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PLOT LOG: The Night Shift

Posted on Thu Nov 19th, 2020 @ 11:27pm by Captain Rufus Walker

Mission: The Rise of the Killer Vulcans
Location: Bridge, USS Alliance
Timeline: Day 1 at 0200


The USS Alliance had been cruising along at high warp for around 5 hours. Unfortunately, due to a misaligned chroniton sensor in the ships nose cone, the ship had been unable to jump to slipstream velocities as planned. Luckily for the Chief Engineer, this had been the only technical difficultly the ship had experienced on its first official mission… so far.

As the ship continued its journey forward, it sliced through subspace like a knife through butter, smoothly traversing millions, if not billions of miles per second.

For the bridge crew, this meant that their first night on duty, was the definition of the grave yard shift. The consoles beeped, and the energy conduits hummed in rhythm with the pulses of the warp core many decks below. The three man crew manning the bridge, during what was beginning to feel like a never ending night shift, had literally nothing to do. They sat in complete silence, completing the monotonous benign tasks that kept the ship in motion. For the junior duty crew, it was boring. With a capital B.

The Duty Officer occupying the centre chair, flipped through a PADD containing departmental reports from earlier in the day. The Helm Officer, periodically resynchronised the plasma flow to the ships nacelles. However, the tactical officer was about to make their night a whole lot more interesting.

The Tactical Officer scanned her bionic eye over the console in front of her, checking and rechecking sensor readings for anything of the interest, as she was about to complete the scan the computer popped up and alert.

She swiped her hands across the console, analysing the data at almost light speed - there was a nano second of lag between her ocular implant and a processing chip embedded in her brain. When she’d put all the pieces together, she let out a low cough to peak the ears of the Duty Officer.

“Sir,” she began, “I’m picking up a distress call. It’s one of ours, the USS Leonard McCoy. She’s a medical hauler… patching through now.”

The speakers crackled with static as the truncated transmission slipped out of the speaker system, '...*static* This is … *static* Commander Roo...' the tactical officer let out a sigh as her hands danced across the console in front of her. “Clearing up the message Sir.”

>> Incoming Transmission
>> Origin: USS Leonard McCoy, Excelsior Class Medical Frigate
>> Location: Zombus System

“This is Commander Rooney of the USS Leonard McCoy,” a haggard looking Starfleet Officer filled the central view screen of the Alliance's Bridge, behind him the lights of his owns vessels bridge flickered, “We’re adrift in the Zombus system, the ship has dropped into a decaying orbit of the star. Our cargo…” fear spread across the Commander’s face.

“… Our cargo has broken free of containment. The majority of the crew have escaped in pods, the unlucky ones didn't make it. The Senior staff and I are now trapped in the bridge module, with no route to the engine core.” The screen flickered, “We need assistance. Send hel-“ the screen went black.

The duty officer stood from the chair with purpose, glanced around the bridge and anxiety spread across his face, "I think we might want to wake up the brass."






 

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