Star Trek RPG - Mission #4: "Codex Aelyrr"

Rangin isn't sure whether its praise or an insult. Think in an alien way... This from someone with scales, a Sidonian, and yes he knew the details of that species and who now seems to be someone on familiar terms with Ens. Graham. Yeah, this was going to be a great boarding mission. Rangin hopes she is going to remain as reasonable as she was earlier, but given those comments he's not sure.

"Ma'am, there are some interesting readings from the ship, I'd better look into those first. No point clearing out the Klingons if it kills us in the process. I also have rough details on their boarding party and I may have better luck cutting through the interference once on board. It will help to know where they are precisely."

Rawlings grins and says, "I'm ready, Lieutenant. Let's get over there and teach the Klingons to pick on someone their own size."

Nia smiles back at Rawlings and nods at the others. "Excellent, thanks. If Rangin finds the radiation is damaging after all, I may send some or all of you back. I have some natural protection against toxic atmospheres that the rest of you don't." She turns to T'Var. "That leaves you, Lieutenant. Any prescriptions for us?"

It takes a Herculean effort for Graham to remain silent when Nia says hazardous conditions might cause her send some or all of the team back.

She may have natural protection against toxic atmospheres, but not against a half dozen goddamned Klingons...

Uh, unless there's something she hasn't shown me...

T'Var says, "I have reviewed the preliminary readings on the unknown radiation that Mr. Rangin discovered. It does not appear dangerous, Lieutenant, but I will continue monitoring it." She puts her thumb through the strap of her medical tricorder and squares her shoulders. "I am ready to proceed."

With another nod, at T'Var this time, Nia is satisfied. She checks her weapon to make sure it's ready for the job, and her tricorder too. "Thanks, everyone. I appreciate the input. If you have any ideas or corrections for my orders once we're down there, and I mean when you're certain I'm messing up, then let me know quickly and quietly. I want orders followed but I'm not proud.

"The mission's straightforward enough: Help everyone who's not a Klingon, stop the rest. It'd be nice if we knew what these aliens look like, but hopefully they're different enough so that we won't mistake one for the other. Be ready to lower your weapon and tell them we're here to help as soon as possible, so they won't feel too threatened. And hopefully the UT will do its job. In fact, let's make sure of that."

She snaps open her communicator. "Onn to Thalen and Kylah. How well are we gonna communicate on that ship? Will the UT be able to make sure the aliens can understand us, even in some form of pidgen version of their language? The most important phrase we want is 'we're here to help, we mean you no harm.' Will that come across?"

While she's waiting, she steps onto the transporter pad nearest her and gestures with her head to the team. "C'mon, take your places, please. Curtain's about to go up."

As the smallest of the group, Rangin waits to see where the others are standing before taking his place, not wanting to get knocked over in the eager rush of Security personnel just itching to get stuck into the Klingons. It will probably at the back, which is fine by him, as it lets the meat shields go play while he tries to determine what else is going on, on the ship.

It's not that he's afraid of the situation, indeed in the last two missions he has been on, Rangin was responsible for dealing with Chief Porr and Fellim Palver, but no doubt Graham will consider him a complete failure if he doesn't shoot at least once.

Looking at them, it's so different from previous times. They may be well drilled, experts in what they do, but Rangin doesn't feel the camaraderie he used to. He hopes it's not going to be indicative of the next few minutes. Regardless, he feels himself falling back into old patterns, gather data and disseminate it to those who need it. That is a role he is used to.

Kylah hears Onn's request and is not sure how accurate the UT is regarding instantaneous translations. However, she does have a solution--her knowledge of the language from the distress call.

"We already gave you as much as we know thus far, at least on my end. Lt. Thalen may know more than I. But just in case the translator cannot render your words quickly enough, I can send you something using their own language, untranslated." Her fingers work quickly on her keypad. "There. Your communicators should now have the phonetic version of the phrase We help and rescue the Naradraen. All your team should be able to pronounce it correctly." She hesitates and adds softly, "Good luck, ma'am."

Thalen says from the Communications Center, "Thank you, Mr. Kylah. Mr. Onn, from my review of it, the translation matrix for this alien language is at Stage 2, perhaps even Stage 3 or close to it, under Starfleet First Contact linguistic protocols. Basic concepts and preliminary communications should be no problem. The more you talk, and the more you hear from them, the better you should be able to communicate as the UT database grows."

At Onn's urging, the members of the boarding party all take their places on the transporter platform.

"Ready and standing by," Ferguson says from the transporter console.

Nia thanks Kylah and Lt. Thalen, then takes a steadying breath. "Excellent, Mr. Ferguson. Assuming your coordinates are updated with Lt. Cmdr. Roble's latest data regarding the Klingons' locations--and that the Naradraen's shields are still down," she adds suddenly, thinking, That'd be an anticlimactic end to this would-be rescue attempt, wouldn't it? "Then I'd say we're okay to go. Begin transport."

Graham turns and nods approvingly just ever so slightly toward Nia when she asks for confirmation about the latest sensor data on the Klingons' location.

When he taught at the Academy, he never failed to get questions on day of any training for tactical movement and approach on foot or fast drops in shuttles.

"Why can't e just beam where we need to be?" a cadet would always ask.

"Because if you're not sure where the bad guys are, the several seconds it takes for you to materialize in their immediate presence is a 100% guaranteed death sentence," he'd always answer.

"Energizing," Ferguson says as he works the controls.

The transporter effect rises up and overtakes you, and seconds later you rematerialize in a six-sided room about four meters across. No one else is in the room. The walls or bulkheads appear to be of the same orange-tinted metal as the exterior hull. The floor or deck is dark brown and has a slightly springy feel to it, almost like rubber. Four narrow corridors, each a little over a meter wide, lead from the room, perpendicular to and equidistant from each other. Each corridor runs about ten meters, ending in a single panel door not dissimilar from the Yorktown's.

A loud, regular, repeating flat tone fills the air - maybe an alarm of some kind. Collins notices that the air has a whiff of spice of some kind - oregano? Paprika? She can't quite decide. It is different from her ship's flavorless air, but not unpleasant.

T'Var unlimbers her tricorder and scans the area. "Radiation levels are still safe." She points. "Judging by the intensity, engineering is probably in that direction."

Moments later you hear muffled sounds of a struggle in the opposite direction, then what Graham instantly recognizes as the sound of a Klingon hand-disruptor blast.

Without even conscious thought requiring it, Nia's skin starts to scale over. She glances at the surrounding wall color and senses the familiarity of it; very much like her native desert land in sunset. Even without looking down at her hands, she knows her scales aren't their usual silver, but have blended in their chameleonic way to match the surroundings. Her hair will have done the same, although it's not as big a change. If she took off her uniform she'd be nearly invisible. She'll save that option for later, if necessary.

Hearing T'Var's assessment followed by the disrupter fire, she swallows back her nerves and nods at the team. She talks quietly but with resolve. "Saving lives is our priority. We worry about radiation later until we're sure it's a threat to the aliens." She pauses for a millisecond. "Rangin, can you get a reading on the number and composition of life signs ahead?""

Even as she speaks, Nia's mind is busy thinking of the line-up. Best and biggest fighters in front and back, sandwiching the rest, make sure we get no surprises from behind us.

Aloud: "Book, you're on point. Then Collins, me, Rangin, T'Var, and Rawlings to block anything from the rear. Everyone, phasers on highest stun--Once we see the enemy we stun first and announce who we are second. Stun doesn't work, go straight to kill."

To herself: Take deep breaths. Atmosphere--same as on our ship? Am I gonna run into problems? Don't wanna run around with my inhaler in my mouth like a pacifier. Deal with it.

Before she gives the order to go, she murmurs: "Rangin. Got a reading yet?"

Graham pivots toward the direction of the sound phaser in hand. Without turning--so he's still looking in that direction--he replies just loudly enough for his colleagues to hear "Yes ma'am."

"That was a Klingon disruptor, sure of it," he adds.

Kylah is breaking out into a sweat at the thought of Velir and the others entering such a dangerous situation. Radiation, unknown aliens, and of course the biggest threat, the Klingons. How can we disable that ship? And the tractor beam... what will happen to our team if the Klingons successfully pull the Naradraen into their clutches? How--

She stops her ruminating and swivels to stare at the viewscreen. "Captain," she blurts. "Our ship has its own tractor beam capability. Can we pull the Naradraen in?" Her gaze takes in Delaney at the Engineering station and she hurries on: "Not hard enough to cause too much stress, given that the Klingons are exerting their own force on it. But if we match their strength, we should at least be able to neutralize the Klingons and prevent them from succeeding in capturing the Naradraen."

Kylah returns to the Captain. "I know it means putting down our shields, ma'am. But the scout ship is equally as vulnerable--more so, against us. If they stop hiding and get in range to fire, they will give us the same opportunity to hit them."

As soon as they get on board Rangin gets his tricorder out and starts updating with the positions of the crew and Klingons in the immediate vicinity trying to counter the effects of any radiation on his ability to get an accurate reading. The sound of the struggle gives him more focus as to where to scan for.

But that's not the only thing that gives him cause for concern, the over familiar call from Lt Onn to Ens. Graham seemingly confirming what he is already thinking. Still he is going to be the model professional, even if they decide not to be.

"One moment ma'am." he responds to her call, "hoping to have an accurate reading on crew and intruders shortly."

Collins is mildly amazed watching Onn's skin change and adapt. She knew Sidonians were lizard-like, Onn told her as much, but to see that natural defense system in action is fascinating. At the sound of the scuffle and weapons fire beyond the door of their little closet, Collins becomes hyper alert. "Regular stun or heavy stun, sir? Given that they're Klingons, I'd suggest heavy stun."

Nia's focus sharpens on Collins. Is she nervous? Stupid question, they probably all are, to one extent or another. Maybe the adrenaline and noise made it hard for the junior officer to hear Nia's earlier order.

Nia doesn't want to bring attention to the issue--and besides, maybe it's her own fault for not enunciating enough while whispering. Humans' ears are likely less attuned than hers. One benefit of evolution as prey on her planet.

She speaks very clearly, but still softly, so that everyone will definitely hear. "Yes, heavy stun. We may only get two shots at them, let's make the first one count. If it doesn't bring 'em down, and our presence isn't enough to scare them off--and I doubt it, with Klingons--shoot to kill."

She shakes her head infinitesimally. These are not directions she likes giving. If only the Klingons would realize they've got no shot against the Yorktown and beam the hell out of there...

Then her eyes blink wide open. The transporter. Why the hell didn't I think of this sooner? Why didn't anyone think of this sooner? She aims her thoughts to everyone. "Wait. Why can't we beam them onto the Yorktown?"

Angry at herself, she flips open her communicator and rapidly sends a message: "Onn to Yorktown. About to engage. But: Science can distinguish Klingon lifesigns. Can you get a lock on them and beam them onto the ship? Using containment field or 20 armed officers?"

The Captain responds to Kylah and says thoughtfully, "We don't know enough about the interaction between our tractor beam and a Klingon one, or if that would put the alien ship under too much structural strain. They've both been damaged. Mr. Delaney, run a simulation, drawing on our sensor readings so far, and let me know what you think."

She then asks for Ferguson's reaction to Onn's proposal. The transporter operator says, "I was thinking the same thing, ma'am, but I can't seem to get a lock on the Klingons. Something is preventing it, a localized field distortion over there of some kind. It's not the radiation we noticed earlier, though. I'll keep trying."

"Please do," the Captain says. "Send a coded text to Onn to that effect, Mr. Kylah." She hits the comm button again. "Security, send a squad to Transporter Room 1 with phaser-2s set on heavy stun. I want to be ready if we're able to beam any Klingons over."

"Aye, Captain," says Ens. Three Crows from belowdecks. "On their way."

Rangin's tricorder scan, consistent with the earlier sensor readings as the Yorktown approached, shows five Klingons on the alien ship and 37 aliens. One alien and one Klingon appear to be just beyond the door from which the sounds of struggle now get a little louder. The Coridanite xenobiologist has some difficulty with radiation interference but, as he looks, another two alien lifesigns wink out elsewhere on the ship - aft and below the boarding party's current position, if T'Var's evaluation is correct.

Onn gets Kylah's text.

Graham remains focused on the door, sitting down the barrel of his phaser, modulating his breathing. Beauty of taking point. Very simple. Shoot anything Klingon before they have a chance to react.

He hears the conversation: if he weren't on point, he'd try to reassure Collins, who seems a little nervous. Hopefully "little sis" won't shoot me in the back of the head accidentally, he muses.

And he's finding he likes working with Nia as much as he liked...uh, "not working"...with her. No hesitation calling the shots. Although it registers after a moment she called him "Book." Not that he objects...Objects exactly...Well, it's weird to hear that nickname in this context..

Nia gets the text and grits her teeth. She sends back a quick reply to indicate she received the message, then stows the communicator in her duty belt.

All she says is, "Apparently some kind of field is preventing them from beaming the Klingons out." No sense in expressing her new concerns that this same field might prevent the Yorktown from beaming them back onto the ship. Hope equals morale. Despair is a leader's yoke to bear.

She lifts her phaser. "All right. We fight until the cavalry comes in the form of a transporter. I don't want to lose any more of those lifesigns unless they're Klingon-shaped." Deep steadying breath.

"Let's move."

Rangin gives out the details of the crew and Klingon positions and then waits for the order to go.

Collins follows Graham, phaser at the ready, a little to his left, so that she can cover the side of whatever room or corridor they enter that he cannot.

Graham tilts his head to the left. "L-T--on entry, stay behind my left shoulder. You cover left side field of fire. I'll cover right."

"Nia--odds are I'll take the hit if they get a shot off, so your targeting on entry should be center and right to take any shooter on that side."

He pauses before moving forward. "Everybody clear on this? It's important you use me for cover, Jeremi. Raises the odds they can only take just one of us down before you and Nia can drop two."

"I've got the door, we go on three," Graham says, starting to count down slowly and continuing ahead unless interrupted.

Collins smiles because she must have read Graham's mind. She nods in agreement with his orders.

"Hold on that, Graham," Nia says as sharply as possible given the need for quiet. "Soon as you see a Klingon, take your shot then move, duck and drop to a knee as far to the side as possible--each of us alternating right and left. This way you're not where you were a second ago and the rest of us have a clear shot, if necessary. No one's a phaser sponge for anyone--not yet." She meets Booker squarely in the eye. "You see a problem with that plan?"

Graham grudgingly takes his eyes off the door for a moment, as Nia's tone leaves little question she wants his attention. "I didn't mean to imply otherwise," he answers quietly and carefully. "But..." he glances briefly at Collins, who nerves or not seemed to be onboard--benefitting, of course, from the same Security training he's had.

"With all due respect ma'am--on entry, if we're walking into an ambush, the point man is there to...buy time...for the others to react. Been that way since Redcoats and muskets." He returns her gaze, wondering if she's been in this situation before, remembering the first time he could no longer volunteer to take the role on himself: Double-edged privilege of rank. Looking back from where she's standing at the kid who just volunteered...

No way around it without jeopardizing the team, he tries to convey, not wanting to get into a debate in front of the boarding party. "I know the job, ma'am," he says softly, taking pains to not use her first name and to make it sound like a gentle reminder that for better or worse it's who he is, rather than argumentative.

Staring balefully at Graham, Nia deeply regrets adding him onto the mission--either him or Collins. Obviously they've got some kind of sibling thing happening--and Nia knows all too well how he feels about his siblings. Damn overprotective bullshit. Would he be telling T'Var to hide behind him like a bunny rabbit? Fuck this, we're wasting time. "We're not being ambushed, we're doing the ambush. That's why I prefer a bounding overwatch tactic--it'll minimize our risk while still keeping the element of surprise."

She walks up to him and says quietly under her breath. "If you really think it's the right decision, and it has nothing to do with you thinking you need to sacrifice yourself or protect Collins--our ACOS, to refresh your memory--then move forward. Otherwise, I'll take point myself, and you can explain to the captain why her favorite pilot got fried on your watch." With a last look, she gets into place. "Count on, Ensign, and get moving."

Graham worries he may have to revise his opinion about...working...under Nia.

At first he simply thinks she's been overly sanguine about the risk of ambush.

Then she goes off in a whisper about protecting Collins and he's just confused.

But at least we're on the same page that they can't stand about bickering any longer.

I'm not sure I look forward to this conversation after the mission, he thinks, resuming position at the front of the group.

He checks his weapon one last time and re-starts his count, ready to go on "1."

The door behind which you have heard scuffling now thuds heavily as someone or something is slammed against it from the other side. A second or two later you hear another disruptor burst and then a shouted Klingon curse, which your communicators translate as "Dammit!"

Rangin watches in disbelief at what appear to be squabbles between Lt Onn and Ens Graham about the best way to get through a door and shoot the Klingon on the far side. Biting his tongue and resisting the urge to cross his arms and start tapping one foot in annoyance he considers what he does know.

Graham wasn't acting like a point man, just the idiot whose job it is to take the first hit and die gloriously while his companions try to overrun a position. Does he really have a such a death wish? The stupid thing was that the Klingons were no doubt well aware that a team of six Starfleet officers were now on board this ship. There were going to be no ambushes, no need for point, just a knock down drag-out fight through the corridors in which his group would have only two advantages, numbers and the good will of the remaining crew.

Perhaps there was a way to deal with that and tip the odds Starfleet's way. After all, the crew would know the ship better than the Klingons and in fact it may well be necessary. If they thought that all their people had gone down, they may just destroy the ship with them on it as lost, after all Klingon's would be dying in honour at that point.

But, if they couldn't tell...a cold hard smile crosses Rangin's face as he puts together an idea...maybe they could go dark using the Dr Brold's sensor. Then there would be no technological advantage, just skill in hunting through a close environment, with a friendly crew and six on four. Yeah, that could work and he would know if the tricorder stopped working. Of course, he would have a very small chance of adjusting it to ignore the sensor wave, but the Klingon's wouldn't have a clue and that might give them the time to manage the ship before the Klingon's realised.

Three...Rangin hears Graham call out quietly and focuses back on the door.

Two...Time seems to slow as takes one last breath and tenses ready for action.

Graham approaches the door, with the others behind. The door does not open. There is an ovoid panel on the doorframe to the right, with seven irregularly-shaped and colored buttons. One is larger than the others.

Graham holds up one hand, and tilts it till he is pointing at the panel. He counts up with his fingers...one, two, three..and on three presses the larger button.

Whoever's in there is gonna shoot the instant the door starts opening, Nia thinks, her heart slamming against her ribs in what must be an audible pounding. Her mind races. Door panel on the right, probably opens right to left. Then again it could go up and down, who the hell knows? Still, Booker and the rest of us should be shoved up against the left wall. No, we shouldn't be doing this at all. Is the alien in there still alive, anyway?

She gets to one knee and takes aim at the right side of the door, clear of Booker's body. The Klingon won't be able to aim toward both standing and kneeling targets.

The door opens immediately, straight up, revealing a room much like the one in which the boarding party arrived.

Two individuals are there, struggling hand-to-hand - or hand-to-paw, as one is a tall, muscular Klingon male in light combat armor and the other is an alien which at once reminds Graham of the snow leopards he saw years ago during a visit to a Tibetan wildlife preserve. The felinoid is slightly shorter than the Klingon, thinner and more wiry, but seems to move faster. It is gray with black striping, and wears a leatherlike harness on its upper body but no clothing. It is standing on its hind legs and baring its sharp fangs as it grapples with the Klingon, whose hand disruptor is on the deck, about two meters from the pair. The Klingon appears to be trying, at the moment, to keep the big cat from biting him.

Onn can see at a glance that the deck and one bulkhead are scorched from disruptor blasts.

http://www.ecorazzi.com/wp-content/u...ow-leopard.jpg
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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snow_leopard

Nia's eyes open wide. An old instinct to flee, stemming from her race's evolution, rises in her, and like thousands of tiny doors slamming shut, scales erupt to cover her entire body. There are feline predators back home, large and dust-colored but otherwise very similar to this... creature. Especially in the fangs and claws, not to mention the rangy, taut body. Not nearly as furry, of course; the dejani on Sidonia are suited to the desert planet.

She takes in the sight for a second and then, already crouched, holsters her weapon and starts forward in a slinking crawl toward the disruptor. "Cover them both and announce yourselves," she orders in a near hiss to Graham and Collins. "I'm getting the weapon."

Graham would have preferred Nia hang back since the likelihood of either the Klingon or the alien reaching the weapon without being stunned is approximately zero, but the only course of action is to adapt to what she's already set in motion.

He gestures to Collins to move a little more to his left while he moves slightly to the right so they have a wider field of fire on the pair of aliens, then does his best to state calmly but with authority, lowering his weapon just slightly so the business end is not dead-on pointed at the cat-like alien, the phonetic translation Ens. Kylah sent over: "We help and rescue the Naradraen."

Both the Klingon and the alien are obviously aware of the Starfleet party's presence, but continue grappling with each other. The alien's ears flick towards Graham and it says, in a raspy voice distinctly translated by his communicator, "Then shoot this invader!" Its long, thick tail thrashes agitatedly as the pair fights.

The Klingon grunts as he grabs and tries to twist away the alien's head, avoiding its snapping jaws. Its claws scrape on his armor but do not pierce it.

The pair stumbles toward Onn.

If Graham feels he get off a clean shot that hits the Klingon rather than the feline invader, he stuns the Klingon.


Nice thing about dealing with Klingons. What's he going to do, file a diplomatic complaint?

Collins aims at the Klingon's knees, hoping to make him fall away from the dropped disrupter.

Nia grits her teeth and lunges for the disruptor, attempting to grab it with both hands.

Graham can't get a clear shot.

In the narrow corridor, Collins's view is obstructed by Graham.

Still grappling with the alien, the Klingon manages to kick the disruptor away from Onn, narrowly missing her, too.

All right, you son of a craggy-faced bitch, you wanna get close enough to dance? Nia yanks her phaser up and, aiming at the Klingon above her, squeezes off a shot--or two, if necessary.

Collins shifts to a crouched position to shoot around Graham's legs and again aims for the Klingon's knees.

The alien and the Klingon, struggling, turn, then turn again, and Onn and Graham see their shots at almost the same instant. They fire, and the Klingon is struck by two lambent blue beams. He falls to the deck like a sack of New Idaho potatoes.

The alien shakes itself for a moment, blinking its big eyes. Then it bounds over to the disruptor, picks it up and aims it at the Klingon's head.

"No!" Collins shouts at the Felinoid. She aims at the alien's hand to knock the disruptor away.

The felinoid's ears move again, and it instantly turns, crouches and points the disruptor at Collins.

"Stop!" Collins shouts. "He's down! We'll take him into custody!"

Nia slowly gets to her feet and makes sure to keep her phaser arm down. "Lt. Collins, lower your weapon immediately," she says calmly but firmly. She watches the alien the entire time. "We are not the enemy of the Naradraen."

She backs away slightly and moves until she's between Collins and the felinoid. "My name is Lt. Nia Onn. These are my teammates and we're from the Yorktown, a ship from the United Federation of Planets. We heard your distress call and came to help." She keeps her words soft but clear, wanting to give the translator time to work its magic. "We have fought this race--the Klingons--before. As my crewmate said, we will take them into custody rather than kill...when possible. I understand your anger and desire to seek revenge. But I only want to keep us all safe.

"Please," Nia adds respectfully, "could you stop pointing the weapon at my teammate? I'd be grateful to learn your name, and the name of your people. But most of all," she adds with urgency, "we want to help rid your ship of these intruders. We will fight by your side. As allies."

She falls silent and keeps her breathing as even as possible, waiting for the allen's response.

Collins lowers her phaser but keeps it at the ready.