YE/D01 - Bridge

[Paul]

==

[Riley Wright]

== Ensign T'Varen ==

T’Varen stepped out of the turbolift onto the Bridge of the USS Yeager. The steady hum of the ship’s systems filled the compartment, punctuated by the quiet cadence of officers conducting their duties.

Her recent encounter with Riley Wright in the corridor registered briefly in her thoughts.

The human midshipman had been moving toward the senior officer briefing with unmistakable determination. Riley rarely approached opportunity with moderation.

Enthusiasm is efficient when directed. Less so when uncontrolled.

T’Varen crossed the Bridge with measured steps. Several officers acknowledged her presence as she passed; she returned each greeting with a slight nod before arriving at the Science station.

Chief Science Officer Qi’s chair remained unoccupied. The explanation was obvious—the ongoing senior officer briefing.

Until his return, the station required oversight.

She seated herself and activated the console. Sensor telemetry streamed across the display: stellar drift vectors, radiation gradients, particulate density, and subspace distortion levels. At a glance, the readings appeared within acceptable tolerances for the region of space surrounding the Yeager.

However, appearances alone rarely satisfied a Security-trained officer.

T’Varen’s training inclined her to treat sensor data not merely as scientific observation but as situational awareness. Radiation fluctuations could indicate navigational hazards. Gravitational distortions could place strain on a vessel’s structural integrity. Even minor interference occasionally masked artificial signatures or environmental threats.

Science identified the phenomenon.

Security determined whether it endangered the ship.

With that in mind, T’Varen began initiating a full diagnostic cycle through the Yeager’s primary sensor arrays. The ship had only recently returned from the Wairara mission, and although Starfleet maintenance protocols were thorough, verification remained logical—particularly at the outset of a new operation.

Her fingers moved with precise efficiency across the console as she queued subsystem checks: emitter calibration, long-range sensor resolution, signal processing integrity, and subspace receiver alignment.

At the same time, she briefly routed a portion of the sensor data through the tactical overlay—translating raw readings into threat vectors and detection profiles more commonly monitored from the Tactical station.

The cross-check took only moments, but it provided a different interpretive framework for the same data.

Her attention returned to the diagnostic sequence as it began cycling through the array’s internal systems.

Verification remains preferable to assumption.

The sensor diagnostics continued processing across the console as T’Varen monitored the results with quiet focus, prepared to isolate and correct any irregularities that might present themselves.

== GM Request: Results of the Yeager’s sensor diagnostic cycle. ==

[Flint Chertstone]

As the meeting broke, and the attendee's exited the briefing room returning to their stations or departments. Flint walked onto the bridge and headed toward one of the unoccupied stations.

Logging in, he sat for a few seconds thinking how to begin looking up the Disreputable Damsel and its Captain, the man referred to as Obadiah.

The Yeager has already encountered them he know on a previous tour. The Commander had lead a boarding party over to the vessel where he'd initiated a contraband search, which had resulted in nothing being found. But given that this individual what a person of interest to the Captain. Flint suspected there was a history that he was not privy to at this time.

“Computer. List registry details for vessel; 'Disreputable Damsel'. Display all known records of movements and ports of call over the last... Six months? Cross referencing the individual know as 'Obadiah'. Biography including any and all known potential alias' and associates.


== GM Input – If you would be so kind to fill in all the details and add as much information as you can that I didn't think of, that would be nice. ==

[Riley Wright]

== Ensign T'Varen ==

By the time the senior officers began filtering back onto the Bridge, T'Varen had reduced the Yeager's sensor diagnostic to a concise series of findings. The primary arrays remained operational, subspace receiver alignment was within acceptable tolerance, and the minor phase variance she had detected in one long-range sensor pallet appeared consistent with residual strain rather than active malfunction.

She corrected what could be corrected from the console, logged the remaining variance for routine maintenance follow-up, and transferred her report into the science system buffer for Commander Qi's review. Efficient. Contained. No indication of immediate risk.

That should have concluded the matter.

In most circumstances, it would have.

As the Bridge resumed its normal cadence, Chief Chertstone's voice carried from a nearby station as he addressed the computer. He requested registry details for the Disreputable Damsel, records of its movements and ports of call, and biographical information on an individual identified as Obadiah.

T'Varen did not look toward his console. She had no intention of examining another officer's work uninvited. Even so, the spoken request itself established enough context to justify interest. The name of the vessel, the specificity of the inquiry, and the fact that it was being pursued on the Bridge suggested operational relevance rather than casual curiosity.

She considered opening a parallel search from her own station. That would have been orderly. Quiet. Self-contained.

Riley would ask.

The thought arrived with inconvenient clarity.

Riley would not remain at her console constructing a private framework around incomplete information when the more efficient solution stood only a few paces away. She would go to the source, ask directly, and proceed from there. T'Varen could not deny the utility in that approach.

Rising from the science station, she crossed the Bridge with measured calm and stopped beside Chief Chertstone's console at a respectful distance rather than at his shoulder. Her posture remained composed, her expression neutral.

"Chief," she said evenly, "I overheard enough of your request to understand the general subject. If the Disreputable Damsel is relevant to current operations, there may be limitations to relying on registry and port records alone."

At the adjacent console, she activated a secondary interface and began bringing up traffic archive access and customs relay cross-reference tools.

"Declared movements may be incomplete. If the vessel has operated under altered registry entries or inconsistent filing practices, port records alone will produce an orderly history, but not necessarily an accurate one."

She entered a few more commands, narrowing the search parameters.

"A stronger pattern may be obtained by comparing customs declarations against independent traffic control pings, subspace relay acknowledgements, and recurring warp-field profile matches. Ships may change names. Their mechanical habits are less cooperative."

Her eyes remained on the data as the first archive fields began to populate across the display.

"From a Security standpoint, that would also be the more useful approach," she continued. "If this vessel or its captain are of concern, the question is not merely where they claimed to be, but where their behavior suggests they actually operated. Smuggling, courier work, covert transfers, and intermediary contact patterns are more often exposed through inconsistency than through direct admission."

A soft confirmation tone sounded from the console as the first returns compiled. T'Varen reviewed them in silence for a moment, her expression unchanged.

"If the objective is to determine whether Obadiah is simply a captain of interest or part of a broader pattern, I would recommend prioritizing discrepancies between declared cargo, recorded layover duration, and independently verified movement. Those inconsistencies tend to narrow intent."

Only then did she glance back toward Chertstone.

"Chief, I can continue the technical cross-reference from the science side and forward anything that appears inconsistent with the official trail."

Privately, T'Varen recognized the irony. Asking first had not been her instinct.

It had, however, been effective.

Some human habits remain unexpectedly efficient.

== Tag Chertstone ==

[GM-01]

==T'Var'en==

The Yeager's sensors were operating at 93.33% efficiency, a small but noticeable drop from its average 95% efficiency since launch. Appended notes by members of the science and maintenance teams speculated that the temporal anomaly the Yeager had passed through may have "aged" certain circuits more than others."

==Chertstone==

The computer chewed on the results for a moment. When the results were broadcast, it was not, perhaps, what had been hoped for.

One "Captain" Obadiah Heathridge and his vessel, the "Disreputable Damsel", had been caught crossing the Talarian border by a squadron of Cardassian patrol craft a little over a week previously. According to the reports of the Starfleet Runabout that had responded to Heathridge's distress call and accounts of the survivors, Heathridge had been escorting a Talarian refugee convoy, and had placed the Damsel between the refugees and the Cardassians.

The little craft had, despite its age, managed to take one of the Cardassians with it before it had been blasted into a wreck. The two surviving vessels had retreated following the Runabout's arrival, not willing to risk further incursions into Federation Space and the resulting interception by something larger and better-armed.

The refugees and what was left of Heathridge and the Disreputable Damsel had been escorted to Starbase 214 for treatment. Heathridge was listed in a stable condition, albeit comatose. The Damsel, on the other hand, had been deemed Beyond Economic Repair, although it was being retained in a parking orbit until its owner or their legal executor could rule on its disposition.

[Flint Chertstone]

Given the clock speeds of the ships computer, it seemed to take an eternity as the request processed. Flint understood why he had been given the task. He wasn't a senior officer.

It would be obvious that given their prior dealings with the same Cardassian over their last few tours, they were being specifically profiled by the enemy. Tactical training teaches that.  And as a non-com he likely wasn't a person of interest. Though being the pilot who handed the Cardassian their ass, he might have been added to the list as a minor annoyance.

His searching for the requested details wouldn't send up as many red flags as one of the senior staff, or an officer of any sort he concluded.

Keep it low key, and don't ask too many questions...

That's when he caught her scent and heard her voice.
He turned to see a tall attractive Vulcan woman wearing science blue had moved to the station next to his.

"Chief," she said keeping her focus on the other screen as she spoke and input more search perameters, "I overheard enough of your request to understand the general subject. If the Disreputable Damsel is relevant to current operations, there may be limitations to relying on registry and port records alone."

Flint blinked. He wasn't sure how to react. He couldn't exactly just tell the Ensign to stop. She was an officer. But at the same time, he couldn't allow her to input so many search fields. Each one not just a red flag, but a whole fireworks display if anyone was watching them.

Knowing his search was low level enough to supply the information he needed, she was speaking. Explaining her own search fields. Flint quickly put out a hand and placed it on the Ensigns arm before she could key the final command for her station to begin it's own search.

"This is a little embarassing." He suddenly said to her keeping his eyes fixed on hers when she finally turned to face him. "I've seen you around the ship. And..." He paused while trying to look awkward. He took a couple of steps away from the station, turning her so she was looking away from them.
"Would you, concent to maybe..." He had to think quickly. "Joining me for lunch? Today?"

He'd already moved his hand from her arm and had taken her hand in his, briefly letting his index and middle fingers lightly brush hers as he did so.

He kept eye contact all the while he played coy and whispered.  "Du nam-tor maut takov."

== Tag - T'Varen ==

[Peter Jensen]

Peter headed to the Bridge to be in his place once the fecal matter impacted the ceiling-based cooling contraption.
When he sat down in his chair, his mind was racing. Trying to quell the impulse inside him who "just wanted to get it overwith". 
Once shooting began, it would not over quickly. He knew this. Objectively speaking, he knew that if a war could be avoided without simply giving the Cardassians time to prepare for something worse down the line, it should. People on both sides would die by the thousands or tens of thousands. 

On the other hand, that same thought that had haunted him again and again kept coming back to him.

A line must be drawn in the sand. This far, and no further.

Speaking of lines...he couldn't believe what he was seeing unfolding in front of him. T'Varen had helped  Chertstone narrow down his search. Very efficient. Peter approved. 
What he did not, however, approve of, was the latter's decision to use this exact moment to try to ask the Ensign on a date. 
It seemed almost as inappropriate as when one of his class mates during a class trip to a former death camp on Earth dating back all the way to Earth's World War 2, had urged him to ask his crush out then and there. 
He had been young, yes. But even then he had had a sense of propriety that had told him that this idea was completely and atrociously wrong. 

And this same sense of propriety kicked in now.

"If you could kindly wait until your shift is over before trying to flirt with an officer, Mr. Chertstone, I would be much obliged", he said with ice as cold as the glaciers of Greenland in his voice. The sheer unprofessionalism of this got on his last nerve.

He was still tense as results began to come in...and one, in particular, froze the blood solid in his veins. 

Whether or not this had happened on the right or wrong side of the border was...well, yes, of course important. One was decidedly worse than the other. But when all things were said and done, the blood of Federation citizens had been spilled. And not even brass could possibly let that go...could they?

"Mr. Chertstone", he began, his voice as close to neutral as he could make it. Right now it wasn't the impropriety of the moment before that was on his voice, but the implications of what was about to be found out. 

"Can it be determined whether or not the attack on the Damsel took place on our side of the border or theirs?".

The answer to that question seemed to him to be the difference between whether this could still be talked down or not.

[Riley Wright]

== Ensign T'Varen ==

T'Varen went still the instant Chief Chertstone's hand closed around her arm.

Not because the contact startled her. It did not. But because it was unexpected, professionally inappropriate, and—given the timing—unlikely to be accidental. Her attention shifted from the console to him at once, not with outward alarm, but with the precise recalibration of an officer trained to treat interruption as information.

In the middle of an active inquiry, unusual behavior was rarely meaningless.

It was indiscipline, concealment, warning, or some combination of the three.

For one measured heartbeat, she assessed all of them.

His words were clumsy. His posture suggested awkwardness. His timing, however, was too exact to dismiss. He had intercepted her at the precise moment her search would have broadened beyond registry trails and into patterns that might reveal what someone wished left unexamined.

Then he murmured the Vulcan phrase.

The pronunciation was flawed. The syntax was inelegant. The meaning remained sufficiently clear.

Do not attract attention.

Her gaze settled fully on his then, and the underlying logic aligned.

He was not attempting courtship. He was interrupting her search in a manner designed to appear foolish rather than deliberate. An embarrassing social misstep on the Bridge would attract irritation. A broader inquiry into concealed movement patterns, inconsistent declarations, and indirect traffic signatures might attract something else.

Untidy method. Rational objective.

T'Varen did not pull away sharply. That would have drawn more notice, not less. Instead, she withdrew her arm with controlled smoothness, denying the exchange any further spectacle.

"Chief," she said in a low voice meant only for him, "your warning is understood. The delivery method was inefficient."

There was no visible annoyance in her tone. Only fact.

Privately, however, she marked the incident for what it was. A non-commissioned officer had judged preventing her next action more urgent than preserving propriety. He had made that decision while pursuing information tied to Cardassian activity, a border incident, and a captain the Yeager's command staff clearly considered relevant. That combination did not establish hostile observation.

It did justify caution.

Then Commander Jensen's voice cut across the Bridge, cold enough to restore order at once.

His reprimand addressed Chertstone's timing and conduct with appropriate clarity, then moved immediately to the operational matter that actually warranted attention. Could it be determined whether the attack on the Disreputable Damsel had occurred on their side of the border or not?

T'Varen did not answer.

The question had not been addressed to her, and whatever analysis she might already be forming, speaking over Chertstone would not have been efficiency. It would have been disorder disguised as initiative. So she turned back to the adjacent console, posture straight, expression neutral, and said nothing while the Chief gave his report.

That was the correct order of operations.

As she listened, the shape of the situation shifted.

When Chertstone had first begun his search, the implied concern had centered on a vessel of interest, questionable records, and the possibility of hidden movement patterns. The returned information redirected that concern entirely. Obadiah Heathridge was not presently positioned as an evasive smuggler disappearing through dubious ports. He was comatose after placing his ship between Cardassian patrol craft and a refugee convoy.

That did not reduce the seriousness of the matter.

It refined it.

T'Varen kept her hands lightly on the console while Chertstone spoke, not interfering, not duplicating, but quietly narrowing her own screen to the specifics his report and Jensen's question now made relevant: border notation, distress-call sequence, response interval, recovery location, and the structure of the incident summary itself. Not a separate investigation. Not an attempt to answer before being invited. Only preparation, in case clarification became necessary after the Chief had finished.

From the science station, it resembled routine technical support.

From a security perspective, it was reduction of signature and preservation of options.

Broad searches created visibility. Constrained questions preserved maneuverability.

By the time Chertstone concluded, T'Varen had already arranged the available fragments into a more precise frame, though not yet a conclusive one. She allowed a brief pause after he finished—long enough to preserve the distinction between his report and her analysis, short enough not to suggest hesitation.

Then she spoke.

"Commander," she said evenly, "the Chief's report appears to reduce the likelihood that this was a routine customs or registry matter."

Her fingers moved once across the console, aligning the relevant data fields into a cleaner display.

"If the records presently available are accurate, the more relevant security question may no longer be whether Captain Heathridge was concealing his movements, but why Cardassian patrol craft chose to engage that convoy at all."

Her tone remained calm, analytical, and entirely without dramatics. The facts did not require embellishment.

"A vessel may acquire a questionable reputation for many reasons," she continued. "That does not preclude it from becoming strategically inconvenient to someone else. In this case, the reported sequence suggests Heathridge acted to protect the refugees rather than exploit them. That changes the threat profile."

Privately, T'Varen found that conclusion consistent with an increasingly familiar truth: outward disorder and useful intent were not mutually exclusive. Humans, and those adjacent to human habits, demonstrated that with annoying regularity.

She kept the thought to herself.

"From a Security standpoint," she said, "three elements now warrant priority. First, whether the engagement occurred inside Federation territory, because that affects jurisdiction, escalation, and diplomatic posture. Second, whether the convoy itself was the true target, with the Damsel merely acting as an obstacle. Third, whether Heathridge was intercepted because of what he was carrying, whom he was transporting, or what he had already learned."

That was, to her mind, the correct progression.

Not outrage first. Not assumption first.

Intent first.

Her eyes moved briefly across the limited metadata she had been organizing while Chertstone delivered his answer.

"The current summary is sufficient to establish hostile action and a probable rescue chain," she said. "It is not sufficient to establish motive. Nor does it conclusively distinguish whether the attack began on this side of the border or theirs. It confirms that the event ended close enough to Federation response range for a Starfleet runabout to intervene. That is not the same thing."

A faint tone signaled another indexed fragment from the report structure. T'Varen reviewed it, then continued.

"If the Cardassians were willing to strike a refugee convoy near the border, that suggests either confidence, urgency, or both. If they withdrew upon Starfleet arrival, that suggests they were operating within a threshold they did not wish to exceed publicly. In either case, this does not read as random aggression."

Her gaze lifted briefly toward Jensen.

"It reads as selective."

That word hung for a moment in the middle of the Bridge.

T'Varen continued before silence could harden around it.

"I would recommend that any further inquiry prioritize corroboration over expansion. The most useful records are likely not older port logs, but incident-specific material: runabout sensor telemetry, survivor statements, medical intake records from Starbase 214, and any preliminary wreck analysis of the Damsel."

She adjusted another field, narrowing rather than broadening.

"If the refugee convoy can be identified by manifest, composition, or point of origin, that may also clarify whether the convoy was intercepted opportunistically or pursued for a particular individual, cargo element, or political significance."

That was where her security training asserted itself most clearly—not in suspicion for its own sake, but in disciplined separation of what was known, what was probable, and what merely felt satisfying to conclude. The room was tense enough already. Cardassian involvement had a predictable effect on Starfleet officers near disputed space. It sharpened silence. It invited anger. It encouraged certainty before certainty had been earned.

T'Varen had no intention of contributing to that.

"There is also the matter of Captain Heathridge himself," she said. "If he survives and regains consciousness, he may prove more useful as a witness than as a subject of retrospective suspicion. A man may keep poor records and still remain the most direct source of actionable truth."

People were evidence.

Behavior was evidence.

Who had survived, and why, was often evidence as well.

Her expression remained composed, but internally the pattern had settled into a quiet and increasingly firm conclusion. Cardassian patrol craft. A refugee convoy. A civilian captain with prior relevance to the Yeager. A vessel destroyed after taking a defensive position. A rapid withdrawal when Starfleet arrived.

No single element proved a broader design.

Taken together, they justified disciplined concern.

"Until the border location is confirmed," T'Varen concluded, "I would advise treating the incident as both a humanitarian attack and a potential intelligence problem. The first requires response. The second requires caution."

Only then did she permit the briefest pause.

"And if further search activity is to continue, a narrower evidentiary trail may remain preferable to a wider historical trawl. The available report suggests we are past the point of asking only where the Damsel has been."

Her eyes returned to the console.

"The more relevant question may be why this specific encounter became worth violence."

She fell silent after that, not because she had exhausted her thoughts, but because she had delivered the portion appropriate to the Bridge, the moment, and the officers present. The rest would depend on what Command wished pursued next.

Outwardly, she remained what the Yeager presently required her to be: a composed science officer at her station, working from evidence.

Internally, Security had never left the structure of her thinking at all.

== Tag Jensen / Chertstone ==

[Flint Chertstone]

Time seemed to stand still as Flint's eyes held those of the Ensign. Their dark brown colouring drew him deep within. He wondered if she too saw something in his eyes...

"Chief," she said, her voice low enough enough that only he could just hear her above the ambient hum of the bridge, "your warning is understood. The delivery method was inefficient."

Fu...!!!

He kept his eyes on hers, but he released her hand. “Sorry.” He apologised to her, his own voice low enough to match hers. “I just needed you to stop before your search triggered something it shouldn't.” Then he allowed the corner of his mouth to flick up in a smile. “But, the offer of lunch is still on the table. If you're interested?”

"If you could kindly wait until your shift is over before trying to flirt with an officer, Mr. Chertstone, I would be much obliged." Came the voice of the Commander cutting across the room. His distinctive guttural accent cutting the air.

Flint turned automatically on his heel to face the senior officer.

Where'd the hell did he appear from?

"Mr. Chertstone. Can it be determined whether or not the attack on the Damsel took place on our side of the border or theirs?".

How the hell did he...?

It was too late now. The Ensign knew more than she should, and the Commander was now more pissed than usual.

Good work, Flint.

“If you'll allow me a moment to review the data, Sir.” He said, half angered at himself for being caught, and half annoyed at the Commander for being on the ball

What he read however wasn't exactly what he wanted to read.

“That information doesn't seem to be available at this time. I had only just began my search sir...” He began saying knowing that Jensen was about to chew him out again any second, but whether it was by luck or he had made a small connection with the Ensign, she came to his aid by having delved further on the subject in these last few seconds when he wasn't looking and summarising what she could for the Commander.

Flint turned and glanced toward her, The look in his eyes was an overwhelming Thank you.'


== Tags ==

[Artemis d'Tor'an]

==Temp NPC: Security NCO N’ZINGA VINCENT – Vulcan/Human==

N’Zinga felt stupid. Well, he knew he wasn’t the smartest person on the Bridge, let alone the entire ship, but he felt as if his current duty was… redundant. Chief d’Tor’an had decided that Captain Braggins was not reliable in the ways of communication, and so now during active missions, there was to be a rotation of what the woman called “a runner”. Someone who would record what was happening on the Bridge, and relay that to Security. Rather than have the computer compile all this information and summarize it for the Chief, NCO Vincent was the first person tasked with this secretarial work.

Chertstone: requested registry details for vessel listed as 'Disreputable Damsel’

He dutifully sent down the sentence to be displayed in a running, mostly-one-way chat on the largest screen in Security. He then grabbed the results that had been spit out, and without so much as glancing at the information, sent that along as a follow-up.

First Officer on the Bridge

Send.

There was now a lot of speculation on the Bridge regarding the ship, what they had been doing, where they had been doing it, and what the ship’s Captain had been doing, and whether what he had been doing had been planned. N’Zinga did not care about any of this. His Vulcan heritage told him that speculating was pointless, and that it was logical to deal with just the facts at hand. The fact at hand was, in fact, that they had no hard facts. Furthermore, the failed courtship and subsequent reprimand were not pertinent to the mission. And so he did not report any of this conversation to Security.

[Jennifer Braggins]

Jenny entered the Bridge with her eyes glued to the PADD in front of her. While aware of the conversation taking place around her, she did not focus her attention on it, and managed to not collide with anyone as she made her way to the command chair and slid into it. Her conversation with Lowry's Captain had not exactly gone spectacularly, especially given a Fleet Replenishment Ships weren't exactly top-of-the-line, nor were their captains the cream of the crop.

Still, they served a vital purpose and were still commissioned starships, so he had had no choice but to bow to her authority. Whether or not any of the other ships in the immediate vicinity would do the same remained to be seen, but that was why she was sending missives in writing rather than verbally - it gave anyone who was involved in whatever came next a legal "out" in that they were following her lawful orders.

That won't save them if the Cardassians grab them, but it could save a career or two if this blows up in our face.

Placing the PADD in the charger socket in the armrest of her chair, Jenny scanned the Bridge. There were few veterans left on the crew; too many had been transferred elsewhere, and even the new guys tended not to last long. Such was the danger of being a Starfleet Officer in the early twenty-fifth century.

"Helm, set course for the coordinates I just transmitted to your console. Warp Eight. Make sure the Lowry remains in formation with us."

With Chertstone working on that, Jenny turned to the young Vulcan at Science - she seemed to have been doing most of the talking when she had arrived on the Bridge, so it seemed only fair that she present the findings.

"What do we have on the 'Damsel?"

[Riley Wright]

== Ensign T’Varen ==

T’Varen did not immediately respond to Chertstone’s renewed offer of lunch. The apology had been received, the explanation had been evaluated, and the invitation remained secondary to the operational circumstances around it. He had interrupted her because he believed a broader search might trigger attention from something unseen. His method had been inappropriate, but the concern itself was not illogical.

An inefficient warning may still be a valid warning.

When Commander Jensen’s reprimand cut across the Bridge, T’Varen allowed it to stand without comment. Correcting Chertstone was a command matter, and adding her own assessment would only prolong the disruption. Instead, she refined the information available to them, narrowing the inquiry rather than expanding it further.

Chertstone’s answer to Jensen confirmed the limitation. The available data did not yet establish whether the attack had begun on the Federation side of the border or the Cardassian side. His search had barely begun before it had become more visible than intended. When he glanced toward her afterward, the gratitude in his expression was clear enough.

T’Varen acknowledged it with the faintest inclination of her head. No smile. No unnecessary warmth. Only recognition.

At the edge of her awareness, Security NCO Vincent remained present, apparently relaying Bridge developments through another channel. T’Varen did not attempt to read what he was sending. The fact that Security was being kept informed was sufficient, and prudent. Information became a security concern long before phasers were drawn.

Then Captain Braggins entered the Bridge.

The change in tempo was immediate. The Captain moved with her attention on a PADD, but her orders were already formed by the time she reached the command chair. The PADD was placed into the charger socket, and Braggins spoke without hesitation.

"Helm, set course for the coordinates I just transmitted to your console. Warp Eight. Make sure the Lowry remains in formation with us."

T’Varen glanced briefly across the navigation and formation indicators as Chertstone carried out the order. The Lowry’s presence altered the situation. A fleet replenishment ship was not an ideal asset for confrontation, which suggested its role was not purely tactical. Support, evacuation capacity, witness value, legal positioning—each remained possible.

The Captain is positioning more than ships.

Then Braggins turned toward her.

"What do we have on the 'Damsel?'"

T’Varen straightened slightly at the science station and brought the relevant data into a clean sequence. Science could report the facts. Security determined which facts could become danger.

"Captain," she said evenly, "the available records identify the vessel as the Disreputable Damsel, commanded by Captain Obadiah Heathridge. The most recent incident summary places the vessel near the Talarian border approximately one week ago, while escorting a Talarian refugee convoy."

She advanced the display.

"The Damsel encountered Cardassian patrol craft. According to the report, Heathridge placed his vessel between the patrol craft and the convoy. The Damsel was destroyed beyond economic repair, though it reportedly disabled or destroyed one Cardassian vessel before being neutralized. The remaining Cardassian vessels withdrew after a Starfleet runabout arrived."

Her tone remained level. The wording was not accidental. Neutralized was not a scientific term; it was a security one.

"The refugees, Heathridge, and the remains of the Damsel were escorted to Starbase Two-One-Four. Heathridge is listed as stable, but comatose. The Damsel is being retained in parking orbit pending disposition by its owner or legal executor."

T’Varen allowed the confirmed report to settle before moving into analysis.

"The records do not conclusively establish where the attack began. They confirm proximity to Federation response range and Starfleet involvement in the recovery. They do not yet confirm jurisdiction."

She highlighted the fields she considered most relevant: distress-call timing, runabout telemetry, survivor statements, refugee manifest, weapons residue, and damage profile.

"From a Security standpoint, the Damsel’s reputation is now secondary. The primary question is target selection. If Heathridge was shielding the convoy, then the Cardassians may have intended to strike the refugees themselves, recover or eliminate a specific individual among them, seize cargo moving under humanitarian cover, or prevent information from reaching Federation space."

Her eyes lifted briefly to Braggins.

"The Damsel may have been engaged because it was in the way. It may also have been engaged because Heathridge knew why the convoy mattered. Until that is determined, treating him only as a questionable civilian captain would be an incomplete threat assessment."

That was where the Security training showed most clearly. Not in suspicion alone, but in structure: identify the protected parties, preserve the evidence, isolate the motive, and assume survivors could still be targets.

"The most useful follow-up would be the responding runabout’s sensor telemetry, the original distress-call sequence, survivor statements, any refugee manifest, Starbase Two-One-Four intake records, and preliminary wreck analysis. I would also recommend preserving the earliest communication logs before they are summarized into diplomatic reports. Raw records may contain details that later summaries smooth away."

A brief pause followed.

"Heathridge should be treated as a protected witness if he regains consciousness. If someone considered the convoy worth attacking, he may know why. That makes Starbase Two-One-Four relevant as both a medical facility and a security point."

T’Varen shifted one final field onto the display.

"There is also a shipboard limitation. The Yeager’s sensors are operating at ninety-three point three three percent efficiency, below the vessel’s post-launch average of ninety-five percent. Maintenance notes suggest uneven circuit degradation possibly related to the temporal anomaly previously encountered. The arrays remain functional, but if we are reconstructing border position, weapons signatures, or engagement geometry, the reduced margin should be accounted for."

She returned her focus fully to the Captain.

"In summary: the Disreputable Damsel appears to have been destroyed while defending a Talarian refugee convoy from Cardassian patrol craft. Heathridge survived, but cannot presently testify. The location of the initial engagement remains unconfirmed. The motive for the attack remains unconfirmed. The convoy may be more important than the vessel itself."

Her posture stayed composed, but there was nothing passive in the way she stood at the console.

"I would assess this as a humanitarian incident, a possible border violation, and a potential intelligence matter. The first requires response. The second requires corroboration. The third requires discretion."

T’Varen’s gaze returned to the display.

"The Damsel brought the matter to our attention. The convoy may explain why violence was used."

== Tag Braggins / Bridge ==

[Flint Chertstone]

Flint hand barely finished speaking when the Captain entered the Bridge and made her way to the centre seat. T'Varen had also thankfully picked up the baton and was about to begin relaying what she had found when Braggins issued her order.

"Helm, set course for the coordinates I just transmitted to your console. Warp Eight. Make sure the Lowry remains in formation with us."

Flint glanced over toward the empty station. Then once more back quickly at the Ensign.

Well, you don't know if you don't ask...

Behind him, he listened as T'Varen began her report, this time directly to the Captain. Flinf felt like a complete idiot. He'd been given a direct task, and the moment he'd tried to fulfil it, he'd screwed it up, and allowed a senior officer to take the limelight.

Still, at least he was still being trusted to fly the ship he supposed flopping into the chair and adjusting the controls to his configuration.

Pulling up the package from the Captain, he entered the coordinates into the navigation system and contacted the Lowry as requested.

“Lowry. This is Yeager. I am sending you course navigation details. Captain Braggins sends her regards and requests that you keep pace.”

He waited for Lowry to respond and sync navigation systems before he turned back to the Captain.

“Ready to go on your command, Ma'am.”

== Tag, and snap-cut to exterior of both ships moving off while this music plays over the top. ==

[Artemis d'Tor'an]

==Temp NPC: Security NCO N’ZINGA VINCENT – Vulcan/Human==



Captain Jennifer Braggins came onto the Bridge, and conversation stopped. N’Zinga tapped dutifully on his console’s keyboard.

Captain on the Bridge.

Send.

“Helm, set course for the coordinates I just transmitted to your console. Warp Eight. Make sure the Lowry remains in formation with us.”

Warp 8 towards coordinates given to Helm. BOLO for Lowry to stay in formation with us.

Send.

T’Varen gave a lengthy breakdown of the information received, and though most would find it excessive, the half-Vulcan found it refreshing. It was logical to want, and therefore pass on, any and all information obtained. One could not make a sound decision without being fully-informed. N’Zinga thought about that for a moment, and then made the decision to send down full specifications and crew information on the Lowry to Main Security, as well.



==Tag GM – please see my request / soon to be requests in Security==

[Jennifer Braggins]

Jenny nodded along as the Vulcan Ensign gave her summary of what had occured and her theories on the matter; she was remarkably thorough for someone of her rank, even among Vulcans, and her insight belief her lack of seniority or experience.

The analysis of both Heathridge and the Cardassians' motives was interesting, as they were based entirely on the facts available yet seemed to concur with what information Starfleet had been privy to. They also seemed to confirm his claims that he was running medical supplies over the border and wasn't just a run of the mill smuggler as they had first assumed during the Lord Franklin incident.

It also explains the blockade. If there were people of interest to the Obsidian Order on that convoy...

That complicated things. If the Cardassians really were hunting fugitives rather than simply sabre-rattling, then the blockade of Starbase 214 was unlikely to be resolved without bloodshed. One way or another, the Cardassians would ensure that their own perverse brand of 'justice' was applied to those who had wronged them.

Calling up the most recent Intelligence reports on the region, Jenny quickly managed to find the sensor logs compiled by the Runabout that had interrupted the skirmish. The Runabout's skipper, an Ensign on her first independent assignment, had been remarkably thorough in her report and had also ensured that every possible scan had been taken and transmitted immediately - just in case the Cardassians had turned on her after destroying the convoy. 

Typical hunting pack of three Hideki-class Escorts. He was outgunned and turned to engage anyway. His speed and agility gave him an advantage until they boxed him in. Then it was an execution.

The fact that the ambush had been conducted by smaller vessels was a small ray of hope - if they had been Galors or Keldons, it would have implied a major military buildup in the area. The presence of smaller combatants meant that the likelihood of running into capital-grade ships was less.

Not zero, but less. 

"Flint, T'Lari, when we are underway I want a series of drills putting us against multiple smaller combatants. I feel like we're looking at something a little more asymmetric than the Academy trains for."

With a flick of her finger, Jenny forwarded the sensor logs to the Helm and Tactical stations - while it was technically classified beyond their clearances, they were definitely among those who had a "need to know."

[GM-01]

The Lowry sent a curt acknowledgement to Chertstone's request - text only. For a verbal communication to be returned via text indicated that someone on the other ship was slightly less than enthusiastic about the orders.

As an old Curry-class Support Cruiser, the Lowry was long past its prime, assuming it had even had one. It was, in many ways, a contemporary of Yeager's immediate predecessor. Specifications on the elderly cruiser indicated that while it was capable of Warp Eight, such velocities would be considered "flat out". Any faster, and the engines would redline very, very quickly.

[Artemis d'Tor'an]

==Temp NPC: Security NCO N’Zinga Vincent – Vulcan/Human==

As the Captain spoke, N’Zinga typed. Orders regarding running drills. Intuition regarding the size of their opponents. He even typed a note that the Captain had forwarded the Helm and Tactical’s Bridge stations the sensor logs.

Unfortunately for N’Zinga, Chief d’Tor’an would have to send a request to the Captain in order to view them. He could just picture her inevitable unhappiness now.

As an addemdum, the Vulcan also typed that the Lowry had sent an acknowledgement to the Yeager in regards to its positioning. Alongside that, he sent the basic notes of the ship: Curry Class; commissioned as a support craft; who its current Captain was.

Send.

N’Zinga hit the button firmly, with more of a touch than was needed.  He could be doing anything else with his time. Like evacuating his bowels.


==GM: Do we have a name for this ship’s Captain? Also… why is it tagging along again?==

[Flint Chertstone]

The response from the Lowry was lacklustre at best. The reply sent to confirm their readiness had been a text message.

Flint hadn't had the opportunity to fraternise with any of their crew, so he easily surmised that it wasn't anything he'd done that resulted in the text downgrade of the reply. If anything it was clear from what wasn't said that spoke volumes about the attitude of the other vessel.

It wasn't until Flint was comfortable that both vessels were on track and holding position with each other at warp eight, before he opened the second packet the Captain had sent to his station.

It showed the tactical readings of the last moments of the Disreputable Damsel as taken from the intercepting runabout. Including the hunting patterns of the three Hideki-class escorts that took part in the attack.

The file briefly blinked with a warning as he opened it. He suspected it was probably because his login didn't exactly contain the right clearance, and this copy of the data had been adapted to allow it.

The Cardassian vessels seemed to move in small, precise hit and run manoeuvrers. Each positioned so no matter which way their prey attempted to run, they could pounce to block or pursue keeping them confined in a small area of space, all the while chipping away at shields and vital systems.

Almost Klingon in efficiently. Almost Romulan in nefariousness. Three small ships could easily whittle away a larger vessels defences given time.

This was going to take some serious thought...

[Jennifer Braggins]

==Moving us along since we seem to have ground to a halt...

Some time later...==

The Yeager dropped from warp at the designated coordinates, an empty sector of space between the blockaded Starbase and the Talarian border. Light Years from anything interesting, it was the perfect place for a sneak attack to be staged from, or for supplies to be secretly ferried to an occupied sector. Anyone transiting the area was about as far from the regular space lanes as one could get without entering 'Here Be Dragons' territory beyond mapped space, which meant that if they ran into trouble, help would be days away at least.

Which is why Jenny had selected it.

"Flint, I want thrusters at full for five seconds, then cut all thrust. Take us to Condition Grey, but keep the warp core on minimal output. Shut off exterior lights and override polarisation on viewports, set to maximum. From now on, we're just a hole in space. Signal Lowry to come to full stop and enter Grey Mode until ordered otherwise."

Jenny leaned forward in her chair as the lighting reduced to minimum and the life support system began to slow its air circulation cycle. Her decision not to signal all stop was deliberate, and left the Yeager drifting through space on a ballistic course with no immediate way of changing course or stopping should they need to. To passive sensors, the Yeager would not register without energy emissions, and even should anyone conduct a cursory active scan, she was doing her best impression of a meteorite or piece of debris - enough ships had fallen to piracy in the area over the decades that a derelict floating through empty space was a novelty rather than a surprise, something to be noted and tagged for salvage rather than investigated.

Which was exactly what Jenny was banking on.

Though the probe had yet to report the number or class of Cardassian ships enforcing the blockade, they were going to need replenishment or reinforcement sometime; that meant supply ships would be coming through this area, perhaps with escorts, and that gave her the opportunity to get far more up close and personal with the Cardassian blockade than any probe. Done right, it could even break the blockade and prevent the situation escalating into all-out war.

If it went wrong, then...Jenny had already been tried in absentia in the Cardassian Union for piracy once, what was another ship or two to add to the list? They could only execute her once...

"T'Lari, I want weapons on standby. Science, I want the probe telemetry the moment it comes in. Keep an eye on passive sensors, as well; I want to know if someone so much as turns on a flashlight out there."

[Ris'maeriiffa Qab'ataar]

After Captain Braggins had announced the ship's arrival in their destination system, a low, steady baritone voice responded.

[Acknowledged. Midshipman Qab'ataar en route to bridge.]

<< Science Labs <<

Several minutes later, the young Andorian male stepped through the turbolift doors and on to the bridge for the first time. Tall, lean, and what was likely an athletic build under his uniform, two other features would catch any observer's eye:the dark teal dyed front section of his hair, where it lay between his antennae, and that the end of his right antenna was bent forward slightly. He approached the Captain's chair from the right, and positioned himself in the forward starboard quadrant of her view, and stood at attention.

"Midshipman Qab'ataar reporting, Captain. I had been busy working with Commander Jadaris and Lieutenant Commander Qi on the probe. Permission to take a post at Science?" He managed to keep his voice steady and paced without rushing through his reporting statement. His antennae flexed minutely, seeking any information that might aid him in getting a read on Captain Braggins.

== Tag Braggins and any other bridge crew ==

[Flint Chertstone]

The journey with the Lowry in tow had been thankfully uneventful, if drawn out. The coordinates that the Captain had given hadn't seemed any different to any other headings Flint had processed, but it had become clearer the further they travelled off of the beaten path that their destination wasn't going to be one of the usual tourist traps.

The second the ship dropped out of warp. There was nothing. No local system with planets. No dust clouds or nebula. In fact the external sensors detected even lower than average hydrogen particles per square centimetre. This was the back end of beyond.

"Flint, I want thrusters at full for five seconds, then cut all thrust.” Said the Captain without a beat. “Take us to Condition Grey, but keep the warp core on minimal output. Shut off exterior lights and override polarisation on viewports, set to maximum. From now on, we're just a hole in space. Signal Lowry to come to full stop and enter Grey Mode until ordered otherwise."

“Aye aye, Ma'am.” He replied signalling the Lowry to follow suit. Though he still wasn't too happy that they were still only communicating via text message.

After the five second burn, the task of powering down the ship was simple. The audible hum of ship fell away as major systems, structural integrity, life support and so on all powered down to minimal levels, and the ever so queasy feeling as the reduced gravity took over.

“All systems secured. We are in, Grey Mode.”


== Right, I assume it all turned off okay. ==

[T'Lari]

"T'Lari, I want weapons on standby. Science, I want the probe telemetry the moment it comes in. Keep an eye on passive sensors, as well; I want to know if someone so much as turns on a flashlight out there."

"Aye, Captain." 

T'Lari ran a quick macro through her station, cutting systems to the bone but keeping them ready for reactivation the moment they were needed. In older ships she'd served on like the Nile (or the Yeager's antique class vessel) such a Grey Mode fast reboot procedure had a fair chance of overloading weapons system relays and burning out phaser emitters. It was NOT recommended except in dire situations. But this ship? This new Yeager? She'd read the engineering reports, as the Captain had no doubt. This ship was designed in the new Starfleet, one that had been through the fires of Borg attacks, the Dominion War, and countless other dangers. This Yeager could handle it, though T'Lari would have to be careful. 

She'd never participated in a Condition Gray personally, but they were part of standard Tactical training. This was turning out to be an interesting mission... but then every mission she'd been on that involved Captain Braggins had been interesting.She found herself looking forward to what would happen next, an odd sensation. Was anticipation an emotion?

[Arwen Qi]

Q'abataar received a message on a private channel, originating from the Science Lab:

[Qi to Qab’ataar, we’re launching the probe now. I'm sending a live feed of telemetry to your console. By the way, can you kindly remind Crewman Chertstone at the helm that this mission is not a race? I’m not convinced that ‘slow and steady’ is in his vocabulary.]

[Riley Wright]

The turbolift doors opened onto a Bridge that sounded as if the Yeager had decided to hold her breath.

Riley Wright stepped out with a Security PADD tucked against her side and stopped just long enough for the change to register. The lighting had dropped low. Consoles glowed with restrained output. The familiar background rhythm of a starship at full readiness had been pared down to something quieter, thinner, and deliberately uncomfortable.

Condition Grey.

Not the clean textbook version, either. Captain Braggins had kept the warp core at minimal output and Tactical had weapons on standby, which meant the Yeager was not truly asleep.

She was pretending.

That is somehow less comforting.

Life support had already been reduced. The air moved more slowly than Riley liked, and the subdued deck vibration made the Bridge feel smaller than it was. She knew the difference between a starship running dark and a damaged airlock. Her lungs did not care about the distinction as much as her brain did.

Not an airlock.

The thought came before she could stop it. Annoying. Automatic. Useful.

Riley took one measured breath, then another, and moved.

T’Varen was already crossing away from the Science station, apparently relieved now that Midshipman Qab’ataar had arrived to handle the probe telemetry. The Vulcan’s posture remained as composed as ever, but Riley knew her well enough to read the small details others missed: the precise economy of her steps, the faint narrowing of focus in someone who had completed one task but had not stopped analyzing the next six.

Their paths crossed near the turbolift.

For half a second, Riley’s expression softened.

“Leaving all the fun to the rest of us?” Riley asked quietly, her voice low enough not to disturb the tense calm of the Bridge.

T’Varen gave her the briefest look, one eyebrow shifting by a degree that would have been invisible to almost anyone else.

“The situation does not appear to qualify as fun,” T’Varen replied evenly.

Riley’s mouth twitched.

“Yeah. That sounds like your official assessment.”

There was more she could have said. A dozen things, probably. Are you all right? What did I miss? Tell me how bad this actually is. But the Bridge was not the Academy, and they were not cadets lingering after a drill while one of them vented and the other quietly rearranged the universe into something manageable.

They were officers now.

So Riley only gave a small nod, and T’Varen returned it with the same understated precision.

It was enough.

Riley continued onto the Bridge, angling toward an auxiliary Security console. As she crossed, she took in the room the way Lieutenant Commander Torres had taught her to do years ago: not as scenery, but as a living tactical diagram.

Captain Braggins in the center chair. Chertstone at Helm. T’Lari at Tactical, weapons restrained but ready. Qab’ataar at Science, with the probe telemetry now his problem. The Lowry somewhere nearby in the dark, supposedly matching their posture. The Yeager herself drifting quiet, exterior lights cut, viewports darkened, most of her systems reduced to the minimum needed to keep her alive and useful.

Which means everything matters if someone does notice.

Riley reached the Security console and signed in, setting the PADD beside the interface. The display came alive at low illumination, and she immediately reduced it another step.

No point preaching discipline while glowing like a beacon.

Internal readiness reports began stacking across the screen. Main Security had already shifted to a quiet alert posture. Non-essential corridor movement had been curtailed. Turbolift use had been restricted to command, medical, engineering, and emergency response. Armory access remained locked by authorization tier. Security teams were not moving unless ordered, which was exactly how it should be while the ship was trying to look like debris.

Good.

Riley opened a secure direct text channel to Lieutenant d’Tor’an rather than pushing a general message through the department net. By now, she had learned that the Chief of Security preferred information close to the source, preferably before it had been sanded smooth by three layers of summary.

Riley respected that.

Mostly because it made sense.

[Wright to d’Tor’an. Bridge is in modified Grey Mode. Warp core remains at minimal output by Captain’s order. Weapons are on standby. Lowry has been instructed to match our posture. Non-essential movement is restricted. I am taking auxiliary Security monitoring from the Bridge.]

She paused, studying the internal systems display as it repopulated under reduced-power conditions.

Then she added the part d’Tor’an would actually want.

[Current internal focus: transporter activity, unauthorized compartment access, weapons-locker status, environmental pressure shifts, and command-system intrusion attempts. Response teams are holding position unless ordered or hostile action is confirmed.]

Riley reviewed the message once, checking it for anything unnecessary.

There was a difference between thorough and noisy.

She sent it.

The temptation was still there to add more. Riley liked preparation. She liked clear plans, redundant plans, and the kind of plans that survived first contact with stupidity. But overloading d’Tor’an with nervous detail would not make Security sharper. It would only make Riley feel better.

That was not the same thing.

She pulled up the internal sensor overlay and began stripping it down to what Grey Mode allowed and Security actually needed: unauthorized hatch access, transporter signatures, weapons locker activity, environmental pressure changes, unexpected computer access tied to command pathways, and movement patterns that did not match the reduced-crew posture of a ship pretending very hard to be uninteresting.

The Cardassians outside were the obvious threat.

Riley did not like obvious threats. They made people forget the other ones.

Her eyes flicked once toward the forward viewer, where there was nothing useful to see but darkness and reflected console light. Somewhere ahead, a probe was feeding information back through Science. Somewhere beyond that, Cardassian ships were enforcing a blockade around Starbase 214. Somewhere in the middle of it all were refugees, a destroyed civilian ship, and a comatose captain who might have known exactly why violence had found him.

Riley’s fingers paused above the console.

A civilian vessel had put itself between patrol craft and a refugee convoy.

That was not the part of the report people would talk about first. They would talk about borders, escalation, Hideki-class escorts, Starfleet response times, and whether this was going to turn into something larger and bloodier than anyone wanted to admit.

But Riley kept coming back to the simple shape of it.

Someone had been vulnerable.

Someone else had stepped in front of them.

That’s the job.

Torres would have said that. Maybe not in those exact words, but close enough.

Riley straightened slightly at the console.

Only once the passive internal watch was configured did she speak, keeping her voice low and directed toward the command area rather than the room at large.

“Captain, Security has internal quiet-alert measures in place. Non-essential movement is restricted, armory access is locked by authorization tier, and response teams are holding position.”

She touched one control, bringing the summarized status into a clean display.

“I’ve narrowed passive internal monitoring to transporter activity, unauthorized compartment access, environmental shifts, weapons-locker activity, and command-system intrusion attempts. If someone tries boarding or remote interference while we’re running quiet, we should have warning before it becomes a deck-by-deck problem.”

That was the professional version.

The less professional version sat behind her teeth: if anyone tried to come aboard this ship in the dark, they were going to regret it.

Riley kept that part to herself.

The Bridge was already tense enough without a young Security officer trying to sound fierce. She had spent too much of her life being underestimated because of her size to mistake volume for authority. Calm worked better. Precision worked better. Being ready worked best of all.

Another low breath moved through her.

The ship still felt too quiet. The air still felt too slow. The walls still felt closer than they were.

Riley placed both hands lightly on the edge of the console and focused on the data.

Breathe. Watch. Protect.

That was enough.

For now.

== Tag Bridge ==

[Flint Chertstone]

The ship wasn't stationary. After a five second burn, they weren't exactly rocketing through space either, but drifting slowly. This far out, the partial density was ridiculously tiny. One hydrogen atom per square meter tiny, Flint recalled from his basic training.

He glanced at the ships chronometer. It hadn't moved hardly since he last looked. This was going ot be another long shift.

With the normal sounds now muted, when there was an unusual sound, it seemed louder. Especially when the doors to the lift opened and in walked an Andorian he didn't recall meeting before, who after introducing themselves to the Captain, took up the science station to his right. He nodded in greeting.

He listened quietly as the others behind him did whatever they were doing. All he could do was check his console and look out the main viewscreen.

It was he heard his name from a comm message that he turned back toward the science station.

[… wman Chertstone at the helm that this mission is not a race? I’m not convinced that ‘slow and steady’ is in his vocabulary.]

What?

But before he could comment, the doors of the lift opened again and Wright from security entered.

The voice on the message sounded a bit like Qi, but he wasn't sure it had been so quick. Either way, it had annoyed him. But he kept quiet. Though if anyone had looked in his direction they would have seen the annoyance on his face.


== Tag any and all ==

[Ris'maeriiffa Qab'ataar]

After Captain Braggins acknowledged his reporting in and just as quickly dismissed him - clearly things were starting to happen that required her attention more than a new Midshipman - Ris traversed the relatively short distance to the primary Science station. He saw the Vulcan Ensign at the station, and, straight from the manual taught at Starfleet Academy, received her report and officially relieved her at the station.

"Computer, show Midshipman Qab'ataar on duty at Primary Science as of this time." The computer offered a simple "upbeat" digital tone in response he knew to mean as the request being accomplished. He'd just begun reviewing the thorough entries from T'Varen when Lieutenant Commander Qi's voice came through on a personal comm channel.

[Qi to Qab’ataar, we’re launching the probe now. I'm sending a live feed of telemetry to your console. By the way, can you kindly remind Crewman Chertstone at the helm that this mission is not a race? I’m not convinced that ‘slow and steady’ is in his vocabulary.]

Outstanding, onboard a handful of days and already being thrown into the middle of someone else's pet peeves. He allowed himself a slight sigh.

"If needed, I will tactfully remind the Chief of that LimFac, sir," he responded, nodding in return to Flint, using the military shorthand for "Limiting Factor", and correcting the mistaken rank used by his Department Head. As he did so, his expression remained carefully neutral, though both antenna tips briefly flexed and curled slightly backwards. To those listening, Ris' response almost mimiced a more Vulcan tone and rhythm. After closing the channel, he turned back towards the Chief Petty Officer, and spoke quietly, but firmly.

"Midshipman Ris'maeriiffa Qab'ataar, Chief. Newly thrown to the wolves by the Academy." Though his mouth barely showed any sign of it, his jade green eyes allowed a slight hint of the humor he was attempting to impart to his words. He continued in the same subdued voice. "I don't recall being taught about anything called 'Condition Gray' at the Academy, so, if circumstances allow, I'd appreciate a primer on it."

His fingers moved confidently across the LCARS interface, adjusting the layout and other settings to his preferences. For now, the main focus of his screen was the probe telemetry.

== Tag Chertstone, and anyone else on the Bridge. ==

[Flint Chertstone]

Flint could tell that the newcomer wasn't comfortable with what he'd overheard either, as he tactfully replied to this superior.

Once he'd finished talking, the man was still maintaining his neutral visage as much as he could. But Andorians had tells.

"Midshipman Ris'maeriiffa Qab'ataar, Chief. Newly thrown to the wolves by the Academy."

Flint instantly picked up on the subtle humour on Qab'ataar's introduction. “Well, we're not exactly wolves, Sir. We're more like disenfranchised cats.” He replied as his previously irked expression changed back to his more light-hearted beat.

"I don't recall being taught about anything called 'Condition Gray' at the Academy, so, if circumstances allow, I'd appreciate a primer on it."

“Well, Sir. The easy description is we power down everything we can, and we make like a hole in space. Anyone actively scanning for us will find us eventually, but if they don' know we're here, they should never know we were here.”

It wasn't exactly a textbook description. But then there wasn't really a textbook on it.


== Tag back ==

[Ris'maeriiffa Qab'ataar]

Ris allowed himself a slight smile in response to Chertstone's comments about cats.

Although Vulcans are known to keep domesticated sehlats as pets, they still retained a lot of aggression. T'Rohnna's pet adjusted to him and eventually accepted him. Still, there was a significant difference between one of the Vulcan felines and the typical Terran domesticated cat.

His brief side trip into Memory Lane came to a sudden stop as Flint answered his inquiry.

“Well, Sir. The easy description is we power down everything we can, and we make like a hole in space. Anyone actively scanning for us will find us eventually, but if they don't know we're here, they should never know we were here.”

Ris nodded slightly.

"That makes sense. The only problem with becoming a hole is that you stand out because you're quieter than what should be here. Given the Cardassians' infamous levels of paranoia, we should expect them to be more alert for that than most."

He may not know a lot about these long-time adversaries, but, certain traits were simply well-known by this point.

"I wonder if there's an unobtrusive way to monitor our own signal noise, much like...oh, I remember this from the Historical Tactics class, primarily because it dealt with EM radiation." He quickly accessed the information on a secondary screen at his station. "The twentieth and twenty-first century Terran navies had what they called a Towed Sonar Array. It allowed them to listen behind themselves, drastically reducing their sensory blind spots. I wonder if we could accomplish something similar with a Class 1 probe?"

While still overall calm and focused, Ris' demeanor and body language conveyed his interest and even some excitement.

"Captain? Request permission to deploy a Class 1 probe trailing us approximately one hundred thousand meters aft and slightly positive on the Z axis relative to the Yeager, operating purely in passive mode."

== Tag Braggins, Chertstone, Bridge ==
== Request GM input: do we have any Class 1 probes available, and could one be operated similar to a towed sonar array? ==

[Artemis d'Tor'an]

Messages from the Security Chief popped up at the appropriate consoles on the Bridge.

[Security to Science: Request for information regarding recently-launched probe.]
[Message automatically CC’d to Captain Braggins]


[Security to Tactical: Request sensor log packet recently sent to your station.]
[Message automatically CC’d to Captain Braggins]