I think you nailed the voice quite well.  And hey.. she's YOUR character now. 

Got a post up, myself.  As I shared with Eol, I've been looing forward to this closing for... oh, about two years. 

Stardate 2365.02.13
USS Peregrine, Bridge - 17:35

"Captain," Lieutenant Lasad spoke, "Starbase 118 has given us clearance to dock."

Finally, Drake mused.  It hadn't been lost on him that clearance had first been given to the Coronado some two hours ago.  The tiniest ghost of a grin pulled at the corner of his mouth as he considered that this all should have happened hours ago; apparently, someone had felt that some course and velocity changes were in order.  Jacobs was surely seething even more than usual.

"Very well," Silas spoke, looking around the bridge of the frigate for what felt utterly certain would be his final time to do so.  "Commander Zai, please complete docking procedures." 

In short order, it was done.  Almost immediately thereafter, Lasad spoke up again.  "Captain, we've been hailed again.  Commander Jennings has requested that you and Commander Zai meet with him at once."

No surprise there, Silas mused.  "Understood," he responded.  With a final glance around the bridge, Drake stood.  "Mister Lasad, you have the conn."  With that, he exited toward the turbolift.

------------------------------------------------

In the turbolift, Drake let his thoughts wander.  He had called a final dinner in the Officer's Mess the night before, but the mood had been somber - undoubtedly brought down by his own state of mind.  For a moment, his thoughts drifted to the nightmare, and a shiver ran down his spine. 

He elected to skip deck two; he had already packed up his meager personal possessions from both his cabin and ready room.  He would not bring the duffels and boxes at this point, thought surely someone else would handle his personal effects once he was in custody. 

Silas found himself desperately hoping that they would not replace Tochi as XO once he had himself been removed.  The Trill had such an excellent rapport with the crew; he would be invaluable to smoothing the transition for the next CO of the Peregrine.  Whether he believed it or not, the Helmsman would make a fine Captain himself... assuming his future commanding officers managed to stay on the right side of the regs.

All too soon, the pair found themselves on the gantry, with a small party waiting for their arrival.  Glancing at his companion, Silas spoke quiety.  "Thank you again, Tochi.  For everything.  May the wind forever be at your back."

And then, the time had arrived.  "Commander Silas Drake," spoke a red-uniformed human Captain with wavy black hair.  "I'm Captain Richards, in command of Starbase 118."  In his hand, he offered a PADD.  "I have orders from Admiralty.  You are hereby relieved of command of the USS Peregrine; your first officer, Lieutenant... er, Commander Zai is nominally in charge for the time being."  Three officers in Security gold stood behind him, and he glanced at Tochi.  "Commander, the Peregrine is ordered to undergo repair and refit at this time; please see to it that this is handled."

OOC: assuming Tochi complies..

As Richards spoke, Drake noticed that there was another small knot of people standing nearby.  One wore a blank expression and the gold of Security; the others were dressed in civillian attire, and seemed to be paying great attention to the conversation that Silas and the station brass were having.  One or two were speaking into recording devices.

"Commander Drake," Richards continued, I'm afraid that I have to ask you to come with us.  As he spoke, a sandy-haired human that Silas recognized as Commander Jennings, the station Security chief, strode toward him. 

Silas nodded.  "Of course, Captain."  As he spoke, Drake raised his wrists together in front of him.  "I am unarmed; I checked my sidearm in to the ship's armory already."

As Jennings reached for Silas, binders in hand, Richards cut his eyes at the group of civilians and spoke tersely.  "That will not be necessary, Jennings.  Put those away!"

The Security chief looked disappointed, but followed orders, instead grabbing Drake's left arm.  "Come with me, sir," he spat, but a loaded look from Richards caused him to drop his grip.  Silas fell in, with Richards and Jennings on either side, and the two officers behind.  As they walked away from the ship, Drake could pick up a snippet of the civilians' speech.

"....as they are now leading Commander Drake away..."

------------------------------------------------

The lack of solid sleep had started to get to him; Drake could have sworn that everyone’s eyes were on him as he was led through the Starbase corridors. At one point, the group walked through a common area, and he could have sworn that the holovids were broadcasting news items related to the Gamera peace summit. He even thought once that he heard his name mentioned, but when he looked up, all he could see was the greenish shape of the planet as the backdrop to Gamera station.

Drake was surprised to find himself being led down what felt like a residential hallway, as opposed to his expected destination of the Station brig. Soon enough, they were in front of a nondescript hatch.

“Commander, these will be your quarters for the time being, “Richards spoke. “You are under house arrest. Security will be stationed in this corridor; please do not attempt to leave your quarters without proper authorization. I will see to it that your effects are delivered to you within a timely manner.”

Confused at the turn of events, Drake stepped inside the apartment, and the hatch whooshed closed behind him.

Inside was a reasonably spacious suite, with a bed, a desk, and both a private head and personal replicator. A viewscreen was on the far wall, and was turned on to the FNN broadcast… and footage playing, showing himself being led away from the Peregrine. At the bottom of the display was bold white text with the caption, “DRAKE TAKEN INTO CUSTODY”, along with scrolling text beneath that raised pointed questions about the event.

As focused as he was on trying to make sense of the meaning of the holovid, Silas completely overlooked the wiry older man in the chair near the viewscreen until the latter took his feet.

Momentarily, Silas found himself face to face with a Vice Admiral. As Drake started to salute, the man sighed and shook his head. “Commander Silas Drake. What in the hell am I supposed to do with you?”
 

It's.... it's... it's... RERALAE!!!!

**happy dance for far too long**

So great to see you!  Thanks for sharing the awesome creative efforts, too!

Breebles promises a post by this evening, so I'm going to let her do so, then I will post.

I love fireballs.  I particularly love how characters that always have a 17 or 18 intelligence never seem to consider how much space that 33 thousand cubic feet actually is, and invariably cast it in small, cramped spaces. 

Hi there, Avrielle! 

As of right now, I THINK that we have the role filled for Chief Tactical Officer.  I've been legitimately surprised by the response to my email; I wish I could get another GM to start an additional sim, as I have close to enough applicants to start an entire other game.  

With that said, Trek gaming allows for so many characters.  If you'd like to play with us, send me a character concept.  All of the department heads have players, but you can be a junior officer or enlisted member of almost any department.

Great to see you!

Woot!  I see seven!  And of those, only two are the old guard that just cannot seem to find anything better to do. 

Loved that post, Breebles.  Great stuff! 

I'm not going to sit here for days while we wait for people to maybe possibly weigh in on marching order, especially since it's the Team Leader's choice.  In the interest of keping the game hopping, I have posted!

Once a marching order is assigned, the team moves forward into the low tunnel.

As you press on, you notice several things:

1. The celing slowly gets lower and lower.
2. The water level slowly gets deeper and deeper while the water grows thicker.
3. The stench gets worse and worse.

Eventually, you find yourselves hunched over, basically on hands and knees, under a three foot high celing while keeping your heads above a foot and a half of truly foul liquid. You try to ignore the solids that are floating in the liquid, and the thick sludge at the bottom of the corridor here in SWR Sector.  The "reboot" of Slipp may have actually been a mercy, as the twitchy clone would have almost certainly have drowned in this... er... liquid, had you chosen to drag him along with you.

Finally, you reach the end of the corridor, and as fate would have it, there actually is a small amount of red light given off by an emergency light. As you pause, a monitor slowly rises out of the muck with a sickening "SLUCK" sound. Then, Friend Computer's voice - or rather, a horribly tinny, distorted version of it - speaks from the sludge-covered monitor at a volume loud enough to almost cause physical pain.

Helloelloello, friendendend citizenzenzenzen! Youyouyou haveaveave aaaa newewew signmentmentment. Wonwonwon thatatat makeakeake youyouyou appyappyappy?

Fromomom thisisis riefinginging, yououyou willillill bebebe metetet bybyby aaaa jackobotobobot. Thisisis jackobotobotbot willilil cortortort youyouyou tototo pickickick upupup tainainain pliesiesies, andandand thenenen tototo R.N.D.D.D. tototo teerteerteer fororor mentalentalental equipmentmentment stinginging. Wontontont thatatat bebebe funfunfun?

Youyouyou willilil thenenen bebebe cortedortedorted tototo meetmeetmeet andandand actactact asasas dyguardsardsards andandadn scortsortsorts tototo Citizenzenzen Wowowow-Geeee-WHZeezeezee. Memberemberember, he'seses Greeneeneen aranceanceance, sososo payayay ntiontiontion tototo himimim.

Youyouyou areareare tototo cretlylyly scortortort himimim tototo theeeee atoryoryory cilityityity ininin Sectororor DEDeedee. Nonono oneoneone isisis tototo knowowow ofofof thisisis ssionsionsion. Citizenzenzen Wowowow-Geeee-WHZeezee isisis nototot tototo bebebe lowedowedowed tototo bebebe cuteduteduted, hurthurthurt ororor letetet outoutout ofofof yourourour sightightgiht. Citizenzenzen Wowowow-Geeee-WHZeezeezee doesoesoes NOTotot haveavav ananan unusualualual earanceanceanceance. Isisis thatatat clearearear?

Thankanank youyouyou, citizenszenszens. Thisisis sionionion willilil bebebe veryeryery safeafeafe andandand lotsotsots ofofof fununun fororor allallall ofofof youyouyou.

Areareare thereereere anyanyany tionsionsions?

...stop in to Magic Al's, where te taste is truly magical!


But seriously.  I totally promise that the mage has not been turned into a giggler.  You guys are going to enjoy going inside!  Honest!

And, I mean... nobody is MAKING you go in.  You could just go take a nap with Cedric. 

You expected him to be waiting for you, making you toast and scrambled eggs, heated by the power of his magic? 

I am SO sorry to disappoint! 

Nya is able to point the party towards the home of Athandar, the only known mage in Crandel.  "Right, then, 'e does wear blue robes like those'a tha young man 'o yours what died las' night.  Older fella, mostly keeep to 'isself.  'as a little 'ouse near the west wall 'o town, only one with a blue door.  Ye canna miss it."

So the party - minus Cedric - blinks away sleep and heads out into town to find this Athandar.  The early morning sunlight is a welcome sight, though it does not seem capable of burning away quite all of the mist.  The air is still sticky and stagnant, and the stench of burned flesh and hair hangs heavily as a reminder of all of the death and worse.

Now, Crandel is no bustling metropolis; it is a simple enough matter to locate the only blue-doored house in town, particularly since it is located in the shadow of the west wall, just as Nya had stated it would be.  The home itself is relatively small and modest, though it has a small, well organized garden in front. 

As you approach, you notice that the blue door is not completely shut - and that the ground in front of it, as well as the door jambs, are blackened by fire. 

I hae a marching order from earlier, but that has been abandoned for Ammpe being in front.  Are we keeping the same order here?  The tunne; here is quite narrow, it will be single file. 

Confirmation of the exact order would be appreciated, Team Leader.

The team proceeds, conga style, down the corridor. 

Once you move another hundred freet or so, your eyes begin to adjust; the sector proves to not be completely dark, thanks to some very soft (and poorly maintained) red emergency lights recessed in odd intervals - but it is merely a step above that. It is the sort of darkness that allows one to see a bare suggestion one's hand in front of one's face - but little more.

The going is painfully slow, and more than once, clones find themselves walking into walls, pipes, and puddles with essentially no warning. It is entirely possible that section 168 has been missed, since the emergency lights are so erratically (and oddly) spaced; many of the numbering plates are all but invisible.

Eventually, Ammpe calls back that he has found the signplate for section 168.

The sign points down, indicating a steel ladder that leads to a sublevel of SWR sector. An unpleasant smell wafts strongly from the lower level.

Moving down the ladder, the team finds themselves in a small tunnel - the ceiling is only about five feet high, the corridor is very narrow (only one person at a time can fit), and the floor of the tunnel is covered by approximately half a foot of dark liquid. The unpleasant scent is much stronger here. The lights, if anything, are even dimmer here.

The tunnel extends in exactly one direction.

Yep.  I don't disagree with Cedric's premise; nobody got more than 2-3 hours of sleep.  Maybe four, tops?  Aranwen obviously got less.

This will be a problem for Midge especially, as arcane spellcasters require eight hours of uninterrupted rest to regain spells.  Also, natural healing does not occur for characters that don't get proper rest (so that 1 HP per day won't be regained).

We will make it work, but please note - whileit's okay to backpost, to fill in parts of the conversation or whatever from events that are already over, it's a BAD. IDEA. to jump ahead and post in the future. 

I'm going with this as Gospel; everybody else is investigating Cedric is sleeping and not interested in changing his plan.  Whatever happens until noon or so, happens.

I'm not quite sure how I feel about the Lone Rangr, Green hornet, etc being "real" inside a Trekverse, but the idea of a Justice League type setup is a cool one.

Yes, I know... too long.  Gimme a break, Brom, I posted twice on Friday!  I'll see if I can't post again today.

I don't have posts for Midge or Aranwen, but their Q&A etries here will suffice.  I need something from Kith, and I will move the game forward.

No worries, man... glad to have you!  Nice first post, too. 

Hey folks,

PrincessAli did a great job while she was active, but she has lost the fire for this game.  After conferring with her, it is oficial - she is dropping the game.

Please welcome breebles, who is doing a superb job in my Paranoia game.  She will be picking up the role of Kith.  Expect minor retcon changes of the character, but by and large, Kith will still be Kith.

Stardate 2365.03.03
Starbase 118, Auditorium One - 13:15

Silas sat, back ramrod straight, at a small table next to his advocate.  The young woman could have only had her second pip for a few weeks by the look of her... and while she was certainly earnest, her knowledge of the law had proven shaky more than once.  Of course, there were few truly capital cases tried these days, but it still would have been nice had she possessed a bit more seasoning and presence.

Presently, the brass who served as the General Court Martial board filed in to the makeshift courtroom and took their places on the dais.  Besides the judge, there were four admirals and one commodore... none of which even glanced at the accused.  Silas had not missed the fact that seated in the front of of the gallery was Captain Joshua Jacobs, who had undoubtedly come to enjoy the show.  The odious man wore a smug grin.

Once everyone was seated, the judge - a swarthy gentleman - asked aloud, "has the panel reached a verdict?"

The closest figure to the judge, a female human admiral with short brown hair, nodded.  "We have, your honor."

The judge spoke solemnly.  "Very well.  The accused will rise."

Silas took his feet beside his council.  He expected to feel butterflies, to feel fear.  Instead, he felt... empty.  He almost felt sorry for his representative; the Lieutenant looked every bit as queasy and fearful as Silas himself believed he should feel. 

"Please announce the verdict," the judge spoke.

The woman cleared her throat.  "For the three charges of conduct unbecoming an officer," she said, her voice growing stronger as she spoke, "we find the defendant guilty.

For the charge of failure to obey a direct order, we find the defendant guilty.

For the two charges of high treason, we find the defendant guilty.

For the charge of incitement of a mutiny, we find the defendant guilty.

For the charge of piracy against a Starfleet vessel, endangering the lives of Federation personnel, we find the defendant guilty."

A small sob actually escaped the lips of his defender.  Silas felt weak, felt the room begin to spin, but there was no way he would give Jacobs the satisfaction of seeing weakness at this moment. 

The judge nodded.  "Starfleet thanks the panel for their service.  Please be seated."

He then turned to face Drake. 

"Commander Drake, you have been found guilty of a variety of capital offenses by a jury of your peers.  Do you have anything to say before I pass sentencing?"

Silas spoke huskily, "No, your honor.  I do not."

The judge tilted his head in acknowledgement.  "Very well.  Silas James Drake, I do hereby revoke your commission as an officer of Starfleet. You will not wear the uniform or bear the badges of office, and neither you nor your family or heirs will draw any benefit whatsoever from your service. 

Your crimes strike at the very foundation of our belief system, sir.  Without chain of command, Starfleet is subject to anarchy and failure.  Your personal opinions are not greater than those of Starfleet.  Your reckless actions put the lives of Federation personnel in jeaopardy and weakened the position of the Federation in this sector for years to come.  You led good officers astray and plunged not only your own vessel, but the entire battle group, into chaos with your mutiny. 

Any of the last three charges would have been more than enough to put you away on a penal colony for the rest of your natural life.  But these crimes were not in a vacuum; these crimes built upon one another and push this case into an entire new dimension of lawlessness.  Therefore...

...Silas James Drake, I hereby sentence you to hang by the neck until dead.  May God have mercy on your soul.  Please escort this man to the brig, where he will be held until such time as his sentence can be carried out.  This Court Martial is adjourned."

Numbly, with his ears ringing, SIlas allowed himself to be placed in binders and led away.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Stardate 2365.03.06
Starbase 118, Docking Bay Two - 05:28

Silas stood at the top of the makeshift scaffold, strangely at peace with what was to occur momentarily.  They had chosen early morning for obvious reasons; there would be less of a crowd, less chance for any disruption.

The Security ensign who had drawn the short straw grabbed his arm and spoke, not unkindly, "it is time."

Drake nodded and allowed himself to be led to the edge of the platform. In spite of a lifetime of other regrets, he found himself oddly bitter about the plain gray jumpsuit they had dressed him in.  Was it too much to ask to die in full uniform, with a shred of dignity?  But then again, that would soil the colors, he supposed, as the noose was fitted around his neck.

A rush of bitter regret swept over him.  Those he could not save, those whose careers he had certainly ruined.   Here at the last, true fear finally peeked through, and Silas felt his stomach turn to jelly.  Desperately, he fought back a sob.  Surely he would be with Michelle soon, what was there to fear?

A chime, and it was time; the platform disappeared from beneath his feet, the deck came rushing up at him, a terrible burning pain speared down his spine and up into the base of his skull.  The fates were laughing, he hadn't had the luck to break his neck in the fall; instead, he would suffocate.  His lungs on fire, gasping for a breath that would not - could not -  come, the world was hot agony, his vision slowly filled with floating spots before going dark... where was Michelle, why couldn't he see her?  Pain, darkness, alone, pain, darkness, alone, pain, darkness, alone, pain, darkness, alone, PAIN, DARKNESS, ALONE, PAIN, DARKNESS, ALONE, OH GOD!

Covered in cold sweat, Silas awoke with the bedsheets tangled around his body.  The reassuring hum of the Peregrine was the only noise that intruded on the silence of his cabin.  Shaking, he ordered the computer to raise the lights.  Suddenly, the inside of that bottle of Scotch seemed far more appealing than whatever tomorrow's arrival at Starbase 118 might hold.  Shaking like a a leaf in a strong breeze, reeking of sweat, Drake stumbled to the desk and grabbed a tumbler.

Stardate 2365.02.12
USS Peregrine, Captain's Ready Room - 09:55

Tochi hadn't been happy to go along with all of Drake's pronouncements - which was to be expected.  Some of the Trill's words, however, came as a surprise.

Tochi gazed at the box which Silas had slid across the desk and, for a moment, marveled at it’s contents, but, soon enough, reached out a hand and snapped the thing shut. "Thank you, my friend," he smiled genuinely, "but this is not the reason we agreed to serve under you, you know? You, sir, are an excellent officer, a wise leader, and a knowledgeable Captain. That is what makes you the sort of commander Starfleet needs and deserves. Not the handing out of undeserved promotions or the sheltering of your crew from actions you choose to take upon yourself when you know all of us are behind you." The Trill’s hand closed on the box and drew it across the surface of the desk and, even as he pocketed the thing, he smiled at his friend. "We will take your promotion, Silas," he offered, "and thank you for it, but do not think that an extra pip will keep us from telling the truth of what transpired here, or the role that we played in it."

Silas chuckled ruefully.  "Underserved promotions, Tochi?  Surely you undersell me.  While a twisted part of my physche would love to see the look on the faces of Jacobs and his cronies when they discovered that everyone on this ship had been promoted, it would make a mockery of the process, undermine the validity of the promotions, and strain the fabric of the concept of independent command."

He shook his head.  "No, my friend - I am, as they say, a dyed in the wool hardass; no matter the circumstance, I would never dream of using my position to give unfair favor to anyone.  From what I have seen, from how the crew responds to you, how your peers interface with you... you should have owned that third pip for at least a year or two by now, glitchiness be damned."

"You are our friend, Silas Drake," Tochi Zai smiled softly, reaching a hand across the desk to shake Silas’, "and that is more an honor than any medal, rank, or badge could ever hope to confirm. In the event that they do assign you to a penal colony, rest assured that we will visit you regularly and often."

Feeling a catch in his throat, Drake had to push and clear his throat to respond.  "Thank you, Tochi.  Your kindness is very much appreciated."

After a moment's pause, he added wistfully, "I wish that Michelle could have known you.  She would have liked you."

C'mon, Citizens.  Post!  Delay is treason.