The Independence approached Starbase 24, somewhat battered from her efforts to save the planet Chaktir.  Worse than the minor damage the ship had taken, though, was the price her crew had paid in the line of duty...

(This will be a brief interlude thread to allow transition to the next adventure.  Feel free to post activities here as you wish!)

While the captain is in charge of the memorial services Chaplain Saghalie performs any religious parts.

He begins to read (again) comm-related manuals and working though simulations, checking the data and experiences against the actual equipment. He also begins to familiarize himself with the archives.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:06, Thu 27 May 2021.

As Tsolo worked on his research, his assistant COMMS officer - LT Lyn Nipay - did her best to be helpful in familiarizing him with the ship's systems.  They were different from Abyss station's.

"Just let me know if I can be of any help," she smiled, a bit wanly, as she handed him an electronic clipboard with archives and records.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:52, Sat 29 May 2021.

As ch'Pertha sat in the "big chair" - now his - a familiar form moved over from the weapons station.  His Trill junior, LT E'Detra, who often manned the weapons console during combat.

"Captain," she said, emphasizing his title.  Then handed him an electronic clipboard to review.  "Latest reports on the weapons section.  We're fit and ready for action, if need be.  Shields on the other hand, remain sketchy.  Too much battering from that radiation jet.  Nothing a little yard time won't fix," she added.

Decker, still processing a certain amount of guilt and sorrow, throws himself into his work. He didn't know any of the deceased officers well, but Jav'Ker and Mcreeg both died in close proximity, and in his place. He delegates most of the repair and maintenance work on his immediate junior officers and focuses on processing what data they were able to recover from the artifact. He will, reluctantly, consult with T'Lara and/or Saghalie for assistance with translation.

Words flow past the shimmering screen.

...Petty Officer Amamiya...upon U.S.S. Independence, under command of...aboard from Starbase 24...for a duration of...subject to...

Seen before, with only the names altered, the words carry a certain, comforting familiarity.

The young woman ponders opportunities.  Multiple ways to get aboard the ship, but the least obtrusive seems to be the shuttles carrying larger supplies.  There's the docking port, of course, and the transporters, the swiftest route.  But transporters are generally reserved for important equipment and officers; not so much for junior medical bay personnel.  And the docking port?

Well, reasons exist not to choose that method of ingress.

Hefting her (small) carry-all, Azami heads for the shuttle pad.  It's a bit of a walk, but the carry-all holds little in the way of personal items, and the distance gives her time to study the ship as she slips around the people hurrying to and fro.  Miranda-class - primarily scientific study, though potentially patrol duty.  The crew-complement is small, and it's likely she's one of only a few in the medical bay.  Weapons and tactical capacity...not really terribly important for Azami, and mostly over her head.  If pressed, the Petty Officer feels confident she could manage as a 'final choice' of operators.

'Could'.  Not would.

Moving into the cargo area, close to the shuttles, she keeps within the safety zones while searching for a supervisor; it wouldn't do to arrive at her new posting with a broken leg, thanks to a poor meeting with a pallet-mover.  Spotting someone standing as a hub of frustrated and annoyed workers, all claiming their particular shipments have priority, Azami adroitly slips into the crowd and waits for a lull.  It'll happen; she merely requires patience.

The young medic happens to have a surfeit of that particular resource.

Minutes pass, then she sees her chance.  Stepping up, Azami offers a casual salute to get the supervisor's attention; without it, it's likely he wouldn't have taken note.  "Pardon me.  I have orders," she states, with a twitch of her head toward the ship while holding out the datapad. "Medical."  Just in case he hasn't noticed the piping on her uniform; 'medical' tends to open doors among the non-commissioned.

Everyone wants to be on the good side of the people who patch them up when accidents happen.

"Would you happen to have a shipment that's underweight by approximately sixty kilos?"  Always better to highball estimates than lowball.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:51, Sat 29 May 2021.

Thank you Tsolo replies. He looks at her eye-to-eye with a smile. At the moment, I believe there are three ways you can help.

If you already are not, become familiar with the equipment and procedures we use.

From time to time, check on  my progress with same, and think of scenarios that require quick thinking and acting.

Observe what I'm doing and warn me if I'm about to err.

In  return, I'll try to be helpful to you; we're a team.

He pauses. And if either of us is feeling below par or are troubled, let's get the matter addressed.

The supervisor, a heavy-set human of South American ancestry, was checking his manifest and looked up.  His expression of annoyance quickly shifted once he recognized Azami's medical colors.

"Depends," he said, but his tone was soft.  "Where to?"

And when she told him:

"We'll make it work.  She's due in to dock in minutes.  Grab your gear and stand... nah, grab a seat on that crate there," he gestured, scratching his mustache.

Before Azami could do so, he added, "Say Doc... not to bother ya, but I gotta ask.  My cat, he's been coughing up these hairballs lately, and his stool's been kinda soft.  I tried changing his diet, but he won't eat the dry food, and just meows and meows for the wet food..."

In reply to LCDR Christopher Decker (msg # 5):

Decker's research bears some interesting fruit. While there are huge gaps in the technical specifications - anything needed to actually recreate the technology - there's enough to reveal some interesting data.

One fact stands clear: The Ithik, from the planet Chaktir, were originally the servitors and/or custodians of the artifact.  Genetically engineered by whomever had marvelously created the artifact.  It seemed that surviving the initial supernova had damaged their memories... or the secret had not been passed on to most.

Another data packet shows that there were other, similar artifacts in the galaxy... but he'll need help with the translation, from either T'solo or T'Lara.

LT Nipay's smile softened when Tsolo met her gaze, becoming a bit less brittle.

"I'm fairly familiar with the equipment, sir; I've served on Independence as a Comms officer for over a year now," she said sincerely.  "I'll show you whatever I can."

"If I can catch anything, I will," she promised.  "But I don't know that I'm your best choice.  I've been passed over for promotion twice now... first to LT T'Kres, and then to... yourself, sir.  Nothing personal.  I just... I'm not sure I'm good enough to bring you up to speed anymore."

Just a few weeks earlier, D'rala had not imagined she was on the verge of leaving her post at Abyss Station, but fate had revealed other plans to her.

When they had returned to the space Station, she'd found the place hollow without the presence of the away team she had led to their doom aboard the artifact; not to mention the knowledge that her commanding officer would be in hospital care a good while, and would likely face a tribunal for her crimes after. D'rala hoped the federation would see that the artifact had likely warped the vulcan woman's mind, and help her rather than punish her.

It was a guilty relief when she received her orders of reassignment.

The sight of the gleaming hull of the Independence was the first thing that returned a spark to her chest after her losses. Knowing that she'd be taking off to journey between the stars again was a balm.

When she left Abyss Station behind aboard the Independence, she set herself firmly to the task at hand: learning to be the Executive Officer to these people she was just coming to know. There was no time to sulk in her rooms now.

Just a little set up for where D'rala's at right now character wise.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:27, Sun 30 May 2021.

Thank you for telling me. Chance, as some would call it, has brought us together. Hearing and seeing you, I'm reminded....

There is a compilation called The Bible. In is a book of songs...poems. Many of them are pleas for help and thankfulness and gratitude for that help. In particular, I remember this:

[Psalm 118]
The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.
The Lord has done this, and it is marvelous in our eyes.
The Lord has done it this very day; let us rejoice today and be glad.

So let that be our watchwords as we begin by working through the manuals. Not much poetry in them, but there is plenty of meat and perhaps bones, a skeleton to give us structure.

The Science Officer grumbled to himself. He'd taken this as far as he could on his own. In direct contradiction to his nature, the last thing he wanted to do at the moment was to collaborate with one of his fellow officers. Nevertheless, the implications of what he'd discovered demanded that he follow up.

He wrote a quick message to both T'Lara and Tsolo outlining his findings and requesting a meeting to begin an in-depth translation of the key data packet.

Finally, noticing the time, he put his console into standby mode and headed off to the gym to work off a little frustration.

Tsolo's reply comes quickly: Where and when?

T’Lara tried to keep herself busy since their mission at the Abyss.   Exercising, painting, sending messages to her parents on the hyperchannels.  Anything to keep her mind from thinking about the recent tragedies.  As a trained psychologist, she knew it was a bad way to cope with grief.    She even counseled to do the exact opposite on her sessions with Mcreeg's and Javker's closet friends.  But it was one thing to give the advice, and another thing altogether following it herself.

When the message arrived from Decker she was all too happy to use it as another excuse to avoid sorting herself out.  She replied almost immediately, confirming she’ll be happy to talk with him the first chance she gets.