Posted by Gamemaster Deus Ex Machina (Gamemaster) in Main Sim [Bridge]: A Matter of Protocols

Posted by Lieutenant Commander Kohr (Executive Officer) in Main Sim [Bridge]: A Matter of Protocols

Posted by Gamemaster Deus Ex Machina (Gamemaster) in Main Sim [Bridge]: A Matter of Protocols
Posted by… suppressed (1) by the Post Ghost! 👻
Kohr felt an odd sense of relief ripple through him as he emerged from the turbolift onto the Viking‘s bridge. With the unusual goings-on so fresh in his mind the seeming-normalcy of the scene before him was a salve to his nerves. The Klingon made his way to the captain’s chair and the familiar shape of Lieutenant Yorba. The man gave him a welcome half-smile and stood, offering him the seat instead. Nodding his approval, Kohr sat formally, palms on his thighs.

“Report,” came his baritone growl, staring past the lieutenant to the curve of alien ship peeking in from the view screen.

Kohr did not miss the other man’s shrug from the corner of his gaze. “Nothing much to report, sir. The power transfer is complete and everything appears to be in order. The Viking is still holding position ten thousand kilometers from her starboard bow. From what our sensors have been able to show, the transfer barely tickled their consumption requirements. That’s… about it, sir.”

[Just to clarify, the ship took the power transfer and recharged it’s batteries but did not increase usage. That is why the system output did not change much. Imagine if you had to drive a hundred miles and someone gave you a gallon of gas but no way to refuel, you wouldn’t use it right away, you’d try to get more gas.]

[I’m well-aware, hence why I said it didn’t meet the requirements. Doesn’t change the fact that it might not make sense to some people. Even if I couldn’t get where I’m going, I’d still turn the engine on long enough to pop the locks and let anyone inside out, to continue the analogy. If you have any future issues with my writing, you’re welcome to contact me directly via Discord or email to discuss it.]

Yorba leaned in, his voice keyed to a more conspiratorial tone. “Personally, sir, I can’t say as I like it. A ship we can’t properly scan, I mean. For all we know they’ve got ten tons of ultridium explosives in their cargo hold, or half a million starving kittens.”

The Klingon raised a brow.

“All I’m trying to say, sir,” he continued, holding up a hand defensively, “is that I’m concerned. If this were a Ferengi freighter in distress and you couldn’t detect what was in their hold…”

Yorba let the thought trail off as he straightened. Kohr’s jaw worked as he tried very hard not to clench his jaw hard enough to crack. He took a slow, steadying breath. How many of those had he needed to remain calm since they detected the alien vessel’s signal.

“Understood,” was all Kohr could bring himself to say. Yorba’s concerns, however, echoed much of what he had already considered himself. While the Viking was perfectly capable of rendering assistance to most any vessel in distress, this had been anything but standard. Much of the dealings with Hab’rabi and his vessel had been conducted—what was the human expression?—by the seat of their pants, and that did not sit well with the Klingon in the least.

While his post to the Viking had originally been an order from Starfleet Command, Kohr had grown fond of the ship’s operation style and command crew. Rende was personally a calm and easy-going individual, but she had also impressed him with her commanding military presence and leadership. It was not the hard-nosed, do-or-die way of a Klingon captain, certainly; it was an assertive and disciplined manner that allowed Kohr to know exactly where he stood at any given time. That kind of natural leadership was rare but projected a strong sense of confidence into every aspect of the Viking‘s operations. It was something he had come to count on.

That trust, however, had started to fray at the edges.

“Bridge to Engineering,” he growled, pushing his thoughts to the side. He would deal with them later.

“Engineering,” came the reply. “Paulson here. What can I do for you, Commander?“

“We are preparing to take the alien vessel in-tow. Do you anticipate any complications?”

Kohr waited as patiently as he was able while the engineer considered his request. That in and of itself made him tense. He had known even before asking that there would be some difficulty in tractoring a substantially-larger vessel anywhere, and the Viking was already on the edge of Federation space. The thick silence humming through the comm system only confirmed some of his suspicions.

A moment later, a soft sigh. “We’ll have to reroute power from our auxiliary systems to boost the flow to the graviton emitters; that should give us a wide enough beam for a firm grip. It’ll take us a few minutes to reconfigure our plasma regulation to the injectors in order to extend our warp field to encompass the vessel. I’m relatively confident that we can manage Warp Three… at least, until we see how things shake out.“

“Understood. Make the necessary adjustments and signal when we can be underway.” Kohr leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers before him. “Helm, set a course for Starbase One-Eight-Five.”

“Course set.”

Kohr nodded. At least something was going as-expected. Frowning, he turned his attention to the display at his elbow and tapped the terminal to activate the localized comm system. =^=Kohr to Forgrave. Has Lieutenant Darz joined you yet?=^=

As he spoke, his fingers worked independently in tandem with his unconscious mind as the Klingon began drafting a preliminary report to Starfleet. While Lieutenant Sigmundsson might have felt a message to Starfleet Intelligence was no longer necessary, Kohr was certain that its Medical and Science divisions would be most intrigued by their discovery.
—Kohr, Executive Officer—

GM

Several minutes passed before a chime came from overhead. “Modifications are complete, Commander. Tractor beam is standing by.“

“Very well,” Kohr nodded, saving his report progress and transferring it to his personal station. “Lock on tractor beam and engage at Warp Three.”

A brief hum rippled through the bridge as the tractor beam reached out to grasp the alien vessel. Once in the Viking‘s gossamer hold, the pinpricks of starlight drifting lazily across the viewscreen leapt towards them in rainbow streaks as they went to warp. The muscles in Kohr’s neck tensed with the anticipation of some manner of catastrophe, and he leaned forward in his chair.
—Kohr, Executive Officer—

=/\=No Sir; Haven’t seen Lt. Darz at all, neither have I heard from her. I think we’re covered here; I have NE Braxton and Heimdel with me. But I don’t like officers disappearing just as we have guests aboard - makes me concerned that something else is going on.=/\=

Forgrave, CoS

Kohr took a slow, steadying breath. =^=Agreed. Attend the captain, but when your duty is complete I would hear your concerns. Kohr out.=^=

The Klingon laced his fingers together before him to keep them from becoming fists. It took four deliberate breaths to keep him from striking out with the need to do something to ease the tension. It had coiled about his spine like a deklian eel, was squeezing hard enough to crack bone. Kohr could not put his finger on it, but coming into contact with the alien vessel had somehow begun to unravel the discipline in the Viking crew, first with the away team’s lack of protocol and now two officers becoming lax in their duties. If anything, they should have been more vigilant with a first contact situation.

In his mind there had always been a delicate line between Starfleet’s protocols for dealing with first contact and a warrior’s duty to the safety of the ship, one that had never been fully defined. While perhaps a bit brash and entitled, Hab’rabi had posed the Viking no open threat. His abrasive mannerisms could have been attributed to a clash of cultures; as a Klingon, he knew all too well that what was acceptable to his people was not always appreciated by the more “civilized” species, such as humans. The alien had—at least to the captain—indulged their ways and wants, with a few modest concessions.

What grated Kohr, however, was how little real and usable information they’d received from Hab’rabi or his vessel. The behemoth in their tow was an entire conundrum that defied every attempt to unravel its secrets. How could something composed of materials and designs decades behind the Federation so easily defeat their sensors? And yet it was the Federation way to trust that nothing was amiss. Had the Viking been a Klingon vessel, the alien vessel would not have been allowed to pass without inspection. Yorba had raised a valid point: Hab’rabi’s supposed sovereignty was the only thing protecting him and his vessel from further scrutiny.

“Lieutenant,” he sighed, turning to the communications officer. Kohr’s displeasure must have been writ large on his features because the woman paled noticably. “Contact Starfleet and notify them of our course and situation. I am certain the medical and science divisions will be eager to study our prize. Inform them that I will attach a more detailed report presently.”

A shaky nod. “Y-Yes, sir.”

The Klingon frowned, but not at her apprehension. He would remember to speak to the captain once Rende observed the proper diplomatic decorum. Knowing the woman as he did, Kohr knew she would likely make excuses at the first opportunity. Until then, he busied himself with the details of his report to Starfleet. It was unfortunately vague, mostly dry data concerning their discovery of the vessel and the steps they’d taken to secure it. After some heavy thought, the Klingon added his personal concern that there had been some oddities within the crew, and that it was currently under investigation. Once his data was complete and the accompanying logs were attached, Kohr transmitted it.

“Computer,” he barked, preparing himself for his next vexing task, “Locate Lieutenant Darz.”
—Kohr, Executive Officer—