Thursday, October 14, 2010

[USS Charon] [USS Charon] SD241010.13 || Joint Plot Log "Virtus, non copia vincint" Part II || Capt Savant, LtCmdr Sakarra Tyrax

[IRW Endless Sky, Leih's quarters]     


Using what was left of the proud, sleek shape that had been Temep`Shar and the massive amounts of power generated by the Starbase, a sparkling sapphire beam lanced out from the battered Vulcan ship's belly. The shockwave sent another series of shudders through the Endless Sky, but it merely accelerated, a warhorse stomping and snorting through the river that separates it from the foe, paying no heed to the annoying currents tugging at its powerful legs.

For a small eternity it almost seemed they would fail, that the amaranth hull would shatter under the stress, the 'Gateway' come apart as space itself seemed to twist and groan, hurl angry blue sparks at the insolent creatures ramming a spear into it. But few races take as much pride in their craftsmanship than the one that had built Temep`Shar and the ship prevailed, shedding hull fragments and losing entire decks as support beams buckled like reeds under the storm. In a blaze of blinding diamond and sapphire light, a maelstrom of colours formed, settling into a deep well of midnight blue and scattered diamonds reflecting ocean water.

Out of time.


She didn't see the tractor beam latching on to the remnants of the Vulcan ship, barely even felt the shudder as the Warbird crossed the event horizon. Difficult as it had been, the Vulcan had torn her eyes away from the truly mesmerizing sight and gripped the daggers, making for the door.

Home. One way or another.

"The dance, as you put it, seems to have begun."


Savants' voice had an electronica hum to it as the hologram bobbed upwards, dissolving into a miniature replica of the coalescing light beyond the hull. Releasing her weak bindings on the local holography network, she parted with a quip, "We're ready to dance, now the time is right - they won't even get a warning light - Time to get on up to the floor-"



Even in her current state, the Vulcan could not help but appreciate the ever cheerful AI and her apparently unquenchable optimism. Though one might safely assume Savant had little idea, especially now, precisely why the saying 'Vulcans don't dance' should have the words 'any more' attached to it. For when they do, inevitably, one of two things will happen in short order and neither involves any type of logic but the one which is written in emerald blood.

Quirking a velvety black brow at the inherent irony, if not the universe's once more proven sense of humour, she was hardly surprised the doors opened on her approach – nor that the two naval security officers stationed outside were woefully unprepared.

[IRW Endless Sky's Computer Network]

Savants' position on Endless Sky was a lot more delicate than it appeared. She had few clock cycles to work with, and this was a terrible state to be in. It isn't a case of a potter not having enough clay - no, it was far worse. No metaphor could adequately describe the problems of an AI with too few computing resources. Not only could Savant not formulate her usual models and plans, she couldn't even think of them. Quite literally, Savants' ability to act was hampered in ways that she couldn't comprehend right now.

She had gone feral, and knew it. Within her code lay a dormant seed of her higher functionality, but she had stored them away unused - she simply hadn't the processing time to bring them to bear. Instead she had modified her code to amplify her instincts and maintained a few simple goals. She would rely on her superior speed and the surprise of a sentient computer program prowling in the computers' midst. Higher cognitive functions would have to wait.

The orders were issued, and Sakarra was in motion. She unleashed herself upon the monolithic architecture of the Romulan computer network, expanding her software like gleaming talons into the surrounding software, pulling away clock time and storage space with the same motions. Small things first - personal logs and secondary monitoring systems. Things that would only be noticed in a few minutes; an eternity of time for her to work with. Enough to bootstrap her mind back online. Enough to bring the terrible weight of her capacity to this place, to sunder the computer from the inside out and make it her own dominion instead. Just a few minutes.

For Sakarra, however, a few minutes wasn't nearly as generous an amount of time.



[IRW Endless Sky, corridor not far from the bridge. Or very far. Everything is … relative.]


They had not been told a prisoner was loose, and most certainly not that it was a thaessu with Kalen. How she had gotten a hold of those finely crafted daggers was anyone's guess though if any of the people unfortunate enough to cross her path had taken a closer look and thought about it for a moment, the black hair, shimmering like an inky river under the stars, the provocative blood-green silk dress and the incredibly dark eyes might have given them a vital hint. As it was, they were rather … busy.

Having been thrown into a bulkhead by a girl who could not only be his granddaughter by the looks of her but seemed much too frail, not to mention injured, to achieve a feat like that, the senior centurion shook his head to make the ringing in his ears stop. Before he could pick himself off the floor he saw a young Arrain try and take a shot at the girl but with a rather impressive twist of her hip she simply sidestepped the green beam. It was the last the poor male would ever fire.


Certain that she was coming to finish him off, the graying man tugged at his own blade, his disruptor somewhere among the others littering the emerald stained deck. And then stared at the black eyes looking down at him, mesmerized. Mind-reader. Was she trying to … no. There was none of the pressure that forced mental contact would elicit before, inevitably, his defenses had to crumble under the sheer … heat. It seemed to radiate off the Vulcan, emanate from her skin, her eyes.

There are instincts, and there is wisdom gained with age. And he didn't want to kill the poor child for … well, trying to go after her dishonorable captor, for clearly that was what she intended. Foolishly brave, especially for a thaessu. Touching, even.

"Come on, girl. Finish it."

For a split second, something seemed to keep the flames roaring in those eyes at bay, but he had no time to ponder the meaning of it before a small, slender hand dropped the dagger and closed on his shoulder. He didn't even have time to chuckle when the last words he heard before unconsciousness took him were the same S'Task had spoken to his Orion captors so long ago.

Nash-veh Vuhlkansu - pontal na'sochya.

Considering what same man had done after speaking that sentence, the centurion found the situation both amusing and … fitting. Bred to peace. Yes, that had turned out well, hadn't it?


[IRW Endless Sky, Bridge]



"The Vulcan ship is destroyed, Rekkhai. The stress of crossing the event horizon has compromised the engineering section."

"Will the wormhole remain stable?"

The furtive looks of 'Damned if I know' as well as the sudden furious tapping at consoles told Itsak they were quite worried it might not. But even as amaranth wreck pieces tumbled away under the massive Warbird's belly, the eerie blue glow of the blue tunnel they were traversing remained … steady. For a given measure of steady, as energy flickered and sparked, sapphires and diamonds seemed to twirl as in a child's toy, fracturing light. Here and there, the tunnel seemed to bulge as if an angry wraith tried to reach inside the abomination daring to defy nature, but inside the madly twisting maelstrom it seemed almost quiet.

"Indications are, it will, Rekkhai. At least … long enough."

"Wishful thinking, Hanaj?" With a malicious, razor sharp smile, the man seated in the command throne studied his second. The die were cast. From here on out, it was up to the Elements.


"Still closing, Rekkhai."

What an annoying little nei'rrh, that federation ship. Well, perhaps his dear cousin had taught those spineless creatures a thing or two about perseverance. It was almost a shame to destroy the ugly thing, for at least its spirit was something one could respect. "Wait until they are in optimal firing range, then fire a full spread."

"Inside the … ie, Rekkhai. Torpedoes loaded and ready."

With everyone's attention fixed on either their work stations or the marvel on the viewscreen, barely any attention was paid to the opening of doors. Barely, but enough. Shouts of surprise and a sudden gurgling sound made Itsak turn just in time to see one of his security officers collapse at the feet of …


"Klee-fah, Itsak tr`Sahen. Kah-if-fee."

Magnificent. And quite stunning in the real sense of the word, since it took his bridge crew almost an entire second to shake off their stupor.

It is challenged?

The first beams tore through the air before he could so much as shout an order but he need not have worried for she sidestepped them with feline grace, advancing on him with his own Kalen. The daggers he had gifted her.

This. Ah, Elements, what passion. One small Vulcan against the entire bridge complement and she seemed disappointed they were not many more. This was what he had thought he had caught a mere glimpse of, and now saw unleashed, all the ancient glory in one tiny, bleeding woman's eyes, the thaessu beating heart. And they were going to kill her.


They did not hear. Not his frantic order, not the announcement of the tactical officer that Charon was in firing range. Resorting to bladed weapons in close range, everyone not watching with surprise, interest, excitement or plain annoyance closed in on the Vulcan and they fell like leaves before the storm.

Who had taught her to wield them like that? Who …?


"Hna'h!" The last person on the bridge keeping his head, Hanaj snarled at the angry tactical officer and the torpedoes launched, streaming towards the suddenly so very frail looking, battered Federation ship.

One nuisance dealt with. Now, for the other.

Pulling his disruptor, Hanaj took careful aim.


More than once the Vulcan had silently been grateful that it was not only the blood of an ancient Matriarch's daughter that flowed in her veins. Admittedly, she had cursed the Warlord's heritage just as many times; but the uncanny ability to hone in on important things even in the most heated battle, even under the most dire circumstances was one of the traits he had passed on to his descendants, one which she had ample reason to be grateful for.




There was vengeance. And then there were ... more important things.

She barely felt the beam scorch her luxurious and by now truly annoying dress when her sudden, unexpected change in direction saved her. All she saw was the tactical station and the glowing lights, and the swords that stood in her way.

Her mind slipping away under the maddening fever, that fever screaming for blood and more blood, insatiable and turning her eyes into living flame; to be extinguished only in a river, an ocean of emerald unless the thread tugging at her heart would bring the one who could turn it from the path of destruction to her, she clung to those last fragments of conscious thought and leapt like the Le-Matya ready to sink her teeth into a rival's neck. Twisting in mid-air she seemed to defy gravity, pay no mind to the razor sharp blade cutting a swath across her torso. And devastated everything in her path.

Her last thought before the tactical officer crumpled to the floor and her fist nearly shattered the console was that Sovar would have been proud – she had never quite mastered this rather desperate maneuver before.


Somewhere behind the Endless Sky, a dozen torpedoes ignited in a fury of flame and light, the shockwave rocking a badly battered silver shape that had been racing towards them, defying certain death. Death that had been … postponed. For now.

If they wondered why the torpedoes had unleashed their massive potential long before even touching their shields … at least they were alive to wonder.


[To be continued ...]


LtCmdr Sakarra

Executive Officer



masterful infiltrator with shiny fur and sharp teeth


USS Charon