Incommunicado – Final Approach
by
Post Details
OOC: In terms of timeline and continuity this is part of Incommunicado, but the main point of it is reminiscing about the past.
ON:
After almost 49 hours of travelling Relma was finally nearing his destination. The Talon-class runabout shook very slightly as it decelerated from warp. From the top of the control panel above him Jolan opened a single eye, which glared at the Bajoran as if to berate him for disturbing the cat’s slumber. He thought back to when he'd found the poor animal: half-starved prowling around the Jeffries Tubes of the abandoned USS Yosemite at the Qualor II Surplus Depot just over 2 years previously. Seeing a humanoid presumably for the first time since the ship's abandonment 2 weeks previously his little tabby face lit up with delight and he let out a rather pathetic, whimpering yowl which immediately made Relma think of the opening of, the Bajoran master-composer, Tor Jolan's 8th opus. The poor little animal was obviously frightened and traumatised and Relma spent the best part of 10 minutes trying to catch him so that he could take care of him - for which trouble he got a number of scratches and even a couple of bites. Within just a couple of months the scrawny little thing had fully recovered from his ordeal and now looked a full-grown tabby-point birman. In attitude he was very much an attention seeker and, unless he had something better (like eating or sleeping) to be doing, would always insist to 'help' Relma with anything he wanted to be doing in his quarters. Relma wondered to himself how the little creature would adjust to a new home: having gotten very acclimatised to life at Qualor II.
Meryn smiled at the animal and blinked to reassure him as he set an approach vector to the station. "Almost there now, Jol." The large ovaloid shape loomed large in the distance and it struck Relma how different an assignment this was to that at Qualor II - both by the very nature of it and in terms of the number of people. At Qualor II he'd served alongside fifteen Zakdorn while Deep Space Five was home to over 100000 people - over half of whom were Starfleet personnel. He hadn't truly had the opportunity to build up a good group of friends and colleagues since the Bismarck and the Hood before that. Those had been good postings for him: the former ending in tragedy when the ship struck a quantum filament and the latter had been ended by Captain DeSoto's sponsorship and insistence on the advancement of Relma's career. He wondered how the good Captain and his crew had been keeping since he'd last seen them 8 years ago. From what he'd heard most of the senior staff had their own commands, and the Captain himself had joined the Admiralty - heading up post-war rebuilding efforts. The Hood herself had to have been close to retirement as well - she'd had a long and venerable career but there were only so many upgrades you could put onto an Excelsior class ship of that age. She was an excellent ship, though, and had been blessed with an even better crew. Meryn prayed to himself that the Admiralty wouldn't be stupid enough to send her to rot at Qualor II or similar when her time finally came: she at least deserved to be celebrated in a museum, or used to train future officers. The memories of his time aboard - both stints - came rushing back to him: especially the friendships he'd made. He mused to himself what it would be like to have the chance to have friends and colleagues again - perhaps even renewing real Parrises Squares or similar.
He activated the autopilot for a moment as he reached up onto the console to scoop up the sleeping Jolan in his arms and put him into his cat-carrier - made easier by his dozy state, though once the door was shut a wistful yowl did emanate thence. He reached into his bag and pulled out the top two PADDs which were for Captain Tahir, and placed them beside the bag before returning to the pilot’s seat and taking control. His brush with O'Dwyer, whence the PADDs had come, had been his first encounter with the brass since his fateful night drinking with General Borath. The hero's death still weighed heavily on Relma's mind from time to time, but e knew that a stroke such as the General had suffered was almost impossible to predict and probably had nothing to do with their antics the night before. While it took him another year to rejoin Starfleet, that morning marked Relma's Militia career's end. He had realised the futility of the Militia's continued activity: barely able to keep the Bajoran system safe from smugglers - let alone invasion by a foreign power he had come to recognise that Bajor's future lay with the Federation.
To the port-side of the ship he could see one of the station's Guardian-class defence platforms - masterpieces of Starfleet reverse engineering and improvement from the Cardassian equivalents originally seen at the First Battle of Chin'toka. To his immense disappointment he hadn't had the chance to fight in the main engagement there as he'd still been serving station-side on DS9 - though he had joined the Hood on an exchange from the Militia (his first spell in Starfleet) in time to be heavily involved in the early analysis of the platforms. While the knowledge ended up being of little use in the war itself - as the platforms around Cardassia Prime were never engaged - it was no doubt a direct design ancestor of those platforms themselves. The war itself had been good for Relma's career. He'd lost friends, of course, but not on the scale as he had on New Bajor or the Bismarck. His chance to help defend the Alpha Quadrant, and Bajor, and to take revenge on the Dominion for what they did to New Bajor was one he took with relish - fighting like a man possessed against a Jem'Hadar boarding party on the Hood at the Battle of Ricktor Prime. His first, brief, stint in Starfleet had opened his eyes and set him down the path which had now led him, over a decade later, to the far side of the Federation and this new posting.
Turning his eyes back to the console, there was no evidence whatsoever that anything was the matter with the station itself, but still he had absolutely no contact from it. As the main doors were closed he pulled up the station’s specifications to see where the shuttle bays were located. In comparison to Deep Space Nine the Celestial-class station had a mind-boggling array of support craft: 72 Danube-class runabouts, 18 Talon-class scouts, 12 Hunley shuttles, 150 Type 11 Shuttles, 84 Type 18 Shuttlepods, 300 Type 8 Shuttles, 250 Type 9 Shuttles, 36 Argo-class Transports, 8 Firefly-class Transports, 36 Wyvern-class Hopper Transports, 108 fighters, 188 Brunel-class workpods 2 Wallace-class escort vessels, and an Oberth-class science vessel. Relma was so very glad he had only had charge of the three runabouts, a handful of shuttles and workbees, and various visiting craft, during his time as Auxiliary Craft Manager on Deep Space Nine. He thought back to his arrival there as a 21-year old whose views on Starfleet and the Federation were not exactly warm - all of which were changed in the course of that assignment. The parallels between him starting the two assignments were strong: just out of a long-term relationship, a return to 'active' service after a period in, what basically amounted to, a desk job (awarded him as the result of psychological trauma at losing friends), both times following shortly after a promotion for him, and both times far bigger assignments than he'd ever undertaken before. The only difference was him. He was older now - by over a decade and a half, wiser - by far, and had an entire career of experiences behind him. In short: this time he was ready.
Finally, when he closed to within 500,000 kilometres, his console started flashing as a request for identification was received. Transmitting the information and his docking request, he slowed the craft to 1/4 impulse and altered his approach vector to delay his arrival - to give the station the chance to process it. For a Starfleet craft the Talon-class was surprisingly agile and responsive at sub-warp speeds - taking Relma back to his Resistance days and the raiders he co-piloted. His first ever dogfight during the Borath cell's failed attempt to assassinate Gul Darhe'el always stuck in his mind most prominently. The feeling of weightlessness as they twisted and turned through the valleys of Tohzat Province. As he made the final adjustments to the ship's trajectory he relived the maneuvers Lupa made to their ship during the pursuit right up until they finally brought the Hideki-class ship down. The battle was, despite the failure of the objective, arguably the Borath cell's greatest triumph throughout the entire Occupation and marked Relma's entry into the great campaign and indeed the start of his military career - at the tender age of 13. Almost 25 years may have passed since then and so much was so very different, but, in the end, Relma did still sometimes feel like the co-pilot in his own existence: having his course determined by events outside his purview. Perhaps that was just what it was to be a soldier, though; perhaps the Prophets were guiding him all along; perhaps he was just happy to go where he was sent.
Regardless; he was here now. Entering the shuttlebay of his new home and about to begin the next chapter of his life. His familiarisation with the crew and research into his new posting had, thanks to the short nature of the trip and the concerns over the communications blackout, but he'd gone into new assignments with less information before and, as an enlisted man, if there was one thing he could say with absolute certainty, it was that it was best to learn on the job - all the training in the world could never cover every possibility. The Talon-class scout touched the deck-plates with a satisfying clang and Relma put his duffel-bags over his shoulders, followed by Jolan's cat carrier, grabbed the PADDs with his right hand, and proceeded to the hatch. He had arrived.
OFF:
Chief Warrant Officer First Class Relma Meryn
Chief Operations Officer
by
Post Details
| Title | Final Approach | |
| Mission | Incommunicado | |
| Author(s) | ||
| Posted | Mon Jun 04, 2012 @ 1:59pm | |
| Location | USS Stilicho, Local Deep Space Five 'Air' Space | |
| Timeline | SD57, 1600 hours (Prior to the, forthcoming, Order-gram for Tasha and Meeting of Minds, |
ON:
After almost 49 hours of travelling Relma was finally nearing his destination. The Talon-class runabout shook very slightly as it decelerated from warp. From the top of the control panel above him Jolan opened a single eye, which glared at the Bajoran as if to berate him for disturbing the cat’s slumber. He thought back to when he'd found the poor animal: half-starved prowling around the Jeffries Tubes of the abandoned USS Yosemite at the Qualor II Surplus Depot just over 2 years previously. Seeing a humanoid presumably for the first time since the ship's abandonment 2 weeks previously his little tabby face lit up with delight and he let out a rather pathetic, whimpering yowl which immediately made Relma think of the opening of, the Bajoran master-composer, Tor Jolan's 8th opus. The poor little animal was obviously frightened and traumatised and Relma spent the best part of 10 minutes trying to catch him so that he could take care of him - for which trouble he got a number of scratches and even a couple of bites. Within just a couple of months the scrawny little thing had fully recovered from his ordeal and now looked a full-grown tabby-point birman. In attitude he was very much an attention seeker and, unless he had something better (like eating or sleeping) to be doing, would always insist to 'help' Relma with anything he wanted to be doing in his quarters. Relma wondered to himself how the little creature would adjust to a new home: having gotten very acclimatised to life at Qualor II.
Meryn smiled at the animal and blinked to reassure him as he set an approach vector to the station. "Almost there now, Jol." The large ovaloid shape loomed large in the distance and it struck Relma how different an assignment this was to that at Qualor II - both by the very nature of it and in terms of the number of people. At Qualor II he'd served alongside fifteen Zakdorn while Deep Space Five was home to over 100000 people - over half of whom were Starfleet personnel. He hadn't truly had the opportunity to build up a good group of friends and colleagues since the Bismarck and the Hood before that. Those had been good postings for him: the former ending in tragedy when the ship struck a quantum filament and the latter had been ended by Captain DeSoto's sponsorship and insistence on the advancement of Relma's career. He wondered how the good Captain and his crew had been keeping since he'd last seen them 8 years ago. From what he'd heard most of the senior staff had their own commands, and the Captain himself had joined the Admiralty - heading up post-war rebuilding efforts. The Hood herself had to have been close to retirement as well - she'd had a long and venerable career but there were only so many upgrades you could put onto an Excelsior class ship of that age. She was an excellent ship, though, and had been blessed with an even better crew. Meryn prayed to himself that the Admiralty wouldn't be stupid enough to send her to rot at Qualor II or similar when her time finally came: she at least deserved to be celebrated in a museum, or used to train future officers. The memories of his time aboard - both stints - came rushing back to him: especially the friendships he'd made. He mused to himself what it would be like to have the chance to have friends and colleagues again - perhaps even renewing real Parrises Squares or similar.
He activated the autopilot for a moment as he reached up onto the console to scoop up the sleeping Jolan in his arms and put him into his cat-carrier - made easier by his dozy state, though once the door was shut a wistful yowl did emanate thence. He reached into his bag and pulled out the top two PADDs which were for Captain Tahir, and placed them beside the bag before returning to the pilot’s seat and taking control. His brush with O'Dwyer, whence the PADDs had come, had been his first encounter with the brass since his fateful night drinking with General Borath. The hero's death still weighed heavily on Relma's mind from time to time, but e knew that a stroke such as the General had suffered was almost impossible to predict and probably had nothing to do with their antics the night before. While it took him another year to rejoin Starfleet, that morning marked Relma's Militia career's end. He had realised the futility of the Militia's continued activity: barely able to keep the Bajoran system safe from smugglers - let alone invasion by a foreign power he had come to recognise that Bajor's future lay with the Federation.
To the port-side of the ship he could see one of the station's Guardian-class defence platforms - masterpieces of Starfleet reverse engineering and improvement from the Cardassian equivalents originally seen at the First Battle of Chin'toka. To his immense disappointment he hadn't had the chance to fight in the main engagement there as he'd still been serving station-side on DS9 - though he had joined the Hood on an exchange from the Militia (his first spell in Starfleet) in time to be heavily involved in the early analysis of the platforms. While the knowledge ended up being of little use in the war itself - as the platforms around Cardassia Prime were never engaged - it was no doubt a direct design ancestor of those platforms themselves. The war itself had been good for Relma's career. He'd lost friends, of course, but not on the scale as he had on New Bajor or the Bismarck. His chance to help defend the Alpha Quadrant, and Bajor, and to take revenge on the Dominion for what they did to New Bajor was one he took with relish - fighting like a man possessed against a Jem'Hadar boarding party on the Hood at the Battle of Ricktor Prime. His first, brief, stint in Starfleet had opened his eyes and set him down the path which had now led him, over a decade later, to the far side of the Federation and this new posting.
Turning his eyes back to the console, there was no evidence whatsoever that anything was the matter with the station itself, but still he had absolutely no contact from it. As the main doors were closed he pulled up the station’s specifications to see where the shuttle bays were located. In comparison to Deep Space Nine the Celestial-class station had a mind-boggling array of support craft: 72 Danube-class runabouts, 18 Talon-class scouts, 12 Hunley shuttles, 150 Type 11 Shuttles, 84 Type 18 Shuttlepods, 300 Type 8 Shuttles, 250 Type 9 Shuttles, 36 Argo-class Transports, 8 Firefly-class Transports, 36 Wyvern-class Hopper Transports, 108 fighters, 188 Brunel-class workpods 2 Wallace-class escort vessels, and an Oberth-class science vessel. Relma was so very glad he had only had charge of the three runabouts, a handful of shuttles and workbees, and various visiting craft, during his time as Auxiliary Craft Manager on Deep Space Nine. He thought back to his arrival there as a 21-year old whose views on Starfleet and the Federation were not exactly warm - all of which were changed in the course of that assignment. The parallels between him starting the two assignments were strong: just out of a long-term relationship, a return to 'active' service after a period in, what basically amounted to, a desk job (awarded him as the result of psychological trauma at losing friends), both times following shortly after a promotion for him, and both times far bigger assignments than he'd ever undertaken before. The only difference was him. He was older now - by over a decade and a half, wiser - by far, and had an entire career of experiences behind him. In short: this time he was ready.
Finally, when he closed to within 500,000 kilometres, his console started flashing as a request for identification was received. Transmitting the information and his docking request, he slowed the craft to 1/4 impulse and altered his approach vector to delay his arrival - to give the station the chance to process it. For a Starfleet craft the Talon-class was surprisingly agile and responsive at sub-warp speeds - taking Relma back to his Resistance days and the raiders he co-piloted. His first ever dogfight during the Borath cell's failed attempt to assassinate Gul Darhe'el always stuck in his mind most prominently. The feeling of weightlessness as they twisted and turned through the valleys of Tohzat Province. As he made the final adjustments to the ship's trajectory he relived the maneuvers Lupa made to their ship during the pursuit right up until they finally brought the Hideki-class ship down. The battle was, despite the failure of the objective, arguably the Borath cell's greatest triumph throughout the entire Occupation and marked Relma's entry into the great campaign and indeed the start of his military career - at the tender age of 13. Almost 25 years may have passed since then and so much was so very different, but, in the end, Relma did still sometimes feel like the co-pilot in his own existence: having his course determined by events outside his purview. Perhaps that was just what it was to be a soldier, though; perhaps the Prophets were guiding him all along; perhaps he was just happy to go where he was sent.
Regardless; he was here now. Entering the shuttlebay of his new home and about to begin the next chapter of his life. His familiarisation with the crew and research into his new posting had, thanks to the short nature of the trip and the concerns over the communications blackout, but he'd gone into new assignments with less information before and, as an enlisted man, if there was one thing he could say with absolute certainty, it was that it was best to learn on the job - all the training in the world could never cover every possibility. The Talon-class scout touched the deck-plates with a satisfying clang and Relma put his duffel-bags over his shoulders, followed by Jolan's cat carrier, grabbed the PADDs with his right hand, and proceeded to the hatch. He had arrived.
OFF:
Chief Warrant Officer First Class Relma Meryn
Chief Operations Officer