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» It's only been 6 years!
Yesterday at 9:50 pm by Ryukotsu

» Stories From the STO:Verse
Mon Oct 08, 2018 8:45 pm by Pyriel32

» The Ships of Discovery Join the Infinity Lock Box!
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» Jem’Hadar Vanguard and Cardassian Intelligence Starship Stats & Abilities
Sun May 27, 2018 1:21 pm by Pyriel32

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» World of warships
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» Another form of communication
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    Stories From the STO:Verse

    Director of Intelligence

    Fleet Rank : Fleet Admiral
    Special Operations Rank : SPO Fleet Admiral
    Intel Department Rank : INT Fleet Admiral
    Number of posts : 4711
    Location : Serenity Station
    Ship Name : U.S.S. ACHERON
    Ship Registry Number : NCC-97397-D
    Ship Class : Eclipse Class Intel Cruiser (Special Operations Refit)
    Fleet Division : Intel/Special Ops

    Main RP Character Profile
    Name: Pyriel Danto

    Stories From the STO:Verse

    Post by Pyriel32 on Sat Oct 06, 2018 9:21 pm

    “So, Elyos, are you going to finish your champagne, or…”

    The young Deltan ensign let out a startled yelp and looked away from a large astrographic plot to see his colleague, Lt. Whetu, standing behind him. In her hands was his neglected champagne flute, precariously balanced over his shoulder - and his immaculate white dress uniform.

    He cleared his throat and glanced ruefully at her, then at the glass. She apologize and stepped back, helping herself to a sip of the sparkling wine. She smiled. This was the real stuff, not the syntheholic approximation standard issue to serving Starfleet officers. No, for special occasions like today, tradition held that real champagne be served.

    “Sorry, but finder’s keepers,” she said, and winked as she took another sip.

    “Exactly,” he replied with an uncharacteristically mischievous grin, and turned back to the plot. “Take a look at this.”

    She set the glass down and leaned forward again, examining the amorphous shapes and clouds of numbers dancing in the air.

    “I don’t get it. This is a radiological plot of the Tellar Sector. Why would you abandon the Narendra’s commissioning party for a… weather report?”

    “Yes, yes, not very polite I know. But here, look closer.” He tapped a few keys on his PADD and the display zoomed in on a star labeled TL-9139.

    A pulsing green cloud surrounded the star, and as Elyos tapped keys, more information appeared next to it: “TRAVEL ADVISORY: EXTREME HAZARD. ALL SHIPS OBEY 0.5 LY MANDATORY NAVIGATION CLEARANCE”

    “TL-9139,” Whetu said softly, “Where have I heard that before… Her eyes glazed over as she tried to remember, and then refocused to a starship model on Elyos’ desk. After a moment she exclaimed, “Yard 39!”

    Elyos nodded. “Correct. Almost a hundred starship hulls, abandoned in 2259 when a freak eruption from the local star flooded the area with Baryon radiation. The whole system had to be evacuated in under a week, and has sat undisturbed since.”

    Whetu stood up straight and grabbed her pilfered champagne glass, taking another sip. “Yeah, because that eruption never stopped. Over a century later and the baryon radiation will cook anyone crazy enough to go there, no matter what kind of shielding their ship has.”

    Elyos stood from his desk and grabbed the glass from Whetu, who stepped back, a little startled at the Deltan’s uncharacteristic vigor. He took a sip of his own and smiled. “This why it’s important to read the weather, Lieutenant!”

    With his other hand he brought up a time-lapse plot of the radiation levels and Whetu noticed that they appeared to be dropping sharply. Elyos continued, “these numbers are only a few days old, and they’re still falling. It looks like the eruption is finally abating, and it should be safe to travel to TL-9139 in a few weeks.”

    “Well, that’s great and all,” Whetu replied, “but even if you go back there, it’s a bunch of derelict hulls from 150 years ago. Not something to spill champagne over…” She swiped at the glass in his hand, but he reared it away from her and scolded her with his other hand.

    “Not something to… I’m surprised at you Lieutenant!” his eyes glowed in a way that Whetu had rarely seen in the younger Deltan, and her own expresion betrayed amusement as he continued passionately, “Yard 39 was a major repair yard during the heady days of the 23rd century! This was the age of Montgomery Scott! Starfleet was growing rapidly amidst a mysterious galaxy that had barely been explored! My people joined the Federation around this time, and my great great great grandmother was one of the first Deltans in Starfleet…”

    Whetu nodded and motioned for him to get on with it. “All of that’s true, but there’s not going to be anything there we haven’t had to take apart and reassemble fifty times since our engineering quals.”

    He took a final swig from the champagne and shook his head. “No, no, no! You don’t remember what was there, do you?” He set down the empty glass and typed a few keys. A new window appeared, showing a table of starships present at Yard 39 along with their class and other statistics. “Yes, this is all 23rd century tech, but look at this manifest. Look at the class names!”

    She sighed and leaned closer, reading them aloud. “Shepard, Nimitz, Engle, Malachowski…”

    “Yes! These classes all use Eaves/Beyer Warp drives! Quadrilinear Infuser Coils! N-Dimensional Phase Repeaters! Bi-resonance Dilithium chambers!” Elyos closed the manifest and brought up another window, a general schematic of the Nimitz’ class warp propulsion and main power systems.

    “Elyos, don’t tell me this is all about square nacelles,” Whetu shook her head incredulously. “Sure, these designs were pioneering for their time, but all of that tech is obsolete or has already seen heavy iteration.”

    The Deltan manipulated the schematic to focus on the Nimitz’ nacelles. “Not just square nacelles, no. But remember your history. The Eaves/Beyer drive configuration fell out of favor for more conservative Cochrane/Archer type coils through new construction in the 2260s. Part of this was due to how many of these ships were lost in the Klingon War and the subsequent evacuation of Yard 39.”

    Whetu nodded. “Which is why so few of them made it into the fleet-wide modernization programs of the 2280s, and none made it to see service in the 24th century. If these ships are still there, and somehow they were spaceworthy, it would certainly be an impressive historical find… but we’re engineers, not historians. Soooo, why do you care?”

    Elyos smiled. “Like you said, ‘finders keepers.’ If we can be in the first engineering crew to survey what’s there, we can have our pick of examples to evaluate and re-examine. There will be papers, and conferences, and journals, I’m sure Jayce’s will do an article…”

    The human rolled her eyes. “Be still my beating heart. Nothing I wanted to do more with my engineering degrees than write more papers.”

    Elyos turned around to the schematic. “Well, *I* can write the papers. But look at this. If you’re interested in being an engineer, this is still a good opportunity. Look closer at how the Nimitz’ GNDN relays are spliced into both the EPS gird and the shield emitters.”

    She leaned closer and furrowed her brow. “That’s crazy. There’s no way that… but with the bi-resonance dilithium chamber they could set some sort of networked hazardous energy dissipation system between allied starships…”

    The Deltan’s smile widened as his colleague grabbed a chair next to him and pulled up her own console. “You know,” he said, “you were right, a lot of these technologies are obsolete, but many of them are still around. Now that Narendra is on her way, we’ve got the Next Big Thing to worry about, and think there’s something to learn from these old ships…”

    Whetu nodded. “Yeah… As an old net withers, another is remade.”

    “Huh?” Elyos muttered, turning towards her as she kept typing furiously.

    “Oh, it’s just a saying where I’m from. It just means that the old should always make way for the new.”

    “Indeed… and even inspire it,” he replied, turning back to his console. “Now, look at the EPS distribution net. I think they needed the four-nacelle layout to regulate the warp field in tandem with the output required to…”

    The two kept working late into the night, long after the party down the hall had ended and all the champagne had been drunk.

    Thomas Marrone

    Lead Ship and UI Artist

    Star Trek Online
    Director of Intelligence

    Fleet Rank : Fleet Admiral
    Special Operations Rank : SPO Fleet Admiral
    Intel Department Rank : INT Fleet Admiral
    Number of posts : 4711
    Location : Serenity Station
    Ship Name : U.S.S. ACHERON
    Ship Registry Number : NCC-97397-D
    Ship Class : Eclipse Class Intel Cruiser (Special Operations Refit)
    Fleet Division : Intel/Special Ops

    Main RP Character Profile
    Name: Pyriel Danto

    Re: Stories From the STO:Verse

    Post by Pyriel32 on Mon Oct 08, 2018 8:42 pm

    J’Ula beheld the odd, vicious human blade in her hands for a moment before setting it upon the desk in her quarters. It was a prize, presented to her by the leader of her personal guard, taken from the hand of a dead Starfleet security officer. Kukri, the humans called the blade. It was truly a warrior’s weapon. The officer who once wielded it killed eight Klingons in close combat before finally succumbing to his wounds. But he was a fool, this human. He fought alone against overwhelming odds, trapped in the belly of his ship after all of his comrades had died or surrendered.

    He fought in a burning house, she mused. He suffered the fate of all fools.

    Her vessel streaked through space at high warp. Valuable information was gleaned from Starfleet prisoners, and from captured data files taken from the “burning house” so bravely defended by the human with the vicious blade. She’d learned of a Federation supply line and, in studying it, learned where it was most vulnerable… especially to a ship with the vaunted cloaking technology. Its treasures would soon be hers.

    Such treasures would keep her crew’s spirits high. It would keep this mighty vessel strong. Lukara. She had named her ship after the wife of Kahless, a true champion of the Empire… and forever in his shadow. Always it had been so. Men honored Kahless, yet without Lukara, he would have been a stain under the boots of Molor’s warriors in the Great Hall of Qam-Chee. A warrior, lost and unsung. But no. Kahless was a legend. Her brother T’Kuvma worshipped him, walked in his footsteps, and sought his light.

    Her brother, the fool.

    Like Kahless, T’Kuvma found eternal glory in death, but J’Ula was determined not to be a woman in a great man’s shadow. She honored Lukara, but she would not follow her path as her brother followed Kahless. Her path led to a vastly greater glory.

    Before the war, when T’Kuvma came to Qo’noS with his mob and his fables, brashly confronting the High Council and warning them of impending Federation attack… she believed him. She told him so, when others scoffed. Pledged to champion his cause before the Great Houses, to make them see the truth in his words.

    And he rejected her, denied the bond of the blood they shared, and turned his back on her. “I no longer have a sister,” were the last words he said to J’Ula. Rage still burned within him, rage at her perceived betrayal for marrying into House Mo’kai, for dissolving their own familial house. He found a way to unite the Houses against the Federation where she had not, but he would never see the glory such unity would bring.

    But House Mo’kai, and its matriarch, would bear witness to that glory.

    “House Mo’kai is rich in one of the most precious commodities of war, dear brother,” she said to herself as she watched the blur of stars move past proud Lukara. “Knowledge. It is our bat’leth, and a blade that strikes deep and true.” Her spies were everywhere – within the Empire and without. They spoke the language of the enemy, read their greatest works, and studied their greatest minds. On the battlefield of the mind, House Mo’kai stood unchallenged and undefeated.

    Let the men of the Great Houses sing their songs and addle their minds with bloodwine. Let them sneer at House Mo’kai, who do the dirty work beneath “honorable” warriors. While the Great Houses clashed with the enemy under the watch of the stars, the forces of Mo’kai sifted through the ruins of enemy vessels, settlements, and minds, gleaning every precious secret held within.

    Secrets. Once the cloaking device was a secret. Once revealed, it gave the Empire the key to many victories. But the Federation was filled with clever minds, and it was only a matter of time before they found the secret that would foil the cloak and deprive the Great Houses of their battlefield wonder. They would have to face their enemies directly once again, instead of striking from the dark.

    This is why they come to Mo’kai. They needed more secrets. They needed the knowledge to win. And it would be provided, of course. Glory to the Empire. But J’Ula kept a very precise ledger, and the debts of the Great Houses were growing larger with each passing day of the war. Debts she fully intended to collect.

    The men of the Great Houses were content to play political games with her husband D’Lor, the “leader” of House Mo’kai. Another fool, in another burning house. The day would come soon when all debts would be collected, and her ascendancy would be all but inevitable. What is an empire without an emperor on the throne… or an empress?

    Hoch ‘ebmey tIjon, the wise often say to fools. Capture all opportunities. There were many opportunities to seize, and J’Ula intended to capture them all.

    Paul Reed

    Content Writer

    Star Trek Online
    Director of Intelligence

    Fleet Rank : Fleet Admiral
    Special Operations Rank : SPO Fleet Admiral
    Intel Department Rank : INT Fleet Admiral
    Number of posts : 4711
    Location : Serenity Station
    Ship Name : U.S.S. ACHERON
    Ship Registry Number : NCC-97397-D
    Ship Class : Eclipse Class Intel Cruiser (Special Operations Refit)
    Fleet Division : Intel/Special Ops

    Main RP Character Profile
    Name: Pyriel Danto

    Re: Stories From the STO:Verse

    Post by Pyriel32 on Mon Oct 08, 2018 8:45 pm

    “Captain’s Log, supplemental.”

    Captain Thy’kir Shran lifted his finger from a button on the terminal in his ready room. He had come in here to record his thoughts as the U.S.S. Sebrova cruised at high warp toward their latest objective. These were momentous times, dangerous times, and he felt that they deserved to be chronicled.

    But he wasn’t sure where to begin.

    The peaceful exploratory mission Starfleet had offered him when he donned the uniform was no longer a priority. Across Starfleet, science vessels and starships built for exploration were being retrofitted for combat—the Sebrova included. All because of the Klingons’ attacks at the Battle of the Binary Stars. While he and the Sebrova weren’t present at the battle, he found it surreal to hear the news of the tragedy for two reasons: One, because of the Klingons’ sudden and unexpected savagery and two, because among the Federation’s losses was a ship named after his own great-grandfather, the legendary Andorian war hero Thy’lek Shran. He remembered touring the vessel not long after being named Captain of the Sebrova. He found it strangely gratifying touring the U.S.S. Shran, being treated with respect and honor based on his blood relation to a revered warrior he’d never met.

    This was not the galaxy Thy’lek Shran left behind, Thy’kir mused. He placed his finger back on the terminal and took a breath, his antennae twitching atop his head, seemingly searching the room for inspiration.

    “The Sebrova is making good time toward her objective. We’ve been asked to determine the status of U.S.S. Ticonderoga, last known to be operating in this sector of space. It’s not like Captain Durant to miss routine check-in reports to Starfleet Command. If the Ticonderoga has fallen to Klingon attack, we need to know, immediately.”

    Shifting gears, he continued. “The crew is becoming war-weary, but they are fighting with vigor and honor, and this ship continues to shine in battle, with minimal scars to show for it.”

    Thy’kir paused. A status update? Is that what this update’s about? He’d listened to a collection of Thy’lek Shran’s logs and speeches to the exalted crew of the Kumari. Thy’kir’s ancestor was not an orator, or really a man inclined to give orders, but he fought like a wild sehlat, and when thrust into leadership, he conquered that role like he conquered every other obstacle he faced. He survived war with Vulcan and Romulus, and he defeated his own prejudices to play a central role in the foundation of the Federation.

    Generations later, Thy’kir Shran was a captain in service to the Federation his ancestor helped create. And yet, for all the advancement his family had seen, the galaxy was as dangerous as ever.

    He pressed the button again, and he leaned in toward his terminal. His antennae curled forward, as if trying to listen.

    “I find myself thinking of my great-grandfather, who fought both against and alongside the legendary Captain Jonathan Archer in the days before the Federation was born. For a young Andorian, my ancestor’s writings and recordings are required media. Tales of massive battles and last-minute innovations, of sacrifices and friendships in the blackness of space, all show us that the Andorian officers of his time were hard men and women, prepared for battle, and ready to fight, and claw, and tear for every inch they could get against the enemy. As a people, we weren’t known for retrospection; my ancestor is revered as a man of action, capable of choosing the right side and laying his life on the line to see that side win.”

    Captain Shran reached up to scratch at the base of an antenna, a nervous habit he’d gained in his first days at Starfleet Academy, when he was one of the very few there with skin the color of Earth’s sky, and when everything he did was shrouded in his great-grandfather’s shadow. Unlike the Shran of legend, Thy’kir sought to excel through study, planning, and preparation, and he worried that his ancestor’s pugnacious past might stunt his advancement. To an extent, he was right, but he found that by settling in, spotting an objective, and stubbornly setting course for every opportunity, he could see a path to the hallowed Captain’s chair. He was disappointed, at first, to realize that the stubborn refusal to fail that propelled him forward in Starfleet was the same that led his ancestor to victory in battle.

    His antennae curled backward as he reflected on this. His ancestor faced horrific odds against vicious foes… but he wondered how his great-grandfather would approach the current threat facing Starfleet now: the constant terror of Klingon fleets suddenly materializing out of nowhere, destroying Federation ships before they could even enter Red Alert.

    “My ancestor fought battles with honor, and his opponents responded in kind,” he said, leaning back in toward his terminal. “My crew and I grew up with tales of stacked odds, fleets facing off against each other, the whine of a focused phaser and the ominous glow of a loosed torpedo. Those of us who knew of the Klingons from our training understood them to be honorable warriors, holding a tradition of bravery and—I daresay—sportsmanlike combat. Many of us were excited at the chance to meet the Klingons, not necessarily in battle, but to learn more about them in person.” Thy’kir’s antennae turned inward and then leaned forward once more. “But those are not the Klingons we face today.”

    He sighed, glancing out the window at the streaks of stellar light illuminating the ship at warp. “These cowardly slugs hide in the darkness, waiting to leap out at their unwary prey. The game of the hunt is nonexistent. There’s only peace, then death, and then a darker peace left behind.”

    The Sebrova’s mission was to investigate the fate of the Ticonderoga, but the recent days have proven that the Klingons were hunting civilian vessels in this sector as well as those of Starfleet. Traders and travelers peacefully moving through space, struck down by cowardly scavengers likely terrified of a stand-up fight. Captain Shran’s ancestor would have spit and cursed them, if he could meet them face-to-face, but these enemies kill without the courtesy of introductions. You’re safe, you’re whole, and boom, you’re dead.

    “Our mission is one of mercy, to provide a deterrent against these brazen raids on civilian traders and to protect and rescue any ship that comes under Klingon attack. But…” He took a moment, then shook his head. “This mission is a farce. We can no more protect these vessels than we can protect ourselves—and you can ask about the fate of the starship named after my family to see how that can go.” He felt his face wrinkle, his antennae stand straight and outward, alert. “We cannot fight an enemy we cannot see. And all the legendary ancestors and retrofitted exploration ships in the fleet cannot make the invisible visible!”

    As he said this, his gaze fell upon a model on the shelf next to his ready room door: A gold-plated replica of the Kumari, the ship in which Commander Thy’lek Shran overcame the Vulcans, the Xindi, and his own prejudices to become a hero revered by three starfaring civilizations. He always felt emotional when he looked at this ship, and this time, the emotion was shame.

    His antennae leaned downward as he returned his attention to the terminal. “The Sebrova and her crew will do all we can to combat the Klingon menace. We will see this mission through, no matter the difficulty. We are a fleet of scientists and explorers wearing the armor of warriors. If there is a way to defeat the Klingons’ cloaks, we will find it.”

    At that moment, his ready room door slid open, and his First Officer stepped in. “Sir, we’re nearing the objective… and we’re picking up a Starfleet distress call not far from the target sector.”

    “Which vessel,” he replied. “Is it Ticonderoga?”

    “No, sir,” his officer said. “It’s from a vessel assigned to Starfleet Academy. She’s on a cadet training cruise, Captain.”

    Captain Shran looked up from his terminal and nodded. Cadets. They’re attacking cadets now. The Klingon dishonor knows no bounds. “Plot a course to the signal’s source, Commander. Maximum warp.”

    The First Officer nodded, “Aye, sir,” and turned to give the order. Captain Shran pressed the terminal’s button one more time, and leaned forward.

    “This is not the galaxy my ancestor left behind,” he said, his antennae twisting as if searching for the right thought. “This is the galaxy we have, now. And now we sail forth, to pierce the darkness, to banish the ghosts, to slay the beast. We have chosen the right side of history,” he said, “And we will do what we must to see that side win.”

    He rose and stepped away from his desk, the terminal’s log window closing as he stood. As he approached the door to the bridge, his glance caught the shine from the model Kumari once more.

    He paused in reflection for just one more moment, before he heard the klaxons from the bridge, announcing a yellow alert.

    “We’ll save this one, too, Commander Shran,” he said, and he charged onto the bridge to make his ancestor proud.

    Jay Turner

    Staff Writer

    Cryptic Studios

    Sponsored content

    Re: Stories From the STO:Verse

    Post by Sponsored content

      Current date/time is Sat Oct 20, 2018 1:34 am