Ep1 Act 2: Down Into The Belly Of The Beast

[Nevian]

" Main deflector, blade configuration. Acknowledged. " Sai'tan called out in response to Tactical's request as indicators flared red on his panel.
" We are at crush pressure. I repeat. We are at crush pressure. "

[SabrinaPandora]

This old bucket of phloog they built when my grandma was in service doesn't have anything else to give. I don't even have a tractor beam, SIF fields,a phaser emitter... this is like being blindfolded and hobbled in a cage match with one hand tied behind my back, Lieutenant P'Trell thought to herself as she desperately reviewed the options. The buffeting was subsiding but the groaning of the hullplates was settling into a steady cavitation now, and soon they were all gong to be having a depressurization accident, she did think.

"I hope somebody very smart thinks of something very soon, I think..." the security sprite squeaked as she tried harmonizing the shields with the readings coming from the science station, streamlined more to what she needed to know to do her job with less of what she didn't grasp. Physical turbulence were not abated by the shields, so it was all about energy frequencies now... and of course the horrendous pressure this deep inside the gas giant. A nearby internal hull rivet popped and the polar pixie squeaked as it shot through her calf, ignoring it otherwise. After all, what was one minor injury when they were about to become blueberry jam?

[Aoife]

Emerald Jones purred. There was really no other word that could describe the occasional sound that escaped from her. Intent on her readings, and the vast array of information pouring into her equipment, she ignored everything around her with a hyperfocus that could have been remarkable. Had they all not been about to die, of course.

"What are the nature of the energy waves?" The question broke through her concentration in a way that no other prior exclamation or question had done. She blinked slowly, and took a deep breath.

"The energy waves have an oscillating frequency, it's running at a ... three point six seconds steady pattern. I recommend that we tune the shields to accommodate. At lowest frequency, the energy will hit with crushing force, at highest it'll be uncomfortable for anyone who is sensitive to sound. Could be fun to ride this wave out. I agree with assessment that they are manufactured. There's a roughness to the mid range that is too predictable. If I can read it at exactly the same location every time, it's been made by a machine."

She turned around and looked at the rest of them. "Did that answer your question?" She asked, before returning to her readings. "Oh, and Captain? Watch out for every seventh wave. It's stronger than the others. There's one coming up in... well.. now?"

TAG

[Amanda Rose]

[Sjet]

Emerald Jones had been right: the seventh wave would be the strongest energy pulse sent out from the protective storm shell. It would also wash over and be bested by the work of Sai’Tan of Vulcan, as the Tim Allen’s shields not only rebuffed the highly energised particle field but remained steady and strong for all their hammering. For a moment the crew would be in the right frame of mind to think the worse was over.

And if it was one thing The Shoal disliked, it was when dinner began to grow fattened on hope.

It was by poor chance and fate that the two areas of opposing charge, separated by hundreds of miles of open atmosphere, transpired to hover directly above and below the USS Tim Allen. Both areas had occurred naturally, and had drifted and been tugged into place by the passage of the anomaly through the roiling maelstrom of Tangerine’s atmosphere. But with the glowing beacon of the Tim Allens shields, magnified by the pulses of raw energy the anomaly was throwing out...the USS Tim Allen became a lightning rod for a thunder head the size of a city.

Lighting lanced down around the Tim Allen, a moment appearing like a cage of flickering white three stalks. Then the forks lashed out, striking the shields and shattering them in brutal seconds of conductivity. The lances of rury carried on through the shields, striking the hull plates and atomising them seconds ahead of the searing pressure and liquid hydrogen that roar in after them. one lightning bolt danced wicked along the port side warp nacelle, rupturing plasma conduits and releasing their stored energy in a great conflagration. Had Helmsman Gary not been in the process of altering the ship's course to correct for the buffeting the energy pulse had given them, the small ships story would have ended there. Within fever minutes the crew and ship would have been crushed into an object no larger than a small mans fist.

But hope is best exercised.

The Tim Allen was thrown bodily to one side by the sundering of its warp nacelle, as slowly structural integrity fields began to fall back through the superstructure, allowing the small saucer section to be begin to be flattened and crimped by the pressure. Plasma oozed in brilliant spurts from the ruined engine nacelle, and with ponderous grace the Oberth class ship fell down into the swirling maw of the storm. What little control the helmsman still had was barely enough to keep the ship steady, not that anyone thought of keeping her on a level keel as the Tim Allen moaned in dreadful pain as the pressure worked to crush her once and more all.

And then, as though stepping from the party scene to a quiet balcony, the sounds of crushing hull plates ended. Slowly the hiss of the air handling systems and blaring wail of the red alert klaxon became the predominate sound, and pulsing red light painted the scene on the bridge in gory detail. A pitiful view of the work stations still worked, and those that did sputtered and foamed with the computerised version of dementia as they tried to gain sensor data from half slagged equipment now encased in sarcophagia of boiling metallic hydrogen. The view screen was a warped and twisted thing, plunging sickeningly inwards at one corner as though only moments before it had been moments away from undoing them all.

“Report?” coughed Captain Sjet, who through all of that had remained in his seat. His secret was revealed when he undid a simple belt that he laid across his waist after sitting down. Gary at the helm reported that he was, regardless of how he felt to the contrary, alive and well: no doubt the devil put aside for him was waiting for a private chat.

One member of the crew would not be reporting with all due promptness. For as the Tim Allen had been throwing ass over tea kettle, Captain Santra Arron had been tossed over the railing by the force of the spin. His landing by been onto his back, but not before his head had clipped a console squarely: the red emergency lighting painted the blood oozing from the scalp wound a dark and throbbing monstrosity.

“Dr Zuub!” Sjet snapped “Get to work! And someone get my view screen back on-”

The view screen flickered back on a moment later, wrapped in one corner by the view of the storm shell’s interior was nothing if not mesmerising. Dark green and teals swarmed and danced within the miles wide bubble of still atmosphere. But it was what floated before the Tim Allen, pearing at them it seemed with highlighted intelligence, that took all their attentions. Sometimes it was not all things golds that glittered.

But the golden ship that hung motionless before them glittered brightly still.

“That…” Sjet said, a little dumbstruck “...Is not one of ours.”

TAG-One and all. Arrons out for medical reasons for the time being, and it would seem there is a vessel of strange portents waiting with them within the clouds. Its four times the size of the Tim Allen, and its definitely not from around these parts. There is no crew to speak of, and for anyone wanting private details for their character to discover PM me on the boards or on FB.

[SabrinaPandora]

One hand for the crew, one hand for you was wisdom when the starship was tossing about like a teacup in a tempest. It served the little lieutenant well, keeping her at her post regardless of the chaos.

Then arcing electricity hammered through the Tim Allen which ionized controls and blew panels. As the shields collapsed and energy backlash raced through the conduits, they found an extra circuit attached to the tactical console. In slow motion Talla saw the panel light up with the surge, and she tried to let go, to break contact with the circuit, to diminish the odds that it would race through her form.

That would have been a lucky break. But lucky wasn't generally how others described the atomic Andorian, and for good reason.

The strike arced through Lieutenant Talla P'Trell, temporarily rendering her skeleton an illuminated highlight within her form as all of the short bobbed hair she wore suddenly stood straight out from her skull. Two molars cracked and one incisor shattered as her jaw spasmed, narrowly missing biting off her own tongue. The shriek that the security sprite involuntarily emitted was brief, as her vocal chords and lungs were overloaded by the electrical charge that was bursting cell walls and in a few agonizing seconds frying the circuitry of the distinctive yellow and black environmental suit the lieutenant wore to control her body temperature.

Which, at the moment, was the least of her concerns.

As the Tim Allen angled in slowly spiraling into the storm, the smoke and smell of something cooking came from the tactical station, which was now reduced to mostly melted plastic and sputtering conduits. One small hand reached up to claw at the ruined station, then the smoking form of the tactical officer pulled herself slowly and painfully into view. Much of her head hair had been singed and charred, and even the white of Talla's eyes were blue right now. But even as small wisps of smoke curled and rose from her flesh, the stalwart security chief pulled herself upright. Which was a bit more challenging given the position her left wrist was in, now apparently melted to the tactical console. Straining to free her hand, Talla felt some of the melted plastic give a bit, but she wasn't positive she could feel the skin of the hand, and she ran a risk of pulling it off. Besides, the moment had passed and the plastic was solidifying by the second.

A shattered console and now Talla was stuck to it as well, rendering it and her useless until she could free herself. Her duty was clear, to get to an auxiliary station, and use it to manage what might be left of the shields and to make the bridge quit spinning like this. The somewhat fried fighter was also trying very hard not to vomit on the bridge, and was somewhat grateful for the melted plastic around her fingers leaving her forced to grip the station, because it was keeping her erect right now, as she clung stubbornly to consciousness while the pain told her to sleep. Someone called for Zuub, and Talla smiled a little even as she realized that burning smell was her. Then her wobbling antenna were drawn to the flickering viewscreen.

"UnKnown starsHIP DEsign CapTAIN S'jet SIr, I do think," Talla managed to murmur out drunkenly. "No shields no tsactical panel n'M scanners'r fried I think and I can't... can't..."

If there was more to the statement it was destined to be a mystery, as the chief was currently fighting simply to remain conscious as her antennas wilted forward and her eyelids were fluttering, twitching as she struggled to remain awake, to somehow contribute.

But it didn't look like much like Smurfette's lucky day today, and tomorrow wasn't looking very good either.

[Aoife]

Aoife clung onto her console and was nearly able to keep hold of the smooth surface as the ship was ripped into by the energy cascading around it. She landed heavily on the floor, and rolled with the impact. It was, ironically, this roll that probably saved her head since debris rained down where she had been standing moments before. As soon as the ship became as stable as it was possible, she scrambled to her feet.

A quick glance around the rest of the bridge showed the damage to the people around. "Not a doctor!" She called out, in apology. "I'll take care of getting some power stabilized though.. see if I can't be useful that way." Fingers flying across the nearby (thankfully still working) console, Aoife managed to get some pretence of power and external sensors working.

The view was not what she expected. Her eyes bugged wide at the sight of the ship nearby. "That... wow.." she whispered.

"Think they can help us?" She asked nobody in particular, being unsure who exactly was even still alive.

[Ciara Mei]

There had been no possible way Zayna could have held on during the ship tumbling. Not when all she had to hold onto was a bar at the back of the ship. As everyone else went tumbling around the bridge, she did as well. She had barely heard what was said to her before that, it was something. She’d flown in the same direction as Santra, but missed the console that he’d hit his head on. Instead, she landed square on her back, which then blew up in pain.

It was then that she saw Santra beside her, head gushing out blood. Normally, Zay had no issues with blood at all, but for some reason, this made her stomach churn. She attempted to move over to see if putting pressure on the wound was going to do any good at all, and to see if he was even still alive.

But the moment she tried to move, pain shot through her entire body. She curled herself up into a ball and looked around.

Then Sjet asked for reports from everyone, and she knew she had to speak up. Could she speak up? She knew that Santra was going to get taken care of, but was she?

“Need help...over here…”

So much for trying to call for help.

Tags: All

[Sjet]

“At least we didn’t lose containment on the warp core.” Captain Sjet breathed out the silent prayer that all space farers come to know when breaking the laws of physics: ‘Dear God, please don’t let us blow up.’

He strode over to an emergency locker and cracked it open, pulling out a medical kit and tossing a pack of chemical light sticks to Gary. The helmsman began to snap the small finger sized sticks, tossing the pale blue glow sticks onto the floor to provide a better illumination than the flickering emergency lights. The icy glow revealed cracked bulk heads and the crumpled and dented ceiling, evidence that the pressure had been moments away from killing them all. The captain of the Tim Allen quietly said his own private thanks that most of his crew was with the Starfleet engineers on the Starbase right now. That had left a skeleton crew to watch the warp core and piloted the ship along with the SB relief crew. Of course how many of that crew still lived…that was a scary question.

More of the consoles flickered and sparked back into a semblance of life, reporting more and more damage from across the ship. Captain Sjet focused on aiding P’Trell, using the medical kits supplies sparingly to at least keep the diminutive Andorian on her feet and conscious.

“You know, if things had gone differently…” he said to the Andorian as he followed the bright, almost child friendly instructions on the side of the dermal welder “…I might have become a doctor. Instead I’m here on a glorified tug, and under no small amount of pressure. Luck of the draw I imagine.”

He smiled at her, and then looked past her to the flickering view screen and the golden ship beyond it. It dwarfed the Tim Allen by an order of magnitude, the bright white light that shone from cracks in its under belly and the hawk like bow gave it an oddly supernatural visage.

“I think if someone had seen something like that before, they’d have made a note of it.” He said to her, as he eyed her scanner screen “See if you can’t clear that up: one minutes there’s a life sign reading over a thousand on board that thing, and next minute there’s nothing but empty corridors and chambers.”

TAG-P’Trell.

He then looked over to Emerald and gave her a curt nod.

“I’m sure they’re a friendly bunch and no mistake.” He mused before adding “Send out the Universal First Contact greeting. I doubt they speak Federation Standard over there so we’ll treat this like they used to back in the days of Zephram Cochrane. Primes, three dimensional puzzles, graphical representations of hydrogen and oxygen. You know the drill ‘Not A Doctor’, blind them with science.”

TAG-Emerald

“Chief Sai’tan: sufficed to say I reckon we’re currently residence of a wreck. But still give your best estimate for our chances of survival if we try to take the Tim Allen back through the storm shell, and then up through the atmosphere to orbit. I know Vulcan’s don’t believe in sugar coating their estimates, but I’d appreciate the honest truth of things.” He said plainly, before looking over at Dr Zuub and her patients “How those two doing Doc?”

TAG-Zuub/Sai'tan/Ryler

[SabrinaPandora]