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Personal Log, Lt.Sr. Adele Mundy, TSN Sabre, 2nd Flt., 4th Lt.Div.
Stardate: 281017-2237Lots of announcements at the start of this shift: Cdt. Maxwell passed his exam and was promoted to Act. Ensign; Ens. Yooey was awarded a Practical Proficiency ribbon for Weapons; Lt.Jr. Draeco was awarded the Advanced Practical Proficiency ribbon for Engineering; the whole crew of Viper (Matsiyan, Nhaima, Beaumont, Graybeard and Maxwell) received a Meritorious Commendation for their single-handed defeat of that Griffzungenschwert class ship last shift; and I received a Distinguished Service Medal, for accurate sensor logs and record-keeping, or something. Once a Paragon Librarian, always a Paragon Librarian.
Yes, Computer, it is a very shiny medal. I’m going to put it away now. Don’t sulk.
The sim suites were plagued by a sequence of multiple malfunctions that kept interrupting our training sims, much to everyone’s frustration; especially since we had a couple of new cadets on Sabre, and you can’t help wanting the ship, even the simulated ship, to look her best when there’s a new person on the bridge. Between the systems malfunctions (is it approaching gremlin season again? I lose track, out here) and the new crew, we struggled to achieve much. A final sim seemed to have the technical problems ironed out, and we switched crew members around as well, ending up with Ironclad in Engineering and Nhaima at Helm, which made Weapons’ job much easier.
Then Sabre, Viper, Horizon and Excalibur set out on patrol in Atlantis System. The briefing was somewhat vague, hinting that preparation for some sort of hostile action had been detected in Atlantis. But Research Station 261 is there, and the Cosmic Icosahedron is on RS 261, so, with that to go on, we were sent out – and I was in command of Sabre, which I did not expect; with Nhaima as my XO, which turned out to be a providential thing…
We started a patrol sweep through Atlantis 1, moved on to Atlantis 2, and encountered Caltrons. And this is where things become, well, strange. Our sensors were affected by some of the Caltron-associated radiation; and Viper’s sensors seemed to be affected worse than ours, because while we lost range, they seemed to lose the IFF codes, as Caltrons registered as friendly, and our ships registered as hostile. And they registered as hostile to our base. Because of this, their sensors were unable to network with ours, and this also affected every ship’s sensor range… except that, because of the psi link, I was able to tell where Viper was when she disappeared off our screens, and what she could see.
And to add to the double vision thing, of course I had the Caltron headache. Which seemed to get worse every time we hit a Caltron, dammit.
In the middle of the action against the Caltron swarms (we were rushing to take out the single units before they could combine), Matsiyan’s coffee pot began to glow an eerie blue… No, Computer, I am not being needlessly poetic, I saw it with Matsiyan’s own eyes, and eerie is the appropriate word. Then Viper was hit by some Caltron debris, and her systems started being taken over by Caltron tech. The ventilation system shut down and began to vent atmosphere, so the whole crew would have died if they hadn’t been fast enough to put on vac suits — of course we go through safety training, but honestly, sometimes the general attitude is that if you can’t make it into a life pod, you might as well die quickly, rather than drag it out for a few more hours in a vac suit. This time, though, the life pods were just as Caltron-infested as the rest of the ship, and the suits kept the crew alive while they decided to place the coffee pot in a pod, and eject it.
I suspect that’s the first time a TSN battle report contains a reference to kitchen equipment.
The coffee pot was recovered by Proteus, being flown remotely by Ironclad, since we didn’t want to risk any officer in its proximity. And… well, and that’s where the headache really exploded. And that’s where I countermanded my original orders, which had been to recover the coffee pot and deliver it to Excalibur. I ordered Ironclad to bring the coffee pot aboard Sabre. I repeated the order, becoming increasingly intractable. Fortunately, my XO was an officer of good sense, who had the presence of mind to call MedBay staff to the bridge. So I left Nhaima in command of Sabre while I floated in a drug-induced haze to a MedBay sickbed. And I expect ONI will want to see me about that, dammit.
Proteus continued on its original course, and the coffee pot was taken to Excalibur, the Section Blue Frigate, with its specially shielded containment storage, and as far as I know it’s undergoing testing by the ONI BlueSuits. Meanwhile, Matsiyan requested friendly fire, hoping that an EMP would disrupt the Caltron infestation enough to initiate repairs on Viper.
I know the fleet took on and disposed of several Caltron Tertiaries, a couple of Senaries and at least one Duodenary, but since I was only aware of the action peripherally, and rather hazily, I can’t really give you details. But the Cosmic Icosahedron is safe on RS 261, if one can call the Cosmic Icosahedron safe at all. It’s like walking into a jungle and meeting a tiger: you feel the vibration of the tiger’s roar in your solar plexus, and it’s a beautiful and incomprehensible creature that will probably rip you apart in a few seconds. Oh, and it sings. Weird almost-melody just out of the human hearing range, on a musical scale that makes no sense. Dammit. Are you surprised I get headaches?
We found out during debriefing that Matsiyan’s grandmother’s coffee pot somehow synced with the Caltron units, and some Caltrons were able to take advantage of that link in their attempt to assimilate Viper. The shipboard computer was infected, but is now in the hands of ISS, and their teams will need to gut all the electronics out of Viper and reinstall completely new systems, to make sure it’s clear. Dammit, they aren’t going to be happy.
I wasn’t terribly surprised when the headache cleared as the Caltrons did; my question is, though, whether it would reappear if I were to approach the coffee pot, without its ONI containment. Dammit. Why that coffee pot, out of all the objects on board? Drinking coffee made out of that pot had become the pre-exam good luck ritual for Matsiyan and me, back in the Academy days; and it’s still a pre-mission briefing interlude… Or it was, until this happened. Now what?
So, no coffee before our next mission… which, as things turned out, was to recover the Artefact that had been in Hjorden hands: so, no problem, right? Our orders were to proceed to Erebus 1, Station C12, and seize control of the station, deploy our Marines to search it, find the Artefact and bring it back. Oh, and avoid damaging the station infrastructure, or system ship traffic, while doing that.
Sabre’s role in the action wasn’t glamorous, but it was necessary, as we distracted large fleets while Excalibur deployed her marines and recovered the Artefact. We continued acting as a distraction as we headed for the Cronus Gate and through it. And on the other side, we found Caltrons. I’m getting a headache just remembering them, dammit. But we were dealing with them, despite their numbers — and then a singularity opened right by the Erebus Gate, and dense particulate matter appeared to come through the singularity. But nothing else came though, and the Division left the area.
It was a close call, though. I’d never thought about the possibility of Gates being destroyed, but the singularity could have. And now, Science Officers all over the Fleet are working on what this might mean. We’re all going over the readings that our ships have uploaded into the database, trying to follow the threads of information. The first, and obvious, conclusion, is that by destroying Gates, one could practically isolate the Systems, at least in the short term. Ships would have to go the long way round, like in the old days, and that would have incalculable effects on trade, travel, communications, political relations. Of course one would rebuild Gates, but the question is time: because without the Gate tech to hold the jump point steady, the jump point is likely to realign, and without the Gate systems to guide it, nobody has any say on where it jumps to. It could go anywhere. This is all speculation, of course, and worst case scenarios, but that’s what Science Officers are supposed to look out for. Dammit.
As for the Artefact, it’s in containment, on Excalibur. Where the coffee pot is. Because what could possibly go wrong?
Dammit, Computer.
// The “need coffee” bit was a lot of fun, thank you for doing it. About halfway through, I may have started trying to frame what argument I would need to present if you pushed much further and I felt I needed to temporarily relieve your command.
// Nicely done!
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