Making the Rounds

Posted on Fri 25th Nov, 2016 @ 1:16am by Commander Paul Graves PsyD & Commander Zachary Hunt

1,644 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Murder on the Silent Night Express
Location: Hunt's Ready Room
Timeline: A day or so after the Warspite returns to Vanguard
Tags: paulgraves, zacharyhunt

Hunt had spent the morning working out in the gym, he enjoyed the time before his main shift to spend time alone. Today was different though, he had decided to play Racquetball so invited Patrick Biere along for a game. They had first met each other over the recent problems with Vanguard and managed to strike up a conversation about Sport and then the fact they played Racquetball. Hunt enjoyed playing it due to the fast paced nature it provided and the amount of calories one session could help him burn off. Always good after a heavy night out! Biere arrived just on time, ready for a 40 minute session. "Biere!" Hunt exclaimed. "How are you after all the commotion of the past week?"

"Getting better, still can't forget some of the things we saw, but never mind, life still goes on."

"That's the spirit, ready for a thrashing?" Hunt queried.

"You've never seen me play, prepare to be outclassed," Biere said.

He wasn't wrong, Hunt had never lost a game so badly in his whole life. "Remind me never to invite a giant along to Racquetball," Hunt quipped.

The time passed and they went their separate ways ready for shift to start. Hunt took the turbolift to Deck 12 Main Operations. The doors opened, the room he walked into was fairly empty as crews exchanged places. He smiled at a few people before entering his office. He walked over to the replicator and got himself a glass of orange juice, his favourite morning drink. He sat down and let out a small sigh, "Another day," He mumbled out aloud.

Paul slowly made his way through Deck 12, greeting crew members and briefly speaking with a few of them. He took note of the overall emotional atmosphere in Ops as he mentioned that he'd heard there had been difficulties on the station during the away mission. The tales of woe were many and varied--power malfunctions throughout the base, strange deposits of silicate goo, and rumors of either a gruesome death in the infirmary or else of a security officer who was gravely ill.

There were no takers for his aquarium, alas, but he'd found out that there was a pet shop or two on the Promenade, and Paul made a mental note to inquire there. At last, he reached Lt. Commander Hunt's office and rang the chime.

Hunt let out another small sigh, already someone to see him! And so early. "Come in," He said.

The door slid open, and Paul stepped into Hunt's office. He immediately liked the room; it was much like the man himself--little personal touches here and there, a desk that looked lived-in. Paul moved farther into the office so the door could close behind him. "Good morning, Commander. Could I have a few minutes of your time? I won't be long."

"Of course you can, what can I help with? Drink?" Hunt questioned. This was the first time he would have caught up with Paul since the team came back from Warspite. A good opportunity for Hunt to find out more about how Drake was and what actually happened, and to actually speak to Paul properly.

"Thank you. Water would be fine," Paul said. He sat down. "Mainly, I wanted to see how you're doing. I thought you would have had a mostly stress-free time of it while the Warspite was away, and then we came back, and I heard about the power fluctuations and all sorts of rumors. The people in the maintenance section of Operations sound like they've been busy non-stop, dealing with repairs. It's a lot to have to tackle at a posting you're familiar with, much less one where you're brand new. Is there anything I can help with?"

Hunt got Paul a water and replied, "You can say stress free again. Most stress free week I've had in a while." He chuckled to himself.

"Most of the rumors were probably true, we found some sort of goo like substance, worked out where it had come from, investigated, found this silicon type substance which I believe is being further investigated, and in the end killed one of the Marines that came with us, plus all the power problems caused by it. But yeah, the station is still falling apart, can't fault most of the crew as they're working their backsides off to sort it! Some of the team that came with us for the investigation seemed a bit stressed, but myself I'm alright, life goes on! What happened on the Warspite? Drake seemed reluctant to talk to me about anything," He questioned

"Oh?" Paul's eyebrows flickered upward. "That's odd. Well...We cruised for a while before we encountered anyone and, when we did, it was Romulans in a D'Deridex-class ship, at first. Their CO, one T'Vrek, believed the Federation was behind the attacks and accused us of staging the whole thing. He did not appear to want to be convinced otherwise. He struck me as being experienced but somewhat outmoded in his thinking. After some interplay between him and us, they departed, and we continued on.

"We ran a search pattern for quite a while, and then we encountered the people who appear to be behind the attacks. Sensors read their vessel as an Intrepid-class ship, but I did some reading about that class on the way back to Vanguard. Their weapons were more powerful than anything I've seen used on Federation ships, and I've never met aliens who think the way these people do. Vulcans would be the closest, but these people thought about things more intensely than Vulcans do, if that makes any sense to you. Vulcans are inculcated from earliest childhood in the teachings and methods of Surak. By the time they reach adulthood, emotional self-control and self-discipline are as natural to them as breathing. They don't have to think about them. These people had to think about them. I very much felt a sense of 'warrior class' and learned ways of thinking.

"They never answered our hails or said a word to us, Commander. The strongest impression I got from them was one of intense self-discipline. These people intended to see us dead, and they strove to accomplish that as efficiently as possible. They didn't acknowledge our hails because they did not plan to allow us to live. I did not get a sense of personal enmity toward us, it was just that...we stood between them and their goal, whatever it was. Therefore, we had to be eliminated, the sooner, the better."

Paul took a drink, grateful for the water. "Photon torpedoes didn't faze them. Their shields were weakened a minuscule amount, and I don't think our first volley so much as touched them. Their weapons, however, tore into us like a warm knife through soft cheese--and one of their attacks destroyed the main tactical console, killing Lt. Anthony. I started out manning Communications and then took over Tactical. We had to use polaron torpedoes before anything made even a dent in their shields, Commander. Whoever these people are, they outgun us and likely can outrun us, too.

"Col. Drake had me load and fire a final volley, after which I alerted the crew to prepare to abandon ship and sent out a distress beacon. Interestingly, shortly after that, who should reappear but the Romulans? I presume they observed the attack and our inability to withstand it and only presented themselves once they had the excuse of the distress beacon and were certain that we posed no threat to them. I'm sure their captain thought he was being canny, but I cannot say I respect him. When the Romulans arrived, the unidentified ship abruptly vanished. Even their minds vanished, Commander. One moment I sensed all thought processes as normal; the next moment--gone, without any sense of warning or preparation. I don't know what to make of it."

Hunt sat there deep in thought as Paul finished speaking, thinking about all of it, "First of all, Drake seems very uneasy around me for the time being, hopefully something I will be able to change. How did he take all of this?" He continued on, not pausing and giving Paul a chance to answer that. "It's strange, the whole thing. We still have no clue who they were, then. Do you think there would be a chance for them to ever return? Or even the Romulans playing us?"

"Col. Drake was entirely professional, as far as I was able to determine," Paul said. "As for the aliens--yes, I do think there is a good chance that we will see them again because they didn't finish what they set out to do. They are tenacious and very goal-oriented. Achieving the objective efficiently is paramount to them. If the Romulans are playing us, which is certainly possible, I don't think T'Vrek or his crew were read in."

"That's good to hear. Fingers crossed it isn't anytime soon, it cost us Lt. Anthony's life, we can't afford to lose anyone else," Hunt said, thinking about everything that had been said. "Apart from all this though, I'm doing well myself. Hopefully we can settle down in Vanguard more now."

"All right," Paul said. "I should leave you to your work now. Thank you for seeing me, Commander."

"No problem, was nice to catch up," Hunt replied watching Paul leave. "Before you leave actually, just a suggestion, Patrick Biere, he's an engineering officer that was part of the team that saw all the business in the depths of Vanguard. He was quite shaken up and started panicking down there. Maybe swinging by there might be of help to him?"

"I'd be glad to have a talk with him," Paul said. "Thanks for letting me know."

OFF

Lt. Commander Zachary Hunt
Executive Officer

Lt. Paul Graves, PsyD
Chief Counselor

 

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