed forever.” She paused, her gaze and tone becoming mournful, “and if the Calderan Corridor itself couldn’t withstand…”

She didn’t finish, but she could tell that Donar got her meaning. She was a bit taken aback that his expression didn’t become sorrowful, but predatory. He replied to her with soft, harrowing, lethality, “If such a tragic fate has befallen our crew, I promise you that an accounting will be made for it.”

Redfeather merely nodded uncomfortably and sat back in her seat. There was much to do before they reached the center of the disturbance, and it all needed her full attention. However her worries about the radiation and ruptures were now joined by her fresh concerns about the man sitting beside her.
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Rim of the Calderan Corridor

Fear hung transfixed by the beautiful destruction. The regulator had fractured the corridor, spreading coursing orange ruptures like fiery spider webs through space, chasing the shockwave that roared in all directions. Fear had assumed the guise of the Romulan Bird-of-Prey he had helped destroy a century ago. He felt it appropriate.

Even though he was eager to return to Caldera, to be lauded as a patriot for closing the corridor and keeping the Great Tide pure from contaminants, he couldn’t take his sensory organs away from the device. Its crystalline shell floated unscathed in the midst of the devastation.

He was half tempted to retrieve it, once it was safe to do so. A weapon of such power would be of great value to his people…but also to others.

Fear decided against it. What he had done here was cut off Calderan space to interlopers and potential settlers. If the Alpha and Beta Quadrant powers were foolish enough to attempt to claim the device, let them fight amongst themselves to do so; if anything they would bypass the Calderans.

Satisfied with his logic, Fear arced around slowly, gathering his power to return home and to immortality.
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The Burning Claw
Command Deck

Captain Deoch dug into his armrests as the ship came roughly out of warp. The entire framework of the bridge shuddered as a structural integrity alarm went off.

Normally that would concern him, but his eyes narrowed instead on the sight before him. “A Romulan warship?” Nadeen asked, disbelieving, “and old one at that.” Splayed across the viewer was an old style, silvered warship, with two nacelles jutting from its saucer primary hull like wings, hence its namesake. The old bird seemed to roost over the hell surrounding it, riding the waves just before catastrophe. Well, it appeared that the Romulans’ luck had just run out.

“But still dangerous,” Deoch hissed, “Power weapons.”

“Why would the Romulans be here?” First Mate Gedrik asked. “And why would they be in such an ancient ship?”

“What does it matter?” Deoch barked, “Where there is one Romulan there are bound to be more. We must stop them from contacting compatriots.” He jutted his chin in the direction of the operations console, “Gotash,” he called on the slender female Venturi occupying the station, “Jam their communications.”

She moved to do so, frowning seconds later. “They aren’t attempting to send any messages…in fact, I’m not getting any readings that the ship possesses communicative capability.”

“I’m also getting anomalous readings,” Nadeen replied. “This is a most unusual vessel.”

“I…recommend we hail them,” Gedrik said, “And find out what they are doing here?”

Deoch pounded his armrests. He didn’t like being second guessed. “And give the Romulans time to attack us, or even worse, slip away and alert a bigger ship or a group of them?” He shook his thick head, “Nadeen, aim our weapons at the vessel and fire at my command!” The large Capellan grunted but complied.

“Ship is turning!” Plask, at engineering, gasped, stating the obvious as usual.
“What’s the status of their weapons? Shields?!” Deoch asked, doing his best to tamp down his fear. Even if the Bird-of-Prey was over a century old, who knew what kind of tricks the Romulans had up their sleeves. And he really didn’t want to find out.

Before Nadeen could answer his questions, he jabbed a finger at the screen, “Fire! Fire! Fire!”
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