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Behind the Veil
A Lengthy Record

[Current Time]

OOC Time: Fri Jun 29 19:17:35 2007
Earth Time: May 19 16:34:28 2376
Star Time: 53380.0 15:47:38

Main Engineering <Deck 2> [Gibraltar Station]

Immediately as one enters main engineering, one reaches a large blast door, at least 10 meters tall and 6 across, which can be lowered during emergencies. A half-meter past this blast door is another, to provide double protection from explosions and radiation. Past these doors main engineering opens up. A large and spacious room, it is one of the larger areas aboard the base. Half-circular, with a radius of at least 20 meters, it is packed with consoles and people at peak hours. Every wall is lined with monitoring stations, with exceptions for two doors, at one o'clock and 11 o'clock relative to the main entrance. Every three or four stations, a small piece of wall juts past the console a half meter, allowing for a little bit of privacy for the worker at that console. In the center of the room is a large, glowing blue cylinder which seems to pulsate with energy. At the base of this cylinder are several consoles, as well as force-field emitters and another blast screen that can be lowered for emergencies. 8 meters inside the main blast doors is a large table, the center of which is a display screen capable of showing any number of consoles or diagrams. Surrounding the center screen are smaller consoles. The table itself is at least 3 meters long and 2 wide. The door located at the one o'clock leads into a small supply room, filled with several tools and other equipment needed for maintenance work. The door at eleven o'clock leads to the Chief Engineer's office. The lighting in the room is dim, with most illumination coming from consoles and the main reactor. Alert tracers around the consoles and along the side of each door show the station's status.

Players:
Winifred Brooks
Jason Turner

Brooks walks in to Main Engineering and for a moment is just striding along full tilt with a stack of PADDs in hand, then stops, peering around. She looks to one of the engineers. "'Scuse me... where's the Chief's office? I'm a bit late for a meeting." Her voice carries that thick drawl.

The bulky human with the Lieutenant's pips glances toward the newcomer. His eyebrows notch upward for a moment, but he can only shake his head and shrug toward her. "No idea, sorry." He turns to face her. "Just arrived myself." He offers an amiable smirk. "Not even someone around in the docking bay. Never arrived anywhere where I didn't have to ask permission to come aboard."

Brooks shrugs. "It's a big place. And we've been awful busy. I'll be sure to scold the command staff for you." She says this with a half-grin as she looks around. "Ah-ha! There it is. Thanks."

Turner nods toward her. "Guess you've got priority then," he rumbles, tucking his hands behind his back as he ambles toward the Chief Engineer's door. "I can wait to be scolded by my new superior officer." His hand comes from behind his back and taps his sternum. "Lieutenant Jason Turner. Pleased to meet you."

Brooks stops at the door, turns, blinks. "Whyever would they scold you? The command staff here's pretty nice." Pause. "Well, I'm probably biased. Umm. Lieutenant J.G. Winifred Brooks. You waiting on the Chief? This ain't nothing that can't wait. Well. I mean. It can wait 'til December, but if we don't do nothing we'll all be dead." 'Cause that made sense.

"Well, that's not something to trifle with." Jason scratches at the base of his neck. "Seven months is barely long enough to sober up after a solid bender. I can't imagine trying to do anything constructive in that time frame." He advances toward the door. "I'm the new Assistant Chief down here, so I figure that it's something I'll need to know about. Shall we?"

Brooks blinks at Turner a moment. She does that a lot. "Assistant Chief? Oh. 'Course. Yeah. Real important. You'll probably need to know." She turns and heads on in.

(The camera follows along into the office.)

Office - Ch. Engineer <Deck 2> [Gibraltar Station]

Though not terribly spacious, this office is well-appointed and comfortable. The central feature of the room is the glass desk, trimmed in cherrywood, which sits with its longest side facing the door. There is a small terminal atop the desk, as well as some personal items of the occupant. Behind the desk is a tan swivel chair, well-cushioned with comfortable armrests, and in front are two smaller copies of this chair for visitors to sit in. The wall in which the door is set is mostly comprised of windows that look out on Main Engineering. The walls are paneled in light cyan and the carpet on the floor is a slightly darker color. Lighting panels line the upper junction between walls and ceiling.

Players:
Emory Veshedsky
Jason Turner
Winifred Brooks

In the past few hours since the first impromptu meeting he had this morning with Bunni, Emory had taken time to clean a little bit and sort things in his office. Now, the PADDs that had been on his desk from Tremar's time are stacked firmly in one corner, within hand's reach, while his LCARS display is lit on the other side. Currently, the display has various information brought up regarding the Antares Maelstrom. Y'know, y'gotta get to know what it is you're researching and building a defense system against, somewhat. Right? When the door chimes, he looks up from the display, and reaches to tap the 'answer' button on the interface on his desk. After a second or two of waiting, he begins to glance out the window to see the ringer. "Come in!" he calls, taking in a deep breath and sighing as he sits back in his chair. The LCARS display is put on hold for now, and put into Standby.

Brooks comes in with a stack of PADDs in one hand and her glasses dangling from the other. "Lieutenant Brooks, sir. Sorry, I was trying to find the place. Don't get up past Deck... 9 much these days."

Jason enters not far behind her, a rolling sailor's swagger to his gait. "Commander--" He pauses, not quite avoiding his previous rank. "Lieutenant Jason Turner, just transferred," he says, voice a breezy low baritone. "Nobody around to greet me as I arrived, so I figured I might as well find my way down here."

"Lieutenant, please. Come on--" At the interruption, Emory begins to sit up slightly, furrowing his eyebrows some and tilting his head at the Lieutenant entering after Brooks. He glances toward her a moment, holding up his hand as to her and then he turns his attention to Jason again. "Orders, Mr. Turner." He extends his hand out for a PADD, perhaps. "And as a side note, welcome to Gibraltar Station. Miss Brooks, please, feel free to have a seat. Mr. Turner? Please." He keeps his hand extended, waiting.

Brooks settles herself in the chair, putting her stack on the desk while she unfolds the glasses and perches them on her nose. "Mr. Turner should probably hear all this too, sir, so I don't have to repeat myself or nothing." She says this idly while she grabs a PADD, looking it over with the air of a highly distracted blueshirt. Which is what she has in general. "And I do have to apologize, I've been distracting Commander Solvek something awful with all this, that's probably why he forgot to be sure someone met you."

Jason smirks faintly toward the blue-shirted Lieutenant, but he speaks instead to Emory. "My orders should be in the ship's computer," he says, shoulders dropping incrementally--definitely not anything approaching 'attention,' but at least he isn't scratching himself. "I came here from a court-martial, Commander. I was lucky to get out of there with my uniform." There's a grin on his face--odd, given that the court-martial was his own.

"I've not even met our XO yet, Lieutenant, so it's all fine and dandy," Emory replies after a moment. "I've meant to set up an appointment with him, but he's under the weather, to my understanding. So, I've not troubled him yet." Turning his attention back to Jason, he furrows his eyebrows. "Court Martial. That's wonderful to hear." After a moment, he turns to his LCARS display, and proceeds to tap the information. "... Mr. Turner. Line certified... Assistant Chief Engineer. Wonderful. Please have a seat, then," he remarks. His fingers begin to tap the interface again... and he nods. "All right. You've reported for Duty as of now. Miss Brooks here has a brief prepared for our department regarding a project we will be working with Sciences on. Lieutenant?" He turns his attention on her, tilting his head.

Brooks waves a hand, still distracted. "Solvek's fine." Pause. Clears her throat. "Commander Solvek is doing well. As far as I hear." She shakes herself and looks up. "Sorry. Trying to sort out what you need to know and what you don't. Umm. Well. Easy enough. What do y'all know about the Antares Maelstrom in general?"

"The Antares Maelstrom, as far as I have ever known, is a sort of spatial storm with high concentrations of radiation and deteriorative compounds. Death to relatively small ships, it's even claimed some Starfleet vessels that've wandered into it. It's a dangerous anomaly that's been around for a long time. It's on any star chart of the Antares region that you can lay your hands on, simply so you can plot courses around it." Leaning back in his chair, he glances toward Turner for a moment, tilting his head. "Lieutenant?" he asks idly.

With a quiet grunt, Jason draws the free chair toward him, dropping heavily upon it, straddling the back of it. "Just what anyone not normally stuck in Antares knows," he says lightly, folding his arms and resting them upon the back of the chair. "Storm bigger'n anything, doesn't leave anything alive behind it." He pauses. "Or even recognizable, for that matter." He pauses. "I remember hearing something about the compounds within being extremely energetic, but materials science isn't my area of expertise."

"Mmm. Well. Yes. Energetic. I guess that's a good word. Energy arcs, anyhow, and they ain't no fun to deal with." Sounds like Brooks has had personal experience. "That's enough to be going on with, though. Normally the Maelstrom travels in a pretty set pattern, it's easy enough to navigate around 'cause it's predictable, even if its pattern is... odd." She pulls out a PADD, taps it, showing the normal course. "Problem is, it's... changed course. And speed. Right now, it's heading straight for the station. Should be here around the end of December." Brooks taps at the PADD again, overlaying the new course. Which does, indeed, come right through the system the station's in.

Taking the PADD for a moment to look at the information, Emory nods after looking it over. He then proceeds to pass it to Turner, adding, the following. "It's my understanding, Lieutenant, the Maelstrom Project is being tasked by Station Command to come up with a defensive mechanism that can keep the station in one piece, when the Maelstrom does arrive. And it's predicted that it should be here within mid-December, yes?" He sits back in his chair, listening to the explanations to come.

Jason idly flips the PADD into his right hand, thumbing own through the data. "Doesn't it move erratically anyway? I thought it moved toward and away from the station regularly." Maybe he knows a little bit more than he's letting on. "How sure are you that it's not just passing on by again?" He sets the PADD down on the desk with a light thud.

Brooks looks up to Turner. "'Cause this is a dramatic change. This thing's been moving in the same pattern for as long as the Antareans have had telescopes, and from what we can tell from radiation and such it hasn't come this way in... oh... well over a couple hundred thousand years." She stops. Blinks. "Oh, my holy..." Shakes her head. "Later, Fred. Anyhow. Point being. The pattern is inexplicable--it's like its being guided by something not natural--but it is a pattern that hasn't deviated, by our data, for hundreds of thousands of years. And all of a sudden it's changed and is barreling straight at us. And will be right here, right over this station, with all its radiation and energy arcs and everything else, in seven months." She looks to Veshedsky. "First, actually, we need an evacuation plan. Just in case the other ideas don't work. Don't want to kill everyone... but getting 11,000 people or so out of the system and then back into it won't be easy."

"I can assume we can call on Starfleet Command to provide cruisers for relief in evacuation transports, on top of using our localized Sabre-class frigate," Emory remarks after a moment of thought, regarding an evacuation plan. Or is this the type of situation where that'd be too dangerous?" He leans back in his chair, considering other options. "How long can we expect the station to be affected by the storm?"

Jason barely restrains a laugh. He manages it by smothering it in a strangled sort of cough. "For eleven thousand people?" He sounds skeptical as he leans forward, glancing toward the Chief Engineer. "Is that even a blip on Command's radar?" Absently he snags a PADD off the desk, tapping at it with the knuckles of the first two fingers of his right hand. "Alright, my memory isn't failing me. Two hundred in a Sabre's holds, and that's if you pack it to the ceilings and pray over the life support."

Brooks shrugs. "Admiral Crawford seems pretty worked up about it. I think we can count on help from the 12th Fleet, but that ain't my purview... Operations and you guys are in charge of that. As for the rest... we want to try and be sure the station's still here so the rest of us that stay don't get killed and we don't have to rebuild the place. I'm not sure I'm quite ready to die for science just yet. Which is where project Origen comes in."

"It's a mass evacuation of personnel and Federation citizens, Lieutenant. I think you'd be surprised when it comes to an Evac effort," Emory remarks toward the Lieutenant, slanting him a bit of an odd look for a moment before nodding to Brooks. "I was briefly brought up to speed on Origen this morning. In fact, to my knowledge, the name comes from one of your shuttle craft. An engineering detail has been requested for the help in the upkeep and the upgrading of the shield system for study in the Anomaly."

Jason lifts both eyebrows and can't restrain the smirk this time, but remains quiet at the Chief Engineer's comment. He scratches at his jaw; as she mentions a shuttle craft, he perks up a bit. "From what I've read, a shuttle craft isn't big enough to mount shield systems capable of filtering out that kind of radiation, even if it could generate the power for them." A frown settles in on his face. "What's the plan?"

Brooks shakes her head. "I have no idea, on that. Going to the meeting later to find out. We do need to make another couple of runs at the storm before it gets here, to get better data. Umm. I think the idea, though, is to adapt whatever is come up with to the station as a whole." She shrugs. "Anyhow. Umm. I dunno what all you need or want to know beyond that."

Jason shrugs idly, flicking the lid of the container at his side open and closed with a metallic click. "Assuming that I'm still alive after my meeting with the Captain," he drawls, slapping shut the container one final time, "I'll probably drop by. They call me an engineer, but 'tin can mechanic' has been a better description for the last two years."

"If you could forward the research notes regarding the radiation levels and the energy arcs, I'd appreciate it." Glancing toward Jason, he smirks a little bit... before glancing back to Brooks. "Make sure you forward them to the Lieutenant here, too. If that is all... Thank you for your time, Miss Brooks. You're dismissed." He glances to Turner. "As assistant chief your duty rotation is gonna be the second shift. That's about all you need to know. Make sure you brush up on SOP, too, regarding reporting regulations and all that. By the way, nice antique," he adds, nodding to the compin on the man's chest.

Jason remains unruffled by the jibe, though he touches the combadge as if to make sure it's still there. "I'd wear my old uniform if they let me," he says dryly, tugging at the collar of his uniform. "Problem is, even if I could replicate one, I think an engineer looks strange in red." He grabs the back of the chair--or, relative to him, the front--and leans back a bit. "How are ops shifts handled?"

Brooks nods to Veshedsky, gathering her PADDs, still with the glasses dangling from her nose. "Alright. Well. If you have any other questions or anything, just let me know. Umm. I don't think the Captain'll do anything too bad to you, she's pretty relaxed." The science officer shrugs and starts making her way out.

Jason glances over his shoulder. "Sure, Lieutenant. Thanks." He nods toward her as she makes to leave, before turning back to the Chief Engineer.

"We rotate between the senior most officers on a weekly basis or so. Some weeks you'll take alpha shift, I'll take beta, and our third-most senior officer'll take third. So on and so forth. I'm not too picky as long as you do a good job. No shift-swapping, though. If you want to swap, clear it through me," Veshedsky remarks toward Jason. "If that's all, Lieutenant, you're dismissed as well," he adds.

Jason grunts. "Call me Jason," he offers, and tilts his head from side to side, neck cracking with obscenely loud popping noises. "Good to hear you aren't too picky, though." He offers a wry grin. "Do me a favor, though, boss, and take the records I'm sure you're about to look up with a grain of salt." He stands sharply and slides the chair back into position. "Alright. You know how to get ahold of me." He turns about without another word and walks out the door.

"... Lieutenant Aventino was right," Emory remarks slowly as he turns to his LCARS display to begin reading. On it is Turner's personnel file. ... "Baggage. Jeeze." He sighs... and continues to work, the scene fading out as he does.

Captain's Ready Room <Deck 8> [Gibraltar Station]

Though not terribly spacious, this office is well-appointed and comfortable. The central feature of the room is the smoked glass desk, trimmed in oak, which sits with its longest side facing the door. There is a small terminal atop the desk, as well as some personal items of the occupant. Behind the desk is a light maroon swivel chair, well-cushioned with comfortable armrests, and in front are two smaller copies of this chair for visitors to sit in. To the right of the door is a light maroon couch with a small white table set in front of it, above which is hung an artist's rendition of Starbase 247 in orbit of the planet below. The couch is large enough to easily hold three people. Behind the desk and chairs is a small cherrywood shelf upon which various items of art have been put on display. The right side of the room is a curved wall dominated by tall windows that look out onto space. To the left is a small door that leads to a washroom. Next to this is a small replicator. The walls are paneled in maroon and the carpet on the floor is a matching color. Lighting panels line the upper junction between walls and ceiling.

Players:
Gwen Hawkins
Jason Turner

Jason enters the ready room from Ops, and as he does so he reflexively ducks. Odd--the doors (on this station at least) are easily tall enough for him. A quick glance about the ready room elicits a slight lift of both eyebrows, before he focuses upon the occupant. He noticeably straightens, sucking in what little gut he's got and squaring off toward the captain. "Lieutenant Jason Turner, ma'am, reporting." There's a funny twinge given to his rank as he speaks.

Hawkins sits behind her desk, relaxing a bit in her chair. She looks over as the Lieutenant enters. "At ease, Lieutenant. Have a seat." She waves to a chair in front of the desk and leans forward, grabbing up a PADD from the stack next to the collection of pictures.

"Thanks, ma'am." Jason loses a bit--okay, a lot--of the straight-backed posture as he approaches her desk. Before he sits, however, he pops open the container belted to his hip. From it he withdraws a brown paper cylinder, wrapped about two inches from one end with a red stripe of paper. This he places on her desk before he closes that container and sits down. "A gift in advance, if I may."

Hawkins quirks an eyebrow in a terribly Vulcan manner. "A gift? That's a first." She reaches across the desk and picks it up, shrugging, and unwraps the thing. "Certainly out of character from what I read of your record..."

"Hey, don't--" Jason leans forward with a start. "Don't unwrap it, Cap'n. You'll ruin it." He sags back in the chair with a thoroughly cocky smirk. "It's a cigar. I figure you'll want it." He lets it hang at that, saying nothing more on the topic unless prodded.

Hawkins stops, blinks, then nods slowly. "Right. Well, thank you." She places it to one side and sits back again. "So. I'm Captain Gwendolyn Hawkins. And you... are lucky to still be in the Fleet, I hear."

Jason's eyebrows lift and he tilts his head a few degrees to the side. "The court was evidently smarter than my previous commanding officer," he says dryly, resting an elbow on the arm of the chair. "It was the first time I've ever seen someone rung up on those kind of charges during the middle of a war."

Hawkins nods, taking up the PADD again. "It was certainly an unusual set of charges, considering. How are you taking the step backward?"

"All things considered, I can't complain." Jason can't quite help a grin as he gestures with a hand. "I think Command sent me here to try to keep me out of trouble. If what Lieutenant Brooks tells me is true, they might have spectacularly failed." The grin flickers a bit. "Hence the gift, by the way. It was either that or a bottle of wine, and my cubic was limited on the way over. Runabouts aren't the way to travel from Earth."

"I can imagine." Hawkins chuckles. "I think most people here hoped for peace and quiet. An impossible dream, I think, in Starfleet and especially out here."

"Mm." Jason loses a good bit of his good cheer, reflexively touching his combadge as if to make sure it's still there. "Aside from having to run the ship from the battle bridge, I can't say I minded my little part of the war. I'm afraid I haven't been near enough a computer to find this out for myself, but were you around here for that mess?"

Hawkins shakes her head in reply. "I Captained the USS Akagi during the war. 9th Fleet." Which put her right on the front line, as the 9th Fleet was centered around the Bajor sector. "I just got out here, actually, a couple of months ago. They gave my ship away." She smiles a bit. "It's an interesting sort of change, I've found, and not at all quiet."

"Ninth," Jason echoes, nodding curtly. "The Hood was a good ship, if you could excuse the blasted hole in the middle of the saucer." His left hand forms an "O" as if to demonstrate. "Too long away from supply lines, not enough time to put the pieces back." He leans forward a bit. "So aside from a gigantic storm charging ever-so-slowly toward us, what else has been going on?" He asks this with a wry grin, perching his chin on a fist.

Hawkins nods in understanding to the first part of what Turner says, with the look of one who's been there. At the second. "Well... bombings by terrorists... some sort of strange computer program infected the brains of the crew... don't worry, that's been taken care of. Otherwise, normality, for the most part."

Jason frowns slightly as he settles back. "Bombings by terrorists?" he asks, affecting a bit less surprise than might be expected in such a situation. "I was under the impression that this was going to be a quiet tour of duty. That one over, too?"

"Well... if we're lucky it will quiet down again. However, there's a misconception about bases... remember we're the hub for the 12th Fleet, for the Starfleet presence in the area, for trade and diplomacy. We have 12,000 people on here, Starfleet, civilian, non-Federation. We get exploratory ships coming back from tours, we're a focus for anyone agitating against Starfleet. So... quiet it won't be. However, it seems most of your problems in the past have been more with senior officers, hmm?" Hawkins smirks.

Jason has the grace to look embarrassed, though it's plainly artificial. "You...could say that, yes," he says slowly. A half-frown settles on his face as he glares off toward a wall. "Without meaning to brag, Captain, I'm good at my job. I can make a transporter sing and dance and I've done things to phasers that the book says you're never supposed to do. I make things work, and I get things done." He looks back at her, a deadpan expression of equal parts glare and stare. "If you look into the various incidents dancing across my record, ma'am, I believe that you'll see numerous cases of bruised egos, not rule-breaking." A pause, and he coughs into a fist. "If I can be so blunt."

Hawkins is clearly trying to suppress a laugh. "I can see that, Lieutenant. I'm sorry you've had such... uptight commanders in the past. I can't speak for your Chief... but as for me, I don't mind being told wrong if I am. I'd much rather see the work get done. Though I do expect a certain amount of respect, in general."

Jason regards the Captain with lifted eyebrows. "That's good to hear," he says, chuckling to himself. "Commander Veshedsky seems like a decent enough sort," he agrees. "I have a question myself, however." He pauses, as if not quite sure whether he wants to actually ask it. "Who do I talk to about equipment requests?"

"Operations, generally," the Captain replies. "Or your own department, depending on what it is."

"Noted, ma'am." Jason can't help but grin. "I'd better make friends with the XO, then. My requests tend to be a little..." He hesitates, thinking of the right word. "...odd. I'm a bit of a tinkerer in my spare time. Rube Goldberg I ain't, but..." He trails off, shrugging loosely.

Hawkins chuckles in reply. "Well, we'll see how that goes. I'm sure you can get in a good word with Commander Solvek, though."

"Solvek?" Jason looks a bit surprised at the Vulcan name, but covers it with a nod. "I'll have to, aye." He falls silent again, looking toward the captain with both eyebrows lifted, as if wordlessly inquiring "anything else?"

"He's approachable enough, for a Vulcan. I'm sure you'll do fine." Hawkins pauses a moment, then asks, "Only one thing... what do you hope to do from here, in your career?"

Jason thinks about that a moment, giving it an honest thought. "I'd like to get out of the boiler room again," he says contemplatively. "I'm an engineer by trade, but to be completely honest, ma'am, there is a ceiling for someone wearing this." He fingers his collar, indicating the mustard-gold of operations, and looks rather solemn for a moment. "I can do more useful things out of an engineering bay."

Hawkins nods to this. "I completely understand. I went into security from 10 years of Intelligence... it can be hard to go from making decisions to taking orders again. I'll keep an eye out for opportunities... assuming you don't get into any altercations we might just be able to overcome your demotion." Pause. "I guess you can't steer clear of Lieutenant T'Lyt... or Alexandria. Ahh well."

Jason breaks into a broad grin. "I don't mind taking orders," he says, eyebrows doing a bit of a dance, "when those giving them aren't giving them to look good." He shakes his head. "You won't have any problems out of me on that account. What about those Lieutenants?"

"A bit uptight, is all. I like them both, but they can be... touchy." Hawkins smiles. "But we'll see how it goes. At any rate. Is there anything else?"

"Not that I can think of, ma'am." Jason looks more than a little unnerved as he slowly stands, offering a hand to the woman across the desk. "I'm not sure how much of a compliment I can give you and not look like a kissass, ma'am, but--" He tosses off a wink. "--it's better than a brig."

Hawkins takes the hand and replies, solemnly, "It is at that." She pauses as she shakes the hand and says, "It's sir, or Captain. Or Gwen if I'm off-duty. Otherwise I don't stand on ceremony too much."

Turner nods, shaking her hand firmly. "Sir it is, ma'am," he says, with a murderous deadpan. He cracks a grin as he lets his hand drop. "Jason, usually. JT as well. Ceremony makes me allergic." He snorts ruefully. "If you said 'Lieutenant,' I'd probably look behind me to see who was sneakin' up on me."

Hawkins chuckles softly. "I definitely understand that. Well. You're dismissed, then. Go settle in. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around."

Turner straightens up. "Pleasure serving you, Captain." He spins on a heel, but the straight-backed act is gone before he's out the door.

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