Star Trek: FIRST CONTACT – ( M // IC )

[Wobbles]

Rated MATURE for language, violence, and adult topics. Apply at your own discretion.
OUT OF CHARACTER.

---

CAPTAIN'S LOG, STARDATE 41917.4

"We have had an uneventful few days. The crew is still settling in the Enterprise, and the new trainees are finding their sea legs. Some of them seem to have good potential, but we will see. The Enterprise-E seems to be a dependable ship, but it still has that 'new ship' smell. Although some of the veteran staff appear to miss our old Enterprise, they're adjusting well. I have faith in them.

There is no word from Starfleet as of yet. We are to hold position to rendezvous with the –– Computer, pause log."

LOG PAUSED.

The dull silence of the captain's ready room was pierced by an obnoxious chirping at regular intervals. Worthing swiveled in his chair to his comm, rubbing a hand over his eyes before fixing his gaze on the smudged screen on his desk.

INCOMING TRANSMISSION. STARFLEET COMMAND TO CAPT. N. H. WORTHING. USS ENTERPRISE NCC 1701-E. COMMAND AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED.

Worthing hummed in the back of his throat and told the computer, "Authorization: Worthing, five-nine-bravo-foxtrot." The message faded to the Starfleet insignia, the soft points of its edges reaching nearly both the top and bottom of the screen. It remained for several seconds before switching to an image of Admiral Hayes. The admiral had softer eyes than more of his fellow officers at Starfleet Command. He had only been recently transferred from the helm of a ship to a desk on Earth -- clearly, he was still empathetic to those roaming the stars. His hairline, though thinning, showed only the faintest trimmings of grey. Worthing leaned forward on his desk. "Good evening, Admiral."

"Captain. Still up, at this hour?" His tone was crisp, lacking the usual warmth behind his words. Worthing noted this with passing curiosity. Hayes' first officer had mentioned that the former captain had an almost unshakable optimism. Whatever was causing the admiral's sharpness must be damn serious, Worthing thought, then said aloud, "I was hoping for a call. Not from Starfleet Command, of course, but I guess you'll have to do."

Hayes' lip twitched upward in the slightest at the jest, but his demeanor remained grave. He shifted in his chair, seeming to squirm under the weight of some unknown pressure. "Unfortunately, I'm all business today, Worthing. I just received a disturbing report from Deep Space Five. Long range sensors have detected --" His sentence broke off, and he paused to study a point just behind the transmission sensor with tightened eyes. When his gaze return to the screen, Worthing became sharply aware of the lines engraved on the older man's face. "The Borg."

Three years earlier, Worthing had encountered the Borg. It was his fourth posting. In the pregnant pause following Hayes' heavy words, he remembers. The escape pod was cramped for 4 people, but somehow they had managed to fit 9 inside. The captain had given strict orders for Worthing to abandon ship, along with the rest of the crew, but he himself had chosen to stay behind. In the fogged viewport of the escape pod, the Wolfgang spiraled in a fiery mess of splintered bulkhead and fuselage. The warp nacelles stayed intact -- thank God, or they would have all been destroyed by the following warp core breach. Those 9 were the only survivors of the Wolfgang. Slowly, the wildly spinning escape pod had change trajectory to give all 9 a front row seat to the rest of the battle between the fleet and the single Borg ship. The much younger, more volatile Commander Worthing had been seething, anger pulsing through his shattered nerves at the heartless enemy that claimed his captain, his crew, and his ship. They were retrieved by a Starfleet medical vessel after 3 miserable days in the escape pod. Two of those who escaped died of injuries while on board, and had to be ejected into space. Worthing had been given a year long shore leave, due to post-traumatic stress and 'unstable tendencies.'

All this, he remembers in a moment. "Damn," he mutters, causing Admiral Hayes to raise his head subtly as if to get a better glimpse of Worthing's expression. "Damn," he repeated. "Damn, damn, damn."

---

Surrounded by his senior staff in the ready room, Captain Worthing brooded, staring out the picture-style plexiglass separating the conference room from the vacuum of space outside. They rested at all stop a few lightyears from the Hoisman galaxy. It was beautiful, dappled with pinks and blues, and oblong at one end, giving it the vague appearance that a cosmic flower girl had tripped and spilled her basket of rose petaled stars and daffodil comets.

Most Starfleet personnel were familiar with the Borg. Either a personal encounter, a horror-laden tale from a senior officer, or the logs on the subject; there was hardly an officer who was ignorant to the threat. However, all of Starfleet was about to meet them face to face. That is, except for the Enterprise. Worthing chewed the inside of his lip. He'd just delivered the distasteful news to his fresh senior staff, from the looks of disgust shared by all those present, he was not the only one to be dissatisfied by their orders. The silence was sharpened only by the hushed breaths shared unevenly among them. Worthing was sure that if he listened closely, he would have been able to hear the half-Vulcan heartbeat of his first officer in the chair directly to his right. No protest had been made as of yet. He glanced down at his padd and quoted Admiral Hayes' orders directly. His tone relayed a less than subtle streak of bitterness. "'The Enterprise is to patrol the Neutral Zone, in case the Romulans attempt to take advantage of the situation.' The rest of the Fleet has been called back to Earth to rally against the Borg."

Again, silence. They all shared the same thought, though: The rest of the Fleet won't be enough.

[AngelFire]

Darcy chewed at the flesh inside of her lip, as she listened to the captain speak. Though she didn’t agree with the decision Starfleet was making, by ordering them to stay at the Romulan boarder, she understood the need. Without the Enterprise standing watch, Starfleet could be in further danger. Her eyes danced from each member’s face, before resting onto the table. Many medical officers found the Borg quite fascinating with their adaptive capabilities, as well with the recycling of their dead, but Darcy found the nanoprobe technology most intriguing. Some of the theories danced around her brain, if they could get a few nanoprobes, she would find it quite interesting to see how they would further Starfleet medical.

As a Starfleet officer she is obligated to follow every order, so to her, there is nothing left to talk about, but sensing the others needed more she stayed seated.

“How far away are the Borg from Earth?” she questioned calmly, as her eyes met the captains. “Having a timeline would be most helpful.” She paused before wondering if she should continue with her next question. “Is Starfleet evacuating any of the planets?”

[AngelDellaNotte]

Azira circled around the ring dodging punches from her opponent, she was on the Holodeck working through some of the old fight simulations. Right now she was in UFC 190 facing Bethe Correia. This was the fourth time she had run this particular fight each time before ending with her being knocked out. Determined not to let that happen again she dodged a right hook from Correia and ducked under her coming up from behind. She was tired the fight was in it's third round but she could see her opponent was getting tired as well. She quickly jumped forward grabbing Correia from behind placing the other woman in a choke hold. Still holding on tight her foot slipped on a bit of blood causing her to fall backwards taking the other fighter with her. The wind was knocked from her but she managed to hold on feeling Correia struggling to break free until finally she felt three taps on her arm. A moment later the referee pulled them apart and declared Azira the winner. She was still catching her breath when she heard her comm badge chime and walked over to a stool on the edge of the ring picking it up and tapping it. “Tye here.” She said.

“Lt. Tye you are needed in the ready room.” A voice said.

“Roger that.” She said tapping the comm badge again before placing it onto the sports top she wore. “Computer disengage simulation.” As she instructed the ring before her disappeared leaving her standing in a large open room. She walked toward the door exiting the holodeck and heading back to her room. Along the way she received several odd looks from other crew members as she was wearing a pair of tight black spandex pants and dark green sports top. Not to mentions she could feel something running down the left side of her face that she wasn't sure was sweat or blood. Once in her quarters she stripped out of her clothes dropping them on the floor heading to the bathroom. A glance in the mirror confirmed that it was indeed blood on her face as there was a two inch gash just to the side of her left eye. She quickly cleaned up and changed into her uniform heading straight to the ready room thinking she would have to wait until after the briefing to go to the medical bay to have her eye looked at. And no doubt get a scolding from the medical officer on duty about adjusting the settings on the holodeck.

She wondered what this briefing was about, there hadn't been any scheduled for today and she had been enjoying her day off. The captain must have received orders from Starfleet. While the others entered the room and took seats Azira chose to stand on the far side of the table leaning again the wall listening as the captain briefed them about the Borg. She had never encountered them herself but one of Tye's previous hosts Sorin Tye had and barely made it out alive. “We are just going to patrol the borders like a babysitter while the Borg are out there?” Azira said realizing she had spoken aloud when several people turned to look at her.

[Mr.Cynic]

Space was a funny concept, out there, what people called stars, were actually just tiny particles of debris. Space dust, yet, for many they looked at space dust and found something. Some found a miracle. Others found and answer. And he found nothing because he was heavily critiquing a constellation in the vacuum of space. He frowned for a moment, chewing the back of his lucky pen. Ran out of ink years ago, but it's the one he used during a different time to complete some of his earliest equations.

Chace took a second to ponder what he had discovered. Which at the moment was nothing, it was a discovering of what he could do when heavily bored. It wasn't that they had nothing to work on, quite to the contrary they had plenty to work on. He simply got lost staring at dust in a universe of nothing.

"Um," said a voice.

Oh right she was still here. One of his crew, Chace turned around to a petite, blond, looking at him, watching him. She wasn't critiquing him, she was judging him. They meant two different things. Chace sighed and held his expression solemnly.

"Yes?" Chace asked her.

"So, about the ion fields," she continued, not sure if she should, he had spaced out on her.

"A thought came to me," Chace told her.

"Yes, what is it!" she exclaimed, profoundly searching for where his knowledge actually fit into this scenario. It naturally didn't but she really wanted to humor him, didn't she.

"Do you think, if there is an existence of some kind of God, he has a giant space feather duster?" Chace asked.

The sudden look of shock and disappointment on her face said it all. She was absolutely dumbfounded by the question. He wasn't paying attention to her at all. It wasn't that her work was boring either. It was the way she presented it, that made it boring. She was timid and unable to make a full length conversation. She was new and looking for guidance. Something he wholeheartedly could not give her because it was one of his many failures when it came to people.

"I thought the stories weren't true," she huffed.

"Hmm?" Chace asked her.

"If you don't like my work, you could have just, just said so,"

"No, I found the subject fascinating, I just found.....this thought more interesting,"

She didn't say anything else, she looked mortified and some other expressions he couldn't read. She grabbed her pad and stormed out of the office. He didn't put much weight into it, people would be people. They always were. They took their scientific endeavors, or even their professional endeavors too personally. It became the definition of who they were and they did not become anything else. The door opened.

"You have decided to handle the situation like an adult," Chace said swiveling around.

"Err, I don't think I am who you think I am, Lt. Pegram, you're needed in the Ready Room,"

"Dr. Pegram," he corrected with a clear of his throat, "So, what could I be needed for?"

"I am not sure, I was just told to get you, Lt. Pegram,"

"Dr. Pegram," he corrected again sliding off the chair. Suppose then he should go when he was summoned. Walking down extensively long, future tech hallways, with the lights that whizzed like racing stripes.

He walked into the Ready Room to see the majority of everyone else there. He took a seat furthest from them, he wanted to refrain from saying something. Instead he watched them, they all seemed on edge, nervous maybe. Well the captain mostly.

It was then when the Borg were announced into this the room grew heavy and quiet. He had no personal encounters with the Borg, but he had come up on them in reports and other things he read.

"I do love a good suicide mission," Chace said out loud after the babysitting company, "Come. Which one of us wants to lose our humanity first?"

He was against it of course. But he also refused to be the one doing the babysitting. He also refused to be the one getting into frisk with a Borg. Studying the Borg, that would be interesting, but not at the risk of his own life or any other uncertain outcome.

[Splat]

T'Raan listened very carefully to the captain's report, hearing the distaste in his voice when he spoke of the Borg. It was only logical-- the Captain, as well as many other crewmen aboard, had personal encounters with the drone-like monstrosities, bent on assimilating every civilization in their path. His dissatisfaction of the situation became even clearer when he stated that Starfleet's orders were for the Enterprise to remain at the border, patrolling the Neutral Zone for Romulan threats. The commander's Vulcan ears picked up a change in her fellow officers-- their breathing and heartbeats escalated rapidly. Their faces showed their emotions quite clearly.

"We are just going to patrol the borders like a babysitter while the Borg are out there?” the Trill security officer questioned brashly, while another crew member asked questions in a calmer disposition. Being the first officer, T'Raan felt it necessary to comment on the situation. The captain would probably be looking for her opinion.

"If these orders came from Starfleet Command, captain, they must have some reason behind them," she commented, although she knew full well that it was the human way to err and let their emotions rule their actions. "I know Romulans, sir, and they are most definitely the kind of people who would act immediately when they see an advantage." Her mind wandered to the Romulan who sired her... then snapped back into focus. She would not let emotions of the past cloud her judgment. That was the captain's job.

[Griff]

Lieutenant Treventi scowled as her captain delivered the news. Of course, whenever there was a real threat we're stuck with border duty. She needed the distraction, but they were still stuck waiting. Of course. She was currently nursing a headache from, well... let's call it "increased consumption of alcohol".

"Fu- Freaking Bureaucrats." She muttered under her breath.

She noticed the CMO next to her ask about whether or not planets would be evacuated, and Zipporah gave a short, mirthless laugh, "Knowing them, they won't. Evacuation makes them seem weak."

Commander T'Raan answered the other Lieutenant's questions, with probably more professionalism than anyone in the room could give. She was half-Vulcan after all. T'Raan explained that the border patrol was important, and Zipporah had to begrudgingly agree with her. It does seem like something the Romulans would do.

She chuckled at Dr. Pengram's comment. At least, for once, it wasn't a suicide mission. This may at least keep things peaceful.

She pinched the bridge of her nose to soothe her headache then looked up to the captain and asked, "So, how long are we stuck aimlessly drifting about space? Not that I want to fight Borgs, just, well border patrol is shitty. Let's face it, we all know that."

[Mfable]

Counselor Feeran stared out to space through the ready room windows. Although there was no rule on how to form your senior staff, it was not common for an ensign to be included. But, he was the counselor on board. His expertise was needed in many places, here included. What better place to watch for and care for the mental health of the crew members, especially those of higher rank, than in the ready room where the Captain gives all the important speeches first and makes a lot of the intense decisions? Nevertheless, he was not entirely at home here. He was still not used to having just a bit more leeway than the other ensigns.

He had been the last to enter, carrying a potted plant close to his body as though it were in danger from the entire commanding staff. It wasn’t, of course. He carried it so because it was a rare and precious specimen. It gave off a pleasant smell that was supposed to cause a chemical reaction in the brain to sooth one’s nerves. He kept several in his office, but this one was his favorite. Her name was Chamile.

Feeran scanned the room, looking at each member present. They were an interesting lot, to be sure. After his quick glance he looked again out the window of the ready room. Most of the formations out there, with all their colors, reminded him of various species of plants. Flowers mostly. His other love was botany, after all. When the Captain mentioned the Borg, Feeran turned to look at the reactions of the others present, extending his empathic abilities to try and get a better sense of their emotions. Tensions always run high when Borg are mentioned.

He listened to the others speak, watching them intently as they weighed in their opinions. Some spoke with less professionalism than others, but maybe the situation made them react a little hastily and rashly. Perhaps they would show more respect speaking around the Captain in the future. It mattered not at the moment, it could be addressed later, maybe. He did not weigh in his opinion on any matter, regardless. He remained silent the entire time.

[Wobbles]

Very rarely had Worthing had a crew directly question orders. However, their dissatisfaction was apparent, and matched his own. A few snapped responses, some observed, and he could almost feel the gentle, empathic hand of the counselor brushing all of their thoughts. Thus, at his Number One's statement, he leaned forward, pressing uniformed elbows to the table's slick surface. Tension coiled in his shoulders, and his tone came out in a sharp, demanding manner; he knew exactly why the Enterprise wouldn't be attending the battle, and it had nothing to do with the Neutral Zone. T'Raan was trying to supplement the orders with logic, which he was grateful for. However, he couldn't help but feel responsible for the reason why they weren't going. The last thing he needed in addition was a boisterous crew.


"The Borg will arrive at Earth in nearly an hour. Starfleet Command has made it beyond clear that we will not be there. Our duties will remain the same; Commander T'Raan, we will proceed to the Neutral Zone at warp 7 on yellow alert."


Damn right he was bitter. Not often does life deal you a rematch, and not often would Nikolai Worthing turn down a good fight. But it seems the ace he held just wasn't cut to fit with the deck they'd been dealt. He cast a quick glance around the room, catching brief eye contact with each senior officer there.


"I know you are all new to your positions, and I know you are all new to my command. For now, we've got to trust Starfleet Command and each other, and hope they know what the hell they -- and we -- are doing." He paused, took a sigh, and straightened up, assuming a posture of command, and raised his tone a little. "You will all report to the bridge to relieve Omega shift. We will carry on to the Neutral Zone on high alert. Helmsman Uhura, tune frequency scanners and long range sensors in to Sector 001 to monitor the fleet. Air it on the bridge. I'll be in my ready room if you need me. Dismissed."

- - - Updated - - -

Very rarely had Worthing had a crew directly question orders. However, their dissatisfaction was apparent, and matched his own. A few snapped responses, some observed, and he could almost feel the gentle, empathic hand of the counselor brushing all of their thoughts. Thus, at his Number One's statement, he leaned forward, pressing uniformed elbows to the table's slick surface. Tension coiled in his shoulders, and his tone came out in a sharp, demanding manner; he knew exactly why the Enterprise wouldn't be attending the battle, and it had nothing to do with the Neutral Zone. T'Raan was trying to supplement the orders with logic, which he was grateful for. However, he couldn't help but feel responsible for the reason why they weren't going. The last thing he needed in addition was a boisterous crew.


"The Borg will arrive at Earth in nearly an hour. Starfleet Command has made it beyond clear that we will not be there. Our duties will remain the same; Commander T'Raan, we will proceed to the Neutral Zone at warp 7 on yellow alert."


Damn right he was bitter. Not often does life deal you a rematch, and not often would Nikolai Worthing turn down a good fight. But it seems the ace he held just wasn't cut to fit with the deck they'd been dealt. He cast a quick glance around the room, catching brief eye contact with each senior officer there.


"I know you are all new to your positions, and I know you are all new to my command. For now, we've got to trust Starfleet Command and each other, and hope they know what the hell they -- and we -- are doing." He paused, took a sigh, and straightened up, assuming a posture of command, and raised his tone a little. "You will all report to the bridge to relieve Omega shift. We will carry on to the Neutral Zone on high alert. Helmsman Uhura, tune frequency scanners and long range sensors in to Sector 001 to monitor the fleet. Air it on the bridge. I'll be in my ready room if you need me. Dismissed."

[Splat]

"Commander T'Raan, we will proceed to the Neutral Zone at warp 7 on yellow alert."

The commander nodded, glad to see that the captain kept his sense about him. She turned to the group of officers gathered with her. "You heard the captain: all hands, yellow alert. Helmsman, set a course for the Neutral Zone." She stepped out of the captain's ready room and onto the bridge. Officers scurried about their business, each one riled up due to the yellow alert.

T'Raan took her seat next to the empty captain's chair, issuing orders to confused ensigns and trying to keep the ship calm. Tensions were high, logically, due to the Borg threat. The Vulcan understood why her fellow officers were itching to fight; it was human nature to want to protect your allies and friends. What she didn't understand was why some were so willing to throw themselves into danger. What use were they to their friends if they were dead? This train of thought kept the commander occupied for a while, as she waited for what was ahead.

[Mr.Cynic]

Was it wrong for him to laugh? Chace belted out laughter, noticing the looks he was getting he straightened himself out.

"Come on now, no one finds it funny?" Chace asked, why was he the only one asking the obvious questions here?

Then again though he also was the only who laughed. This was ridiculous, utter ridiculousness. Border patrol, it wasn't even really about the Borg, it was the fact that this whole situation was fucked. But of course he wasn't allowed to go against captain orders. Captain orders was like a really good piece of empirical evidence that you couldn't pass up.

"All I am saying is this, we're lucky if we're going to do this border patrol without attracting attention and if we do attract attention, it was nice knowing the lot of you," Chace told them, he was being very practical about this situation. He wasn't saying it out of fear, he was saying it from known information.

It's like when someone tries to debate the periodic table, you can add new systems to it, update old ones, but you cannot deny something existed. That would be utterly retarded if you thought about it. What they couldn't deny was what the wrong kind of attention could bring. And that was a threat in the distance no one wanted.