SD241910.15 || Plot Log [2/4] || "The Stolen Ship"

Posted on 15 Oct 2019 @ 8:35pm by Lieutenant Talrian Bran & Lieutenant Madalene Sabine

1,932 words; about a 10 minute read

When the chief of security sat down, the pilot spared a slightly bloodshot gaze at him. "I think I have a lock on some, yeah," he said. "But there's a bigger problem..."

"Bigger than over a hundred missing crew?" Talrian asked, finding his tone conveying his skepticism very well.

Quinn lowered his voice as much as he could, because he didn't want everyone else hearing this just yet. "This plane can't get into space," he said. "I've been reviewing everything I can while flying, and I realized it won't make that trip. So getting back to the ship..." he trailed off.

Talrian sighed. "Of course," he grunted. The universe had hated him in his previous host, and it continued to hate him now. "How high can you get it?" He was hoping that if they could get above most of the radiated particulates, then the reflective problem with the transporters could be minimized or wiped out. If they didn't need to get into actual space then that's not a problem. If they did...

"I'm still working on that," Quinn said. "This thing isn't exactly rigged to spit out information it never expected to need, but I'm making the calculations. I'll have an answer soon. So far, we might get high enough..."

"You back there," he called out to Roman, realizing he knew next to nothing about this guy, including his name. "What's the date?" Talrian had found some maps and was beginning to look through them. Alternatives were going to be necessary, he was feeling.

"April 15th," Roman said. "2037."

Talrian wished he had more access to his resources. He was sure the final end of the current war wouldn't happen for some time yet. If they had to, once they extracted enough crew, they could find a desolate spot to set down and set up a base while they waited for the Odin to figure out there was a problem. What would that take, a few days? A few weeks? Hell, with that incompetent Caitain in charge of Ops it could take them years to get any one thing fixed. He shook his head. It was something to begin thinking about if it turned out they'd be stranded dirtside for any length of time.

"How long until our next rendezvous point?" Talrian asked the pilot.

"Between forty and fifty minutes," Quinn replied.

"Okay, activate this thing's auto pilot and then get a few minutes worth of shuteye. I'll wake you several minutes before so you can keep flying the plane. That's not a request, we don't need our plane crashing because the pilot crashed. "That goes for everyone else as well. We don't know how long a mission we're in for, so shuteye every chance we can." Talrian shot up from the copilot seat.

"You," he said to Roman, "come back here with me."

Roman followed though the peremptory tone rankled a bit. To his way of thinking he was in a place he didn't want to be with people he didn't know. And that had never gone well in the past. Still, he followed because they'd lost a member of their crew and seemed to be struggling.

"First, and this is a very important first question," Talrian said, keeping his voice low. "Where are you from, actually, I mean, not where you're living now."

"I was born on Earth," Roman said, his voice low and smooth with just a trace of its Germanic roots. "My parents were from Arc originally though my mother used to say that it was a better place to be from than to live on."

Talrian sighed hearing the information, confirming what he at least suspected. The man wasn't Terran, which explained his lack of reaction to seeing the crew from Odin and what is, obviously, advanced technology. Plus, he worked to save a member of their crew for, seemingly, no other reason than she needed help. "Soon, the final cataclysm of this war is going to happen. Most of the world's population is going to die out when that happens. You can take your chances but," Talrian looked around the cabin. "you have the chance to come with us and leave the planet behind."

Thought upon thought. Alien, definitely. Future alien? Harder to believe thought not unbelievable. Roman had been on this world for 130 years. He had seen the worst men could do and then a few years later, saw it again ... and again ... and again. Events were leading toward something terrible thought whether or not this would actually be the event that ended the world? Who could say. He did know that he had stayed in one place too long and it was time to move on. Doing on foot with no supplies or doing it somewhere else, it mattered little. He wasn't human and no matter what else was going on, the minute they found that out, it was time to go. And so, while he wasn't sure he believed the whole future thing, he did know that it was time to go and he decided to take a chance on the aliens. After all, he was one too.

Roman nodded and said, "Yes, I'll come. There's nothing left for me here."

"Alright, then settle in. I'm afraid that any request to go back and get possessions can't be honored. When we get home, everything you may want or need can be provided. Erickson's the" pain in the ass "engineer. Kawolski is the medic and Cindreth is...leave Cindreth alone. The less influences on him the better," Talrian said. "Feel free to help out where your skills are best suited. We have more crew to rescue and that's my focus. Any questions?"

"None at the moment," Roman said. "I'll do what I can."

[Ninety Minutes Later...]
=/\= T-Minus 9 Hours...

They had picked up another six crewmembers, including one who was already dead. She was a Bajoran, however, and they had no intention of leaving her on the surface.

The ship was climbing back to a decent cruise altitude when something began to happen...

...upon the captain's orders, it started with the non-humans. The familiar tingly, shimmery sensation began.

"What the frell?" Talrian said, spinning around, his rifle in his hands and up at the ready. He began recognizing Starfleet uniforms, Starfleet crew and - more importantly because he spent far too many nights 'camped' out in them - Starfleet cargo bay. He slung the rifle back over his shoulder and tapped his chest. "Talrian to the Bridge, sitrep?" he said, but he was already on the move. He found Kawolski, looking just as confused as he had been and grabbed him. "Find Cindreth, stop the meld with the others immediately. Put him in a coma, shut off his telepathic neurons if you have to and get him to Medical and start whatever treatment he needs."

"Yes, Lieutenant," Kawolski said, still staring around in disbelief. He didn't realize it until he found himself back in the cargo bay of the ship but...he'd given up hope they would ever return.

Talrian manuevered his way around Ops and security crew who were trying to find some sort of assembled order out of chaos happening in the cargo bay. He was sure that the bay across from them was just as hectic. But, he grabbed Bakkar and Johnson. "That guy we picked up with the counselor? Get him to Medical to be checked out, and if necessary, quarantined. No is not a valid answer. I'll report his presence on the ship to the Captain and let her go from there."

For Roman things began moving quickly. One moment, he was helping bring people aboard and the next he was ... somewhere else and he was being 'ordered' to report to Medical to be checked out and possibly quarantined. He allowed himself to be led while his mind tried to hurried catch up. Thought upon thought. Okay, time-travelling aliens now more of a possibility, he thought as he followed some uniformed stranger through unrecognized corridors. And what in Hades was that beam? Efficient way to move from one place to another with no discernible after effects. Interesting ... but this whole ordering me about thing has got to stop soon. If that's the way it is here, then drop me off right now. He was left in a small cubicle with some sort of a bed. Bed reminded him that he hadn't slept in what ... thirty-six hours now?

Talrian grabbed another set of security officers. "That guy over there, Erickson?" he pointed out the Ops crewman from his mission team, "He goes to the bring, charges of insubordination to begin with. When things are a little more settled, I'll be down for the reports. No is not an answer from him either."

Erikson didn't bother revisiting if this man who really made things worse wanted to place charges on him, fine. Do it. Hopefully he'll get his chance to explain what happened but he knew either way it wouldn't go his way seeing as he well whatever he did it was over.

Down below, the stolen craft went careening into the side of mountain without its pilot. The pilot, however, was now on his ass on the floor of the Odin's cargo bay. Having been brought directly from the pilot's chair to the bay, he had fallen without a seat under him.

He saw the counselor's bled-out body and scrambled away in instinctual shock before putting it all together. Quinn's body raced to understand what just happened, but he did know one thing:

They were home.

But where was his sister?

"Romanov," Talrian said, coming up next to the pilot. "Find your sister, if you can't, let me know. Obviously they have scanners working again and she will be a priority to get back onto the ship. Even if you and I have to take another shuttle to make it happen."

Quinn just met and held the Trill's eyes for a moment before nodding once, then hurrying off into the growing crowd.

Having taken care of his team, answered a few quick questions, always on the move, he made his way to the door. Once free of the cargo bay, however, he broke into a run and headed for the nearest turbolift to take him straight to the bridge.

Once there, he stepped hastily off the bridge and made for the security station. "Captain," he said, aware of how he must look. Scraped, bruised, banged, cut...armed, his armor gone and he was forced into some sort of utility coveralls that they had in the shuttle after it crashed. It felt like days since he left the ship on the rescue mission. "Reporting back for duty and," he said, with a sigh, "I don't know you well enough, but for most Fleeters, some of my report is not going to please you. We've returned with one extra person from the planet. Not a member of the crew."

Mallory lifted her eyes from where she was leaning over the ops console, monitoring the situation alongside Sabine. She then took in the sight of Bran, considered his words, and lifted her brows. She blew out a breath. "One thing at a time, Lieutenant," she said, almost numb by now... "Get checked out and then make a quick report for me to read when we have our crew back. I imagine there will be...plenty for everyone to tell."

=/\= To Be Continued...

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