RP Log: Kobeyashi-Maru, More Or less
| Roleplay Log | |
|---|---|
| Participants: | |
Location(s):
| |
Stardate:
| |
| 2024-08-23 23:33 | |
[Hauser's Commbadge] Incoming communication request from Commander Worthington.
Hauser says, "Hauser here"
[Hauser's Commbadge] Worthington says, "Lieutenant. Could you report to holodeck 1?"
Hauser says, "Sure thing, sir. On my way."
- Holodeck One <USS Kestrel NCC-97802
Worthington is standing in the middle of an empty grid, no program having been loaded. He seems to be waiting patiently for something, as he is standing stock straight, eyes focused on the arch door, unmoving, for the present.
Hauser enters the holodeck and smiles. "Hello, Commander," she greets. She stops and waits for any instruction or explanation.
Worthington smiles back. "Lieutenant," he says, walking over. "We're going to put you through a command simulation. You will be in command of a starship. For simplicity's sake, it'll be based on the Kestrel, a ship you should be intimately familiar with now. The scenario will evolve based on your inputs. Your job, make the best command decision in your mind that fits the scenario. There may not always be a right answer or a wrong answer. Sometimes, there may be more than one right way to solve a problem, and plenty of wrong ways as well. The purpose is to test your judgement when you have to take the long view of a situation. I will be monitoring, and attempt to incorporate various aspects of interdepartmental command into the simulation. Do you have any questions?" he asks.
"I guess if I blow it, I have to go back to the books," Hauser says. "No sir. No questions."
Worthington nods, stepping away. "Computer, load Kestrel command simulation Worthington alpha 1," he says.
The holodeck shimmers as a program is initiated. The bridge of the Kestrel appears, holographically represented in full detail, down to the stations, each manned by a holographic officer.
A computer generated voice says, "Simulation loaded. The simulation will commence when a course is entered. Good luck."
Hauser walks to the command chair and sits down. She asks the first question that occurs to her. "Helm, our current location? Give me a status report, Ops."
The hologram at the helm responds. "Bearing 212 mark 35, warp 9.955, 3 light years from the Draken system." The ops officer chimes in. "Comms are clear, nothing on long range sensors captain."
"Very good," Hauser says. "Make course for Drakan Four, and be sure you don't cross the neutral zone boundary line by accident, helm. That headache, we don't need." her demeanor seems easy and relaxed in the chair, so far.
The hologram at the helm says, "Coming about, on course for Draken 4, speed, warp 9.955."
Hauser, always the engineer at heart, has a look at the power loadout and status indicators, though she doesn't change anything. "We'll check in out here and then continue on our way," she tells the bridge crew. "Don't want Dracan to think we've forgotten them out here. Helm, ETA present speed?"
"Approximately 12 minutes at this speed captain," the hologram at helm replies.
The hologram at ops says, "Hang on a moment. I'm picking up something, open subspace, a weak signal. It appears to be a distress call of some kind, on a visual frequency."
Hauser says, "On screen."
The viewscreen comes to life with an image of an old fashioned looking bridge, with queues from 23rd century Federation designs. A denobulan stands in the center of the screen, though the image appears to pixilate intermittantly, with static cutting into the audio feed. "This is captain Droxil of the Federation civilian freighter SS Ship Hit the Fan. We've lost sensors, computers, helm control is fried, and our warp drive is out. We had to *static* the warp *static*. I don't know how long we have. Life support is *static*. The air is starting to get thin. Estimating 1 *static* of battery reserves left. If anyone reads this, we require urgent assistance." The message repeats on a loop.
Hauser frowns. "Ops, trace that signal and find their position. Where are they. Helm, prepare to alter course on my command."
"Tracing signal sir. Relaying a bearing to the helm," the ops hologram says. "The signal appears to be coming on a bearing of 343 mark 7, which leads into the Romulan neutral zone. Captain, I must advise you on Federation regulations regarding Starfleet vessels entering the neutral zone." The helm hologram pipes up. "We don't know they're in there. We only have a rough fix, no precise coordinates. If it's a freighter on low power, we likely wouldn't see it until we're within a light year of its position."
"Something stinks about this," Hauser mutters loud enough only for her holo first officer, or the real one, to hear. "Ops, Advise local Starfleet assets in the area we are responding to a possible distress call, maybe from within the neutral zone. Then, run a check on that signal. Make sure it's a real one and not a Romulan trap to lure a Federation starship into the zone. Helm, set course along that baring, and hold position at the boundary line if I don't tell you different before then. Don't cross without my sayso. Engineering, when, if, I give the word, load battle profile. I'll want transporters, shields, and weapons power, so be thinking about it." Then she says, "Ok people, let's go. Yellow alert."
The tactical officer enters an alert code on a computer panel.
A computer generated voice says, "Yellow alert! All hands set condition yellow!"
The helm and ops holographic officers both respond. "Course altered, plotting a course to drop us from warp short of the neutral zone," comes the reply from the helm. "I'm not reading any tell tales of tampering. The signal is garbled, so I cannot say anything for certain captain. This could be a trap, or it could be genuine." A beat. "All Starfleet assets be advised, we are investigating a distress call near the Romulan neutral zone, near the Draken system." The ops officer turns back to the console after making their report.
As the ship cruises, Hauser says, "Very good, keep working on getting an exact fix on the origin point. I want to see that boat and know where it's at. Also, try to raise them on a live signal. I doubt we can talk to them, but let's try." She stabs a button on the arm of her chair, "medical, stand by for incoming wounded. All transporter rooms, prepare for rescue operations."
Intercom< Lieutenant T'Lara says, "Bridge, sickbay is standing by to receive wounded."
"I've got a beed on them sir," the ops hologram says. "They're somewhere between 50,000 light seconds from the border on our side, to 25,000 light seconds across into the neutral zone. That's as good as your going to get captain. Transfering coordinates to the helm. Opening a channel."
"Like hell it is," Hauser says. "We'll need better than that if we're gonna affect a rescue. ETA, helm?"
"2 minutes captain," the helm hologram replies. "And, we do have sensors. We'll see them. Hang on. I see something," he says. "Yes, new sensor contact, SS Ship Hit the Fan. Altering course to. Oh, damn it." he says. "They're across the neutral zone border. It seems they're over the line by, 5,000 light seconds or so. Do I set an intercept course?" A pause. "Captain," comes a call from ops. "I've confirmed the vessel's identity. There is a Federation registry for a SS Ship Hit the Fan out of Terra Nova, registered to the UFP Cargo Authority. It was last observed in this region of space."
"Of course it was," Hauser mutters. Then, she gives a flurry of orders, turning to each person as she addresses her instructions. "Red alert. Engineering, load that profile. Then, tactical, raise shields. Also, run scans and tell me if there's any trace of Romulans near that boat. Ops, advise Fleet assets we are crossing into the zone to rescue a federation registered ship in distress and supply its coordinates." She thinks for a split second.
"Then tell the Romulans, on local, that we would like to cross into the neutral zone to rescue a Federation civilian ship close to our side of the zone." A beat. "Let them think we're asking permission. Helm, give me 60 seconds this side of the line in case the Romulans want to play nice, then when the shields are up, you take us in."
"Aye captain," comes a chorus of voices. "Profile loaded," says the engineer. "Primary and secondary shields raised captain, commencing sensor sweep," comes the reply from tactical. "All Starfleet assets, be advised. We are entering the neutral zone to rescue a Federation freighter in distress." A pause, then the ops officer says anew, "Hailing the Romulan Star Empire, we have a civilian vessel in distress that appears to have crossed your border. Requesting permission to enter the zone to rescue them."
A computer generated voice says, "Red alert! All hands set condition red!"
Hauser has a quiet word with the engineer during the time that her minute spools out. "Keep your finger on the slipstream profile. Not now, k? Just remember I said that. Just in case." She waits for reports.
[operations console: IRW Tr'Ennrahe (Standard) Under no circumstances, Starfleet, are you to enter the neutral zone. You can leave your spies where they are. Any attempts to cross the border will be seen as an act of agression against the Star Empire. You don't give a dam about our people in distress, and we certainly could not care less about yours.]
The ops officer broadcasts the incoming Romulan message for all to hear. "They, unequivically said no captain," he says.
"They meant yes," Hauser says, smiling slightly at ops. "Ops, keep them talking, and see how far away that signal is from where we need to be. Status of the freighter? Now that we can see it."
"Understood captain," the ops officer replies. The tactical officer pipes up. "She's in front of us, about 30,000 light seconds away. Bluestar class heavy freighter. Reading 15 life signs, 3 denobulans, 7 humans, 2 vulcans, 2 andorians, and a bajoran. No warp core aboard, fuel tanks appear to have been purged. Battery power appears minimal. Life support seems to be functioning, but at a low level sir," she says. "The engines are non-functional. Sensors destroyed. Computer systems appear to be the victim of some sort of energy surge, source unknown." The engineer pipes up. "Keep in mind captain, we only have 10 giggawatts of power to spare in this configuration. If you want to beam those people out, you're going to have to make some sacrifices."
[operations console: USS Kestrel (Standard): IRW Tr'Ennrahe, these are not spies, but innocent civilians. Their ship is an absolute mess, and their sensors are gone. They're definitely not recording any data from here. There are 15 people who will die if they do not receive aid. We implore you to show some compassion for these civilians. They have nothing to do with us or with you.]
Jessica slips out of her command chair and walks to the helm. She lays a hand on the helmsman's shoulder. "Ready to test your piloting skills? Take us in, but slew adjust the coordinates and bring us out of warp within transporter range. We don't have time to auto cruise on impulse towards them. Now go." To tactical she adds, "Bring weapons to hot stand by and load tubes." To the engineer she says, "Borrow from long-range sensors and pull power from comms if you need to. I don't need to know what's 200 lightyears away or to talk to Vulcan."
The vessel vibrates as it accelerates to warp speeds.
Fingers flying, the helmsman sends the ship into warp, aiming for the freighter now visible on sensors. The engineer turns from her station to face Hauser. "Captain, the transporters draw from the warp reactors. I can shave a bit off weapons power and give that to you. I doubt the 25 giggawatts will be missed." A pause. "Tubes loaded," comes the no nonsense tone of a tactical officer from her station.
"Do it." Hauser tells the engineer. She hits a toggle. "Bridge to all transporter rooms, listen up. When we come in, sweep that ship clear and beam everyone aboard when I give you the hole in the shields. You don't need to wait for orders." She turns to tactical. "You heard that. We might have to take a beating long enough to beam those people out. Plan accordingly."
Each of the officers nods in turn. The tactical officer responds. "Captain, I think I can help with that. If we extended our forward primary shields around the craft, I could lower the secondary forward shield, and keep the rest of them up. We'd still be vulnerable, but only in our fore quarter," she says. "We're coming in. Dropping from warp in 5, 4, 3," the helmsman counts down.
The vessel drops out of warp.
Hauser says, "Go, tactical. Transporter rooms, go!"
[tactical console: New contact: IRW Tre'Ennrahe, 0 mark 13, range: 5,325 ls]
"Forward primary shield extended, forward secondary down, ready to," the tactical officer starts to say, "New contact, Romulan warbird. Checking," she says, "D'khellra class."
[tactical console: IRW Tre'Ennrahe raises all shields.]
[tactical console: IRW Tre'Ennrahe drops out of warp.]
"Get me the Riov on screen," Hauser says. A hard grin crosses her face. "Time to make Admiral Svetzvani proud. . Time left to complete transports?"
The engineering officer turns to face the command chair. "We still need 3 minutes sir," she says. "Hailing them now," comes the ops officer's reply.
[tactical console: IRW Tre'Ennrahe arms weapons.]
[operations console: IRW Tre'Ennrahe (Standard): Starfleet, you were told to stay on your side of the border. You have committed an act of war against the Star Empire. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't blast you into space for your insullance.]
"You have 1. Get every damned transporter on this ship humming. It doesn't take 3 minutes to beam out 15 people," Hauser says, likely correctly. "Put me on an open channel to the Romulans," she tells ops.
The engineer nods, and starts typing furiously on her console. The ops officer nods. "Channel open sir," he says.
[viewscreen] The image of a Romulan bridge appears, dark and forboding, with green light eminating from various stations. The riov stands in the center, elevated above the rest of the bridge. She glowers at the screen. "I don't have time to talk to you Federation, unless you are offering me your surrender. I would prefer to display the hull of your ship in the capitol for all to see."
"Jolan'tru, Riov." Hauser says. She doesn't let the tension she's feeling bleed into her voice. "This is Captain Jessica Hauser of the starship Kestrel. We mean neither insullence nor agression towards our neighbors of the Star Empire. As you can see, this ship is totally disabled, and we are rescuing the people aboard. If the ship were one of yours, we would not hinder you." A beat. "I know we have had our good moments and our bad ones, Riov, but neither of us wants to start a war, today. And if you will give me a moment, I will demonstrate our good faith towards you and the star empire." She glances at a transporter status out of the corner of one eye.
[captain's chair: Text from engineering: 3 people left to beam out.]
[viewscreen] The Riov snorts derisively, raising an eyebrow in a mockery of a common vulcan jesture. "You should have thought of that before you charged across the neutral zone to rescue your spies," she says, pausing. "Though, you are right. We do not want to start a war today, but we are prepared to defend ourselves against Federation aggressors. We will allow you to depart peacefully, on one condition." She pauses again, this time for affect. "You will hand over the crew of that ship, the ones you have been beaming aboard, to us, immediately. They are spies and saboteurs, and shall face justice under Rihannsu law. This is my final offer Starfleet. I suggest you take it."
Under the pretext of checking a status display, Hauser sends a discrete text. Then she returns her eyes to the Riov while she's still speaking. Text, 'Helm, autopilot for earth. Engineer, load slip the second the last person is aboard and keep the shields up at least some.' She responds to the Riov. "That is a generous offer, Riov. I make you a counterproposal. The nearest Federation starbase is not far away. Follow us thereon my guarantee of your safe conduct. Besides, you have a big ship. We couldn't hurt you if we wanted to, and I will see to it that your case is put to my Command. And to prove I am sincere, I will make the first gesture to de-escalate." She says to tactical, "Take weapons offline."
The helm officer nods, tapping at his console. The engineering officer nodds, tapping at hers. A text pops up. Slipstream shields loaded. The tactical officer checks his display before texting back, we never actually armed weapons sir, just loaded the torpedo tubes. The bridge is silent, as each officer responds non-verbally to the captain.
[viewscreen] The Riov Sneers. "Typical Federation diplomacy at its finest. So what," she says. "You can sneak your spies away and hide them somewhere, so they will never face justice? I don't think so." She barks a sharp command in her native Rihannsu that the universal translator does not pick up.
The ship shakes as on a display, several torpedoes are shown streaming from the warbird, blasting apart the freighter, and impacting the shields of the Kestrel.
Without losing a milisecond, Hauser says, "Go, helm!"
The helmsman stabs down at a button, and the ship rockets into slipstream. "ETA to earth, 4 minutes."
A couple minutes later, The vessel vibrates as it exits subspace.
Hauser wants to sprawl in her chair, but she makes herself sit slowly. "Damage report, and tell me, please tell me, we got them all." Then she glances up to see whether her channel to the Romulan bridge is still open. It might well be.
[viewscreen] The Romulan bridge is still shown in all its glory. "You will not get away with this Starfleet," the Riov says, then the image snaps off the screen.
Intercom< Ensign Murphey says, "Engineering to bridge, we, have a problem. The slipstream drive overloaded. It took some damage from that Romulan torpedo strike, and fed back into the EPS system. We have plasma fires on decks 10, 12, and 13. Several conduits overloadeded down here. We have wounded."
The engineer is about to say something when the intercom chimes. She texts instead, We got them, barely.
Hauser responds. "Activate all available fire suppression systems. Beam the wounded to sickbay. Evacuate the affected sections and seal them off. We'll vacuum decompress them if we have to. Ops, send out a distress signal on the Starfleet frequency. Advise we have plasma fires aboard and need immediate assistance."
[operations console: USS Kestrel (Starfleet) Kestrel to Spacedock. Coordinates follow. We have plasma fires aboard and wounded. Requesting urgent assistance.]
The ops officer gets to work, and so does the engineer. "Fire suppression systems are active, but the systems on deck 12 are damaged. We have a problem captain," she says. "We managed to beam most personnel out of effected areas, including main engineering. There are 2 crewman in the fuel storage compartment, and the transporter room cannot get a lock due to excess radiation in that section. The fire is threatening to consume that compartment. If the antimatter is exposed, it will destroy the ship sir."
"Suggestions," Hauser says in a clipped tone.
The engineering officer responds. "We could try and send someone in, but the air down there is pretty rough, and there are fires currently blocking the main entries to that deck. We could decompress the rest of deck 12, then beam someone in nearby, and attempt to access that compartment." She pauses. "If it comes to it, we can vent that entire deck, put out the fires that way, but anyone left alive on deck 12 will sufficate in the vacuum. I'm not sure how much time we have sir. The antimatter containment field is fluctuating, but the generator hasn't been hit yet. If the generator goes, it doesn't matter how strong that field is, it'll discipate, and so will the Kestrel, after the antimatter explodes."
"Seal off the fuel compartment. Then vent the rest of the deck," Hauser says.
The tactical officer types at his station. "Forcefield raised around the fuel compartment," she says. The engineer likewise responds. "Venting the rest of deck 12. Pressure dropping."
Hauser says, "Give me a read on those fires. Is it working, people?"
Intercom< Ensign Murphey says, "The fires on deck 10 are contained. Deck 13, we've got people down there with hand gear. We'll report with updates."
"Acknowledged," Hauser says. She turns to her holo XO. "You've got fire control coordination. Ops, any response from Starfleet? Repeat the message if not."
The engineer responds. "The fires are dwindling, burning out. Looks like that did it sir," she says. "The fuel compartment though, it is, hang on. Matter antimatter containment field around the fuel pods is down to 37% sir. 36%, and falling. I estimate 3 minutes until there's a breach in there."
Hauser says, "Can you reinforce?"
[operations console: USS Charles Tucker (Starfleet): Charles Tucker to Kestrel, we're on route. We will be arriving in 2 minutes.]
The ops officer relays the message, and the engineer considers. "I can divert power sir," she says. "Field strength at 40%, 41%, and holding, but I can't keep that up. The containment field generator will overload. We have 4 minutes now, unless the fire gets to it first. We still can't beam in there, but we can beam on to deck 12 now. Sending fire suppression teams to that area."
Hauser speaks calmly. "Ops, tell the Tucker that we'll have to jetison our antimatter pods in 3 minutes unless they can reinforce them with us. Engineer, make ready to divert all power to structural integrity fields after we hit the jetison button, if we have to hit it. Helm, plot an impulse evasive course away from the jetison site and go to full impulse the moment we dump the pods, if we do."
Each officer nods solemnly and makes the ordered preparations. The engineer receives a report. "Crewmen Sullivan and Shavez are down there sir. The autoeject system seems to be fused. Someone is going to have to manually eject those pods. The fire suppression people say they'll be through that door in 3 minutes. They're having difficulty due to the fire in that compartment. They've brought the forcefield down, but they have to be careful."
Hauser says, "Any word from the Tucker? We can't keep this up."
[operations console:: USS Charles Tucker (Starfleet): 30 seconds out. What do you need, Kestrel?]
Intercom< CRM3 Sullivan says, "Bridge, *cough*, it's getting hard to breathe in here. Containment generator is starting to go. I, *cough*, can eject the fuel pods, but if I do, the compartment will be exposed to space. I don't think we would survive. A hacking cough is heard. This fire might just get to us anyway."
Hauser makes a hard decision. She opens a comm line. "Crewman, this is your captain. Eject the pods. Repeat, eject, now. That is an order, son." Hauser adds to ops. "Tell tucker we're jetisoning. The rest of you, as ordered before."
There is no response on the intercom. The engineer nods. "Pods were ejected sir. Reading no life signs in the fuel compartment," she says. The helm officer engages full impulse while the ops officer warns the Tucker. Shortly thereafter, a matter antimatter explosion is seen. Soon after that, the Kestrel is rocked and jolted around. The engineer reports again. "We're down to our last bit of antimatter in the core. We're going to need to get towed back into port after that sir. Reports are starting to come in," she says.
Hauser sits in her chair for a long beat. She whipes her eyes, by now having forgotten this was a simulation. Her voice comes out steady. "Damage and casualty reports to me. My compliments to the Tucker. Tell her we need a tow. Secure all engineering systems."
The reports come in. "The slipstream drive is mostly destroyed. Sensors took a hit from the Romulan weapons fire, but all other systems held up pretty well. Shields protected us from the brunt of it, and we got some distance. The EPS system though, that'll need a good bit of overhauling. We had to use secondaries to maintain power. Fusion reactors held up okay, and we've got people maintaining those. Life support is not an issue," the engineer says.
"Getting casualty reports," says ops. "Mostly plasma burns, first to third degree. Medical is working on them now. Two deaths. Crewman Sullivan and Shavez, both in the fuel compartment. The freighter crew is also in medical, though thankfully, they appear to be okay." A beat. "The Tucker is hailing us."
"On screen."
[viewscreen] The Tucker's bridge appears. The captain says, "We are ready to render assistance Kestrel. We see that you dumped your antimatter. Will you be requiring a tow back to starbase?" he asks.
Hauser faces the screen and nods. "Yes, it was a case of lose the antimatter or lose the ship, Captain. Yes, if you could tow us into Utopia, that'd be great."
[viewscreen] The captain nods. "We will maintain position with you, and the tug will come out to help pull you in. Good work on rescuing that freighter crew captain. You made the right call," he says. The screen fades, but so does everything else, as the grid of the holodeck rematerializes.
Worthington walks over. "Good job lieutenant. You handled that well," he says.
Hauser thumps to the floor, as she was sitting when it ended. She stands. "Thanks, sir. Could have gone a lot worse."
Worthington nods. "That was the point lieutenant. Command is about making those kind of tough calls, when anything and everything can go to shit in half a nannosecond," he says. "How do you handle yourself. I think you did a good job. You kept your options open, you tried your best to prevent a conflict, and you tried your hardest to minimize casualties. I commend your efforts."
Hauser smiles and extends a hand. "Sounds like I passed, sir," she says.
Worthington takes the offered hand and shakes. "You did at that," he says. "With flying colors. I think you're ready for the line test. I will send the written test to you to complete."
"Looking forward to it, sir. Permission to go?" She asks.
Worthington nods, stepping away. "Yes lieutenant. You have permission to leave. The simulation is over."