Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus– Ready Room – 1800 hours
Captain MacTavish – people had been addressing him as such for almost twelve hours, now, and he still hadn’t gotten accustomed to it – sat behind his desk with a cup of coffee cooling in his hand. He had dimmed the lights a few moments ago and, now, the only illumination in the room was provided by the subtle glow of the displays that were still active. A soft puirt-a-beul played, just loud enough to be heard in an otherwise silent room, and Mac’s eyes were lulled shut by the sound of it as he absorbed the calmness of the moment, breathing it in slowly, holding it for a moment, and then, just as slowly, breathing it back out…just as Counselor Arevaci had advised him several years ago.

Chroist but et’s been a long day, a’ready, he sighed inwardly, unable to truly relax without grumbling just a little. The command of the Cerberus being unexpectedly dropped in his lap had only been the start, of course. Following that, the review of the mission file had revealed the true nature of the mission Cerberus (and her sister ship the Charon) would be undertaking… it had made sense to him, then, why he’d been given this command despite Admiral Saurik’s rationale of the ‘lack of competent captains’… then learning that, once again, Starfleet had seen fit to allow the Romulans a presence on the mission…

Still jus’ th’ start, though, was et no’? Mac’s eyes opened and he took a sip of the coffee as his gaze fell, once more, to the crew roster that took prominence over the other displays on his desk. There were several who had reported in already, several others who would be boarding either en route to DS9 or after the Cerberus put in to port there and, thus, temporary personnel who would be filling those slots in the interim…Fleet’s thrown this t’gether a’ th’ last minute, then, ‘asn’t et? Yer ship, yer crew… lookit et, Jackie-lad, an’ tell me tha’ et dinnae jus’ bellow ‘expendable’…
“Aye,” he sighed aloud, chasing the acknowledgement with another swig of coffee, “et vera well may. I know more’n one name on this roster, though, an’ ‘ave read enough o’ these service jackets ta mebbe think tha’ we’ll no’ be quite’s expendable as we’re expected ta be… an’ wi’ Kel as skipper o’ the Charon…”

The chime sounded then and Mac’s shoulders slumped a little. I’ve a’ready put on me reds, Weatherly… If tha’s you comin’ ta make sure I’ve eaten er tha’ me quarters met wi’ me satisfaction, I swear ta Charlie…
“Computer,” he barked, “End program and gimme some lights.”

Cerberus blipped her response and, as the lights in the office slowly brightened, the music track faded into silence. Mac tossed down another swallow of coffee before setting the mug down on the desk, then, straightening his jacket and turning to face the door… “Enter.”

A Vulcan, attired in command reds, stood on the other side of the door and Mac couldn’t help but be glad that it wasn’t his hovering yeoman, again. Sitok, I’m guessin’, the CO assumed as an almost relieved grin crept across his lips and he rose from his seat.

“Commander Sitok reporting in, sir,” the Vulcan confirmed after stepping in and coming to attention.

“Aye,” Mac nodded, waving off the man’s rigid posture and extending a hand, “me XO. Welcome abaird the Cerberus, Commander.”

((Any reply))

Releasing the Vulcan’s hand, Mac gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk and retook his own. “I’ve read yer jacket, o’ course,” Jack said as he settled in, “an’ I cannae help but notice tha’ yer no’ quite wha’ us humans might consider ta be yer standard, ever’day Vulcan. There’s some vera interstin’ commentary throughoot yer records, all th’ way back ta yer days inna Academy… plenty o’ references ta a ‘gut instinct’ tha’s served ye better’n most would’ve expected, aye?”

((any reply))

“Well, Sitok,” Mac rumbled as he produced a PADD that Weatherly had prepared for the XO’s arrival and slid it across the desk, “if Fleet left ye in th’ dark aboot th’ nature o’ this assignment as they did me, ye’re gut instinct’s likely reasoned oot b’now tha’ we’re no’ exactly goin’ ta wha’ ye might call th’ front lines… an’, if et ‘asn’t, let’s ‘ope tha’ et sairves us well once ye’ve read the brief. Ye’ll find th’ details, there, as well as th’ intel feeds we’ve go’ on our targets. They be sketchy a’ best but I’m sure tha’ we’ll be gettin’ updates ere we get any closer ta jumpin’ through th’ lookin’ glass.

We’ve go’ a site less’n thairty-six hours ere we launch, Commander – plenty o’ time fer ye ta digest tha’ information an’ pull a meetin’ tagether fer the senior staff an’ the Romulan delegation tha’ll be accompanyin’ us…”

((assuming a raised brow, at least…))

“Aye, lad,” MacTavish smirked, “I ‘ad near th’ same reaction, an’ our TAC officer’s were a wee bit less reserved’n tha’. Nevertheless, we do ‘ave a Romulan delegation abaird. Seems tha’ th’ RSE’s been generous enough ta put us on loan fer a coupla Gen V cloaks’s long’s we play nice an’ let some o’ their kin come along fer th’ ride… quid pro quo an’ all o’ that, aye… Er sheepshyte an’ politics if ye prefer…”

((assuming a bit of back-and-forth between the two commanders here, interrupted by Vaela’s entry))

“…a moment, Sitok,” Mac sighed, fully expecting it to be Weatherly on the other side when the chime sounded again.

“Enter,” he barked.

The door swept away once more and, mercifully, revealed an Andorian female instead of the “efficient-almost-to-a-fault” yeoman. Bless ye, lass, Mac thought as the silver-haired woman strode in.

“Lieutenant P’Tammah, CFCO, reporting for duty Captain,” Vaela remarked matter-of-factly as she placed her bags behind her and came to attention.

Mac nodded fractionally, the hint of a smile tugging at either corner of his mouth. He’d absolutely devoured P’Tammah’s dossier earlier in the day and, if he’d cared to admit such a thing, had actually been looking forward to meeting the woman who had been assigned as Cerberus’ Chief Flight Control Officer. Highly commended, highly decorated, and highly skilled, was the impression that he’d gotten from her service jacket, and more than competent and capable under fire… perfect for the hell she would be expected to navigate the Steamrunner through in the coming weeks. Some vera usable fields o’ cross trainin’, as well, if I’m no’ mistaken… operations an’ astrometrics…
“Sorry if I’m interrupting, Sir,” she added to the Vulcan, as she placed a PADD on the Captain’s desk.

Mac retrieved the PADD and gave the orders a cursory review. The way this one presented herself, though, there was no doubt in the Scot’s mind that everything was in order.

“Captain, you’ll find on the PADD the details of my transfer from the Indefatigable, the transfer of a Chief Petty Officer Hidetoshi Sato from the same ship, and the re-allocation of a Type 10 shuttle. I’m also sorry for my late arrival, Sir,” she added, her antennae twitching defensively, “the Indie was attacked in a Dominion raid before my departure, and when we did leave we had to take a circular route to avoid other possible incursions,” Vaela had continued even as Mac was skimming the details of Chief Sato’s transfer.

“Finally, Captain,” she concluded, “I’d just like to say that I look forward to serving on the Cerberus.”

Mac offered another nod, his smile broadening a bit more as he slid the PADD back across the desk. “Welcome abaird, then, Lieutenant,” he rumbled, reaching for his coffee again, “I’m sure, judgin’ from yer record an’ wha’ ye’ve jus’ said, tha’ ye’ll be right a’ ‘ome on this boat.”

He nodded in Sitok’s direction as he indulged in a quick sip of the java. “This is Commander Sitok, me XO,” he said by way of introduction, returning the mug to its place on his desk. “Sitok,” he proffered, nodding this time in the Andorian’s direction, “Lt Vaela P’Tammah; our gain a’ th’ Indefatigable’s expense, I’d wager.”

((anything from either of you here))

“Dock wi’ tha’ chair, Mester P’Tammah,” MacTavish said with a nod to the seat next to Sitok, “th’ Commander an’ I were jus’ beginnin’ ta review th’ parameters o’ our mission an’ I reckon ye could’na arrived a’ a more appropriate moment… ‘ave ye any experience wi’ mannin’ th’ ‘elm of a cloaked ship?”

((reply?))

It didn’t matter if she had or not, of course; she would certainly be getting more than enough experience with it over the course of this mission and Mac fully expected that the woman would have little to no difficulty mastering the intricacies of it. “Yer experience wi’ Dominion assets’re sure ta be a blessin’ ta ye where this mission is consairned, Lt,” he offered, “but ye’re jus’ as sure ta be guaranteed tha’ we’ll find ourselves in situations where yer skills’ll be tested beyond wha’ ye’ve ‘ad ta muster ta this point. As I was jus’ tellin’ Commander Sitok, we’ve go’ less’n three days ere we slip from betwixt th’ ribs, an’ ye’ve go’ jus’ a hair less’n tha’ ta get yer department an’ yer shift rotations in order. Th’ fairst bit of our run’ll be focused ‘round you lot an’ I fully expect tha’ whoever ye ‘ave seated a’ the helm o’ me boat’ll ‘ave no reservations aboot pushin’ Cerberus ta ‘er own limits, aye? I’ll no’ ‘ave anyone snoozin’ a’ th’ CONN an’ gettin’ us, ever’one, rendered ta dust fer a nanosecond’s ‘esitation…”

((OOC: and we’ll leave it at that for the time being… back and forth as you all see fit, replies and such as necessary…))

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus– Teleporter Room Two– ???? hours

They had had a long wait until the Romulan’s teleporter crew got word to initiate the teleport system. They went all as one group, She in front, S’Talon at her shield position and Erie Arrian T'Maekh i'Ramnau Sahen with her case in hand, followed by the others and their equipment, including the 2 cloaking devices hidden in cargo boxes.

Sienae looked down from the teleport pad, her golden stare met Rrowl’s thunderous stare and held eye to eye contact, never wavering before it. Only her slightly hooded eyes went more hooded. She was surprised to see a Kizinti, knowing how they felt about “the monkey boys” as they called the humans. Unfortunately Romulans and the war-loving Kizinti had met in battle before. The Catoids were fierce warriors. She had never been in a conflict with them, but with the "look" being given her by this big tiger striped male told her she had an enemy.

Then with a perfect look of distain on her face for the Kizinti's open look of hate, she stepped down from the teleporter pad holding eye contact with the Kizinti who was a head taller than she, when she stood on the same level as he did.

“Arrain Sienae i’Mhiessan Khnialmnae of the Romulan Star Navy." Sienae announced herself, "My second in command Erie Arrain S’Talon D'mora.” She pointed to S'Talon and had left out S’talon’s middle name in repect to him, not announcing to anyone that he was from that poor city.

While still holding Rrowl’s stare, “My compliments to the Captain, I did not expect an...Honor Guard.”

S’Talon snorted, she and he both knew that this was no Honor Guard, but a security detachement. So much for trust, but then again, she would have done the same if a Feredation team came aboard her ship.

“Your Name, Lt. Commander.” She had studied the insignia of the Federation and knew the symbols they used for each rank. She wondered if they would have done the same. “I would appreciate knowing who I am working with,” she lightly stressed the words working with. “I would like to see our cargo safely stored, then I wish to see whomever is in charge of Security about the guard duty roster and finally quarters for my staff.”

((Rrowl’s response))

USS Lewis, en-route to the USS Cerberus 0937-hours
The shuttle flight to the Cerberus was a quiet one. The hum on communications revealed that the ship would be moored a while longer, awaiting a detachment of Romulan Scientists assisting in some capacity as advisors. Why the rigid race of war-mongers was even allowed in the quadrant, let alone near this installation was beyond Karl. It was likely above his pay grade, but his acceptance of the hierarchy of things was likely another reason he had been assigned to this crew. Karl Valberg was a man of action and damn good at what he was there to do. Poking his nose around in everyone else’s affairs typically only served to distract from tasks at hand.

Mind you the aging Lieutenant Commander still kept his bright blue eyes peeled beneath his furrowed brow, his ears to the wall for anything creeping through unofficial channels, and his vigilance honed to the edge of a Batleth, all traits necessary for a survivor of the Cardassian occupation, and in turn, a Starfleet Chief of Security.

Karl’s eyes finished scanning over the service record of Captain MacTavish, and Rrowl, a Kzinti of known valor and distinction whom would serve as his superior heading TAC, of which his department fell under. Valberg had a strict way of running his team, demanded excellence surpassing Starfleet guidelines, and could and had been known to come off as somewhat of a hard-ass. He smiled inwardly noting amendments to Rrowls dossier, and felt the Kzinti wouldn’t find his strict methods too overbearing given the circumstances. Though Starfleet only regulated a 80% score on level 17 difficulty for any member of security, Karl demanded any member on his detail be trained to level 18, and any away member must hold a validated score of at least passing grade at level 20 or higher. Karl still held the Marksman award with a 96% on level 23 in the phaser coarse, which had saved his life more than once. Valberg looked forward into kicking the motley crew into gear as soon as possible. He chuckled out loud at the prospect of his usual casualty rate… How many will request reassignment before we even reach DS9 I wonder?
Karl was pulled from his brief reverie as the helmsman hailed the Cerberus, and shortly thereafter was granted permission for Karl to beam aboard.

“Good luck sir” Ensign Jenkins said with an assertive nod.

“Luck is for the unskilled or unprepared Ensign.” With that Karl Valberg, along with his equipment disappeared in a beam of blue-white light.

USS Cerberus -0945
“Lieutenant Commander Karl Valberg, reporting in.”

“Good to have you aboard sir.” Came the reply of the transporter engineer.” Ensign McCrery here will show you to your quarters.”

Karl turned to regard the freckle faced, and fiery red haired ensign, who looked young enough to be his daughter, her features yet unmarred by the terrors of war, or the struggles of survival.

“This way sir,” she directed as they stepped into the corridor. Her voice was thick with and Irish accent and she walked well off to the side of Karl, as though his rank if not size intimidated her.

“I won’t bite”, Karl said with a smile, and Ensign McCrery, Ilene by first name, visible relaxed.

“First stop, quarters to ease the load, then Tactical and the Bridge to get acquainted.”

As he walked he tapped the communicator on his chest. =/\\\\= Commander Rrowl, and Captain MacTavish, Lieutenant Commander Karl Valberg reporting in a bit early sirs. Looking forward to seeing what his puppy’s got behind her wet ears. =/\\\\=

(I’ll leave it open for Communication, or for Rrowls command to meet him in Transporter Room 2 for the arrival of our ‘guests’.)

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus– Ready Room – 1800 hours

"Enter" The captain responded to Sitok's ding for entrance. Sitok walked into the Captain's ready room and cooly observed the room's set up and design. It didn't seem to be lived in yet but that was understandable considering this was probably the Captain's first day on board. The Captain himself was sitting comfortably at his desk drinking a beverage of some kind. Probably coffee or tea judging by the steam coming off the cup.

“Commander Sitok reporting in, sir,” Sitok presented himself professionaly if not just a bit tight.

“Aye,” The captain, Captian MacTavish I believe nodded, waving off the Sitok's rigid posture and extending a hand, “me XO. Welcome abaird the Cerberus, Commander.”

"Thank you Captain." Sitok shook MacTavish's hand. MacTavish motioned for Sitok to be seated and he took his own seat. Sitok saat directly across from the captain keeping his attention on him politely.

“I’ve read yer jacket, o’ course,” Jack said as he settled in, “an’ I cannae help but notice tha’ yer no’ quite wha’ us humans might consider ta be yer standard, ever’day Vulcan. There’s some vera interstin’ commentary throughoot yer records, all th’ way back ta yer days inna Academy… plenty o’ references ta a ‘gut instinct’ tha’s served ye better’n most would’ve expected, aye?”

"I have found that Humans are sometimes more effecient because of an emotional response and while it is illogical to permit one's emotions to control their thoughts or actions it is also illogical to ignore a subconscious warning such as emotions may bring." Sitok explained fervently hoping to avoid any too-human-for-your-own-good response.

Well, Sitok,” Mac rumbled as he produced a PADD that Weatherly had prepared for the XO’s arrival and slid it across the desk, “if Fleet left ye in th’ dark aboot th’ nature o’ this assignment as they did me, ye’re gut instinct’s likely reasoned oot b’now tha’ we’re no’ exactly goin’ ta wha’ ye might call th’ front lines… an’, if et ‘asn’t, let’s ‘ope tha’ et sairves us well once ye’ve read the brief. Ye’ll find th’ details, there, as well as th’ intel feeds we’ve go’ on our targets. They be sketchy a’ best but I’m sure tha’ we’ll be gettin’ updates ere we get any closer ta jumpin’ through th’ lookin’ glass.
We’ve go’ a site less’n thairty-six hours ere we launch, Commander – plenty o’ time fer ye ta digest tha’ information an’ pull a meetin’ tagether fer the senior staff an’ the Romulan delegation tha’ll be accompanyin’ us…” Sitok took the PADD looking quickly over it but at the word Romulan Sitok looked up with a raised eyebrow. Romulans!They can't be trusted, why would Starfleet make the mistake of bringing Romulans aboard a warship?
“Aye, lad,” MacTavish smirked, “I ‘ad near th’ same reaction, an’ our TAC officer’s were a wee bit less reserved’n tha’. Nevertheless, we do ‘ave a Romulan delegation abaird. Seems tha’ th’ RSE’s been generous enough ta put us on loan fer a coupla Gen V cloaks’s long’s we play nice an’ let some o’ their kin come along fer th’ ride… quid pro quo an’ all o’ that, aye… Er sheepshyte an’ politics if ye prefer…”

"I would suggest giving our distinguished guests an armed escort while they are aboard this ship." A trained ear would be able to hear the condescension in Sitok's voice but only a trained ear would.

(assuming an aye really but just an answer will do)

The door beeped while MacTavish was answering and he had to politely disengage from the conversation. Well at least he's polite thats a mark in his favor. He also doesn't seem to trust the Romulans which make's my job of dealing with them easier.
An Andorian female walked into the room. This surprised Sitok as he had never seen an andorian before and he wasn't aware they were a part of the Federation. Sitok listened closely as the Andorian who had introduced herself as LT. P'Tammah and he was impressed with how thourough just a transport report was but what really made him leave with the hint of a smile on his face was the Captain's speal about pushing the Cereberus to her limits and the readiness of his helm, which Sitok took to hold true for the rest of the crew.

"A pleasure to meet and serve with you I'm sure." Sitok said inclining his head as the Captain reintroduced P'Tammah.

"Sir I have much work to catch up on if I'm to be ready for the crew's arrival at 900 tomorrow. With your permission I would like to have that meeting with the senior officers and the Romulan contingent at 1000 hours tomorrow." Sitok replied at the end of the Captain's speal to P'Tammah.

(assuming an acquience)

"Thank you sir. I'll see you in the morning." Sitok slightly bowed respectfully and turned to leave. He headed for the XO's office to read the PADD he was holding.

(OOC: if Rrowl or Valberg is on the bridge when Sitok leaves the Ready room he will make a point of introducing himself and if the captain agreed to the armed escort he will suggest that to whichever he meets.)

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Charon - Space Dock DS9 - 1900hrs
Lt. Brennan and Ensign Toliver relaxed at the controls of the weapons console and almost collapsed in their chairs. “Man, this is crazy!” exclaimed Ensign Toliver, “he cant have us doing this all night!”

Lt. Brennan sighed his reply and began to reset his panel for another battle simulation, “He can and he will,” the Lt added, “until he is satisfied with our performance.”

“But we have been running constant simulations for 9 hours now,” he Ensign complained, “he cant keep this up.. It’s not humane.”

The Lt chuckled, “Well if you haven’t noticed he isn’t human so…” Leaving his statement unfinished and he tended to his controls.

The Ensign however did not touch his control panel but only continued to complain even more strenuously, “The Captain cant know of this.. Otherwise he wouldn’t let him punish us for this.. I mean it wasn’t our fault…”

He was talking so loud at this point that he failed to hear the door swoosh open behind him and a large shadow enter the room, the Ensign stopped talking as he heard a faint growl only a split second before he was grasped suddenly from behind and hoisted up out of his chair as if he weighed no more than a small child.

Lt. Brennan only turned his head to look as his work companion was pinned to the wall and held two feet off the ground by a large muscular arm covered in fine velvety brown fur. As the Ensign cried out in shock, a snarling feline face thrust itself only an inch from his own. Seeing who held him and the murderous look in the cold yellow slit eyes the Ensign tried to open his mouth to say something but a thunderous growl cut off any reply.

“You Dare to question my orders, Ensign?” The creature holding him asked in a deep baritone voice that rumbled deep from it’s chest.

“Ah.. No.. ah.. Sir… I was ah.. just…” The Ensign stuttered.

“I heard what you said and I would like to hear your thoughts on exactly ‘who’ is to blame from our failure in the last mission.” The beast growled.

“Ah.. Sir! I was just telling.. Ah.. the Lt. here .. that it was obviously ‘our’ fault because we reacted too slowly to your commands.” Ensign Toliver said sounding like a man pleading for his life.

Lt. Brennan smiled slightly and turned back to reset his weapons panel for the next simulation. He knew it was best to stay out of this if possible.

The creature chuckled showing his razor-sharp teeth filling his mouth, teeth designed to rend flesh, “I see!… well you best get back to your station because I am sure you agree that you can benefit from another hour of battle simulations to get it right!”

The beast dropped the Ensign where the frightened man slipped all the way to the floor landing on his behind. He quickly scrambled to his feet and stuttered, “Yes Sir, Lt. Cmdr.”

As the Ensign returned to his station for another hour of drills, Lt. Cmdr Talon grinned and left the room. He strode down the hallway a looming figure who towered over most of the crew of the USS Charon; crew who quickly got out of the way of the Lyran Chief Tactical/Security Officer. They could see that he was in a foul mood stemming from what he saw as a failure in the last battle with the Dominion. The crew knew his foul moods were never good ones for anyone who got in his way; the only one who was probably in an even more fouler mood was the Captain. The ship had taken a beating and had limped back to DS9 for repairs.

Lt. Cmdr. Talon obviously felt the battle had not gone well and while the ship was in Space Dock repairing the battle damage, he had all the personnel in Tactical working overtime doing repairs and running combat simulations to correct their slow response which was obviously to blame for their defeat. Defeat was how he saw it, sure they had survived and made it back but they had limped back like a whipped cat and that didn’t sit well with him at all.

If this had been a Lyran ship he would have gutted those he felt responsible for the failure, but this was Star Fleet and he had to abide by regulations. Even his little rough handling of Ensign Toliver might have been considered excessive but by now the crew knew that a display like that was about as ‘tame’ as the Lyran was likely to get.

Early in his career in Star Fleet he had simply backhanded a underling who had not responded fast enough to his orders. The man had been flung several feet to smash against a bulkhead and had broken several ribs, an arm and received a concussion as well. He had been officially reprimanded for that action. Humans were just too soft when it came to physical combat.

It actually made sparring a big problem for him, he had only encountered a few humans who were capable of engaging in mock combat and surviving relatively unscathed. Most humans were afraid of him; oh they followed his orders quickly enough but he didn’t have what he would consider friends among the crew.

The senior officers were the closest thing and that was only because they didn’t fear him but were his equals or, in the case of the Captain and XO, his superiors. But Lt. Cmdr. Talon wasn’t aboard the Charon to make friends, he was here to serve and do the best job he could in preparing this ship for battle, and he would do that job and die trying if necessary.

His thoughts were interrupted as he stepped into the turbo lift and told it to go to the Brig. He soon stepped out on Deck 5, the brig and strode into his office/quarters. The room was very spartan in appearance, a Lyran ker’nac sword hanging from one wall was the only decoration. The office contained a work area, a personal view screen, a computer display, a replicator, a washroom/head and a single bed and wardrobe were crammed into one corner. Talon had been offered the usual quarters for an officer of his rank, but he had thought it too elaborate and soft so they had installed a bed and wardrobe for his uniforms in his office.

He sat at the computer terminal and called up the latest combat simulations on his display. He nodded, there was a 99.7% efficiency rating on the last run, satisfactory for now. He tapped the comm badge on his chest, “Tactical… this is Lt. Cmdr Talon.. Stand down from battle simulations…” he started to hit it again to end his transmission to his personnel but he paused and considered then added, “.. well done!” He tapped his comm badge and shook his head with a groan. These humans were so different from his people, they seemed to respond better to statements of praise then they did to threats or violence. So very strange!

Talon spent a couple hours going over the battles reports again and again looking on how and where they would have to still improve until they were as close to 100% as possible. He was determined that the next time they went into battle there would be no hesitation, no mistakes from anyone in his command. He would let the Captain worry about the faults of the other departments.

It was late when he retired for the night to his bed, figures from the days drills still running in his head, thinking up new simulations up until the moment he finally drifted off to sleep

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Captain’s Ready Room – 1806 hours
“Welcome abaird, then, Lieutenant,” the Captain of the Cerberus rumbled from across his desk. “I’m sure, judgin’ from yer record an’ wha’ ye’ve jus’ said, tha’ ye’ll be right a’ ‘ome on this boat.”

Vaela blinked, and her antennae craned forward as she struggled to make sense of what the Captain had said. She had in her time on Earth come across a wide variety of Human languages and accents, but never one as thick and impenetrable as that which Commander MacTavish possessed. The Andorian even thought for a moment that the universal translator built into her comm badge had malfunctioned, and she was hearing a crude Human language in all its unvarnished glory. As Mac continued speaking, however, Vaela quickly realized that he was actually speaking in a language she understood.

Or at least a language I sort of understand, she thought to herself.

“This is Commander Sitok, me XO,” the Captain continued in his thick broque. “Sitok,” he proffered, nodding this time in the Andorian’s direction, “Lt Vaela P’Tammah; our gain a’ th’ Indefatigable’s expense, I’d wager.”

"A pleasure to meet and serve with you I'm sure,” the Vulcan added in her direction.

“Charmed,” she responded simply with a curt nod of her head. Vaela did not consider herself a typical Andorian, and hoped that none would look upon her as such, but it was hard for Andorians to look upon Vulcans with any warmth even after hundreds of years of peace between the two races.

“Dock wi’ tha’ chair, Miss P’Tammah,” MacTavish said after the Vulcan officer had departed. “Th’ Commander an’ I were jus’ beginnin’ ta review th’ parameters o’ our mission an’ I reckon ye could’na arrived a’ a more appropriate moment… ‘ave ye any experience wi’ mannin’ th’ ‘elm of a cloaked ship?”

Vaela sat in the seat offered to her, and as she deciphered the meaning behind the Captain’s words, her antennae twitched in curiosity.

“Cloaked Sir? No, I only have experience with flying cloaked ships in simulators. But Captain, as far as I’m aware the only cloaked vessels are the Defiant and Sao Paolo.”

“Of course,” she added after a moment’s thought and with a broad grin, “if you’re suggesting that the Cerberus now has a functional cloak, then I think I’d enjoy flying her even more than usual.”

“Yer experience wi’ Dominion assets’re sure ta be a blessin’ ta ye where this mission is consairned, Lt, but ye’re jus’ as sure ta be guaranteed tha’ we’ll find ourselves in situations where yer skills’ll be tested beyond wha’ ye’ve ‘ad ta muster ta this point. As I was jus’ tellin’ Commander Sitok, we’ve go’ less’n three days ere we slip from betwixt th’ ribs, an’ ye’ve go’ jus’ a hair less’n tha’ ta get yer department an’ yer shift rotations in order. Th’ fairst bit of our run’ll be focused ‘round you lot an’ I fully expect tha’ whoever ye ‘ave seated a’ the helm o’ me boat’ll ‘ave no reservations aboot pushin’ Cerberus ta ‘er own limits, aye? I’ll no’ ‘ave anyone snoozin’ a’ th’ CONN an’ gettin’ us, ever’one, rendered ta dust fer a nanosecond’s ‘esitation…”

“Have no fear, Sir. Whoever is manning the helm with me will do you proud, and if they are ever caught ‘snoozin’ they’ll have me to deal with,” Vaela replied with a playful wink.

“Now Captain, what I need from you are my access codes…”

Stardate: 2374.09.01
USS Cerberus – Lieutenant Vaela P’Tammah’s Quarters – 0112 hours
Vaela yawned as she lay across her bed. She had spent hours tracking down the missing shuttles, ensuring that all the COPS personnel would be on board by tomorrow, and running a detailed diagnostic on the CONN. What was worse was that although she wanted to drift off to sleep she found herself unable to do so.

Too much on my mind, I suppose, she thought as her eyes fluttered open, Although there is something wrong here.
As Vaela’s violet eyes roamed over the Quarters that had been assigned to her, the Andorian found nothing wrong with the aesthetics of the room. In fact it was quite beautiful. Broad windows looked out into the vastness of space, and the soft light of countless unexplored stars and from Starbase Ten bathed the rest of the room in a subtle light. Her fingers slowly traced the sleek curves of the furniture that adorned her quarters, which she found just as pleasing. “That which places function over form can still retain an integrity and beauty of its own,” Vaela mouthed, recounting an old maxim taught to her at the year she spent at the Andorian Academy of Arts.

There was something wrong though, it just took Vaela a while to find out what it was.

“Computer: drop the temperature in the room by 12.4 degrees.”

The Computer chimed quietly as it complied with her request, Vaela smiled to herself. She may have lived among humans for most of her adult life, but Ensign P’Tammah hadn’t lost her preference for the cooler climes of her homeworld.

Slowly she pulled off the sheet covering her and revelled in the cooler air swimming over her the contours of her naked body.

“Better,” she concluded.


OOC: I’ll post a little more sometime later in the week, and introduce another NPC under Vaela’s command.

Stardate:2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Deck 6; Outside Main Engineering – 0945 hours =/\\=Commander Rrowl and Captain MacTavish, =/\\= a voice that MacTavish had not heard before sounded over his commbadge, =/\\=Lt Commander Karl Valberg reporting in a bit early, sirs. Looking forward to seeing what this puppy’s got behind her wet ears.=/\\=

Valberg, Mac repeated, calling the man’s dossier up from his memory, recently o’ DS9… ‘as seen ‘is share o’ action, ef I recall… right, me SEC chief.
He tapped his commbadge. “There’s nae such a theng as early on this cruise, Valberg,” he replied, “I’m sure ye’ll no’ ave a problem locatin’ yer post, lad. Grab a towel an’ set ta dryin’ this puppies ears, as ye say. Welcome abaird.”

I’ll ‘ave ta remember ta catch up wi’ ‘im a bit later, MacTavish noted as he proceeded through the doors to Main Engineering.

(previous post in ENG goes here)

Once again, outside Main Engineering – 1005 hours Mac had fallen back into reviewing the Cerberus’ crew roster as he stalked back out of Engineering. His intent had been to visit decks 5 and 4 on his way back to the Bridge, making sure that everything was in order for the platoon of Marines who were scheduled to report aboard before the Steamrunner deployed for DS9. A section of the NCO quarters on Deck 5 would need to be configured to serve as a barracks for the MACO fireteams and at least one of the Type 10 shuttles in the bay would have to be configured for troop landing operations…

=/\\=Bridge to Captain MacTavish!=/\\= It was Rrowl and the big Kzinti didn’t sound happy.

MacTavish stopped and tapped his own commbadge; “MacTavish.”

=/\\=Captain,=/\\= Mac could almost hear the turbulence lashed into the air by Rrowl’s angrily swishing tail, =/\\= a Romulan warbird has decloaked within threatening range and demanded to be allowed to beam a contingent aboard this vessel!=/\\=

Son of a… a’ready?!?! Mac stormed back towards the Engineering hatch. Jus’ like a fargin’ virus, he groused inwardly, e’en when ye know et’s comin’ yer ne’er rightly prepared when et gets there!
“Acknowledged, Commander,” he replied as the stomped back into ENG, “I was no’ expectin’ th’ bastards s’early but they were expected. Pr’pare a reception fer ‘em, Rrowl, an’ authorize th’ transpairt ta TR2.” He knew that Rrowl would interpret ‘reception’ as armed security detail, of course, but he also knew that the Kzinti’s opinion of the Romulans was perhaps even lower than his own. As much as he would have loved to allow it; “Dinnae gut a one of ‘em ere I get there, Commander. I’m on me way! MacTavish oot.”

MacTavish prowled towards the railing that overlooked the Engineering floor. “Figura,” he barked, “yer bloody twelve hours’ve passed! Get me a fargin’ detail fer th’ cloaks ta Transpairter Room Two onna dooble!”

“Aye, sir,” came the reply from somewhere below. Had the doors hissed shut behind him a nanosecond sooner, Mac would not have heard it at all.

Transporter Room 2 – 1009 hours
“…Your Name, Lt. Commander,” the Romulan woman, a Centurion in rank by the insignia on her collar, demanded of Rrowl as Mac strode through the hatch to the transporter room, “I would appreciate knowing who I am working with,” she lightly stressed the words ‘working with’. “I would like to see our cargo safely stored, then I wish to see whomever is in charge of Security about the guard duty roster and finally quarters for my staff.”

“Tha’d be Lt Commander Rrowl,” Jack chuffed, struggling to unclench his jaw as he interposed himself between the Romulan woman and the Kzinti. Appearances may have indicated that MacTavish had done so solely to volley the RSE’s well documented intimidation tactics back at the Centruion and, while that may have been a part of it all, a bigger motivator for the move was to keep his CTO from ripping the point-ear’s gullet open and eating her heart before moving on to the rest of her crew. “He’d be me Chief TAC. Me SEC Chief,” he continued flatly, gesturing to the giant of a norseman who stood nearby without taking his steel-eyed gaze from the woman, “is Lt Valberg, there, an’ he’ll pr’vide ye wi’ th’ duty roster as I tell ‘im ta do so an’ as ye need ta know, Arrain Khnialmnae. Ops’s arranged quarters fer yerself an’ Erie Arrain D’mora on Deck 3. The rest o’ yer crew, I’m afraid’ll ‘ave ta make due wi’ a shared billet on Deck 5.

As ta yer cargo,” MacTavish lifted one hand, no higher then his waist, and made a sharp sweeping gesture towards the cloaking devices that the Romulans had brought aboard – Ensign Figura and three other gold-jumpsuited techs that had followed him into the transporter room moved to load the equipment onto a grav-sled – “Those arrangements’ve been made’s well.

Mester Valberg!”

((assuming a ‘Yessir!’))

“Assign two o’ yer lads ta accomp’ny these cloaks an’ whoms’e’er Centurion Knialmnae designates ta Main Engineerin’. As th’ device tha’s s’posed ta be installed on Cerberus is offloaded, deliver th’ other ta a secured location an’, coordinatin’ wi’ Centurion Knialmnae’s lads, o’ course, establish a joint security detail ta bee-behset th’ bloody theng. Once ye’ve completed tha’, see Mester Rrowl an’ th’ two o’ ye address any other tactical er security considerations tha’ he may deem appropriate.”

((anything from anyone as Valberg and crew leave the transporter room w/ cloaks in tow))

MacTavish’s eyes still had yet to waver from Sienae’s narrowed, yet, somehow patient, gaze. She had been expecting this sort of thing, he was sure. As smug and prissy as the Romulans were it didn’t necessarily make them stupid. An empire the size of the one they lorded over wasn’t the result of luck and folly…Nae, no’ stupid, he mused with an inward sneer, bu’ treacherous, conivin’, an’ a’ways onna lookout fer a way ta twest thengs ta their advantage… power players ta th’ last. “There ye be, lass,” he rumbled as the door to the transporter room whisked shut behind the Starfleet and Romulan personnel who had been sent off with the cloaks, “situation managed. Me name’s MacTavish an’ I’m the commandin’ officer o’ this fine vessel. I remind ye o’ this b’cause the way ye beamed abaird an’ started bandyin’ orders aboot ta me 2O, it’d give th’ impression tha’ ye think ye’ve go’ some kinda power here. Rest assured, Centurion, tha’ this is no’ th’ case.

Me orders state tha’ I must ‘ave ye abaird me ship – which, I imagine, is part an’ parcel inna ‘trade off’ fer yer cloaks – an’ tha’, whilst on baird this fine Starfleet vessel, yer entitled ta th’ respect an’ privileges befittin’ yer rank. They dinnae state, ‘owever, tha’ I’m ta tolerate any o’ yer bollocks er bullyin’ o’ me crew an’ they dinnae state tha’ I’ve go’ ta like et. I will wairk wi’ ye, Centurion, bu’ I’ll no’ ‘ave ye tryin’ ta wheedle yer Romulan ‘ooks inta me mission… ef et comes ta tha’, rest assured tha’ I’ll personally stuff ye, yer second, an’ the rest o’ yer crew inna nearest torpedo launcher an’ ‘ave Mester Rrowl launch ye inta th’ black.”

Mac finally allowed a rather mirthless smile to form on his heretofore stoneset features. “Pleas’ntries aside,” he growled, “welcome abaird th’ Cerberus, Centurion. I trust I’ll be seein’ ye once ye’ve settled in.”

((OOC: Mac will, of course, leave it at that and go on about his day at this point. The Centurion is welcome to catch up with him as she sees fit... more to come it appears. ))

Transporter Room 2 – 1009 hours

“…Your Name, Lt. Commander,” the Romulan woman, a Centurion in rank by the insignia on her collar, demanded of Rrowl as Mac strode through the hatch to the transporter room, “I would appreciate knowing who I am working with,” she lightly stressed the words ‘working with’. “I would like to see our cargo safely stored, then I wish to see whomever is in charge of Security about the guard duty roster and finally quarters for my staff.”

“Tha’d be Lt Commander Rrowl,” Jack chuffed, struggling to unclench his jaw as he interposed himself between the Romulan woman and the Kzinti. Appearances may have indicated that MacTavish had done so solely to volley the RSE’s well documented intimidation tactics back at the Centruion and, while that may have been a part of it all, a bigger motivator for the move was to keep his CTO from ripping the point-ear’s gullet open and eating her heart before moving on to the rest of her crew. “He’d be me Chief TAC. Me SEC Chief,” he continued flatly, gesturing to the giant of a Norseman who stood nearby without taking his steel-eyed gaze from the woman, “is Lt Valberg, there, an’ he’ll pr’vide ye wi’ th’ duty roster as I tell ‘im ta do so an’ as ye need ta know, Arrain Khnialmnae. Ops’s arranged quarters fer yerself an’ Erie Arrain D’mora on Deck 3. The rest o’ yer crew, I’m afraid’ll ‘ave ta make due wi’ a shared billet on Deck 5.

Lt Com. Rrowl seemed to loom forward, only to be cut off by the steel-eyed man, who acted and spoke of the others in such a way that he had to be the Captain. As was polite Sienae lets her eyes swing over to the smaller human. She sensed S’Talon moving up on her left side protectively.

Talon’s own brown stare was on Rrowl, it was a dark look of a dangerous man. Everything about his protective move and his stance denoted that he was not a man to be trifled with and that included any threatening stance or looks aimed at his Centurion. He was build like a bulldog and acted like a mother defending her pup. Everything about his body and movement revealed a man in complete control, very similar to the demeanor of a master marshal artist.

“Lt. Commander Rrowl,” she rolls the r’s of his name perfectly as she turns her eyes to the Captain, Now, I wish to thank you, Captain, for your Honor Guard. It was expected considering our recent diplomatic interactions.” She knew the Captain would understand that she understood. “I would also appreciate knowing the name of the man in command of this vessel, as of my departure and our last communication with Romulus, the name of the Captain was not available.

As ta yer cargo,” MacTavish lifted one hand, no higher then his waist, and made a sharp sweeping gesture towards the cloaking devices that the Romulans had brought aboard – Ensign Figura and three other gold-jumpsuited techs that had followed him into the transporter room moved to load the equipment onto a grav-sled – “Those arrangements’ve been made’s well.

The Romulans assigned to each cloaking device moved to their respective places to follow them to their destinations, whether to Engineering or, Storage.

“For now two of my techs will go with each cloaking device, to see it safely to Engineering or storage. They will stay with said devices until they are relieved. Before my people go with their charges, I need to know if you will be giving us com badges or if we are to use our own?”

(Captian’s reply)

Mester Valberg!”

((assuming a ‘Yessir!’))

“Assign two o’ yer lads ta accomp’ny these cloaks an’ whoms’e’er Centurion Knialmnae designates ta Main Engineerin’. As th’ device tha’s s’posed ta be installed on Cerberus is offloaded, deliver th’ other ta a secured location an’, coordinatin’ wi’ Centurion Knialmnae’s lads, o’ course, establish a joint security detail ta bee-behset th’ bloody theng. Once ye’ve completed tha’, see Mester Rrowl an’ th’ two o’ ye address any other tactical er security considerations tha’ he may deem appropriate.”

Inwardly Sienae lets out a sigh, this was not going to be any picnic. “As to the stored device, you will have most of the security of it and Erie Arrain D’mora will be checking in on them As I will be overseeing the installation of the Cloaking device in your ship.

((anything from anyone as Valberg and crew leave the transporter room w/ cloaks in tow))

MacTavish’s eyes still had yet to waver from Sienae’s narrowed, yet, somehow patient, gaze. She had been expecting this sort of thing, he was sure. As smug and prissy as the Romulans were it didn’t necessarily make them stupid. An empire the size of the one they lorded over wasn’t the result of luck and folly…Nae, no’ stupid, he mused with an inward sneer, bu’ treacherous, conivin’, an’ a’ways onna lookout fer a way ta twest thengs ta their advantage… power players ta th’ last.

“There ye be, lass,” he rumbled as the door to the transporter room whisked shut behind the Starfleet and Romulan personnel who had been sent off with the cloaks, “situation managed. Me name’s MacTavish an’ I’m the commandin’ officer o’ this fine vessel. I remind ye o’ this b’cause the way ye beamed abaird an’ started bandyin’ orders aboot ta me 2O, it’d give th’ impression tha’ ye think ye’ve go’ some kinda power here. Rest assured, Centurion, tha’ this is no’ th’ case.

It had taking him long enough to supply his name. Sienae felt a twitch in her back as muscles protested, she had not taken her drugs as they made her groggy.

Me orders state tha’ I must ‘ave ye abaird me ship – which, I imagine, is part an’ parcel inna ‘trade off’ fer yer cloaks – an’ tha’, whilst on baird this fine Starfleet vessel, yer entitled ta th’ respect an’ privileges befittin’ yer rank. They dinnae state, ‘owever, tha’ I’m ta tolerate any o’ yer bollocks er bullyin’ o’ me crew an’ they dinnae state tha’ I’ve go’ ta like et. I will wairk wi’ ye, Centurion, bu’ I’ll no’ ‘ave ye tryin’ ta wheedle yer Romulan ‘ooks inta me mission… ef et comes ta tha’, rest assured tha’ I’ll personally stuff ye, yer second, an’ the rest o’ yer crew inna nearest torpedo launcher an’ ‘ave Mester Rrowl launch ye inta th’ black.”

“My people are techs and scientists, and they have received their orders on how they are ‘guests’ aboard your ship.” There was more than a touch of fire to her retort, which was in her golden eyes that now seemed to flash with fiery copper but things needed to be flat out in the open as as soon as possible. “My Second, though noted for his ability to bully his trainees, no matter what their station, as I was one of them at one time, is also well aware of his position, as I am of mine.”

“The feeling is mutual Captain, I had no wish to be here either, but I was assigned here by the P....powers that be, to do the job that was given to me and return home when all is said and done--with the cloaking devices.”

Mac finally allowed a rather mirthless smile to form on his heretofore stoneset features. “Pleas’ntries aside,” he growled, “welcome abaird th’ Cerberus, Centurion. I trust I’ll be seein’ ye once ye’ve settled in.”

“Thank you, Captain MacTavish, I see, we see eye to eye.” She left it at that because her back had begun to cramp. “Since my techs have gone with the cloaking devices their duffles need to be delivered to Deck 5. and their designated quarters. I do not think you want them wandering about the ship trying to find their way back here.”

Sienae had seen the tech hand Talon her case, and started to turn to take it from him and then stopped abruptly. Fire shot across her back.

“Huuhah” she sucked in a breath and made a strangled sound.

Stardate: 2374.09.01
USS Charon – DS9 Space Dock – Gymnasium – 1340hrs
The Bat'leth sang as it cut through the air wielded by the bulging muscles of the Large Klingon warrior, dressed only in a loincloth, but air was the only thing the baakonite blade sliced through in its arc. Its intended target, a Lyran male also stripped down to a single loin cloth, deftly ducked each swing with catlike ease and grace and darted behind the Klingon. The Lyran’s own Bat’leth sliced across the back of the Klingon’s leg leaving a small razor cut which caused the Klingon to cry out in anger more than pain. The Lyran danced away as the Klingon whirled and glared with fury at him.

The Klingon advanced on the Lyran with a ferocious snarl but the Lyran didn’t retreat, instead he stood his ground and met his attacker head on. The Klingon Bat’leth hammered at the Lyran but it could not penetrate the Lyran’s blindingly fast defense. Blow by blow the Lyran turned aside the Klingon attack with brute force against brute force, until the Klingon over extended himself on one high swing and instead of blocking the blow, the Lyran ducked under and cut the Klingon again along the front of his right thigh.

As his opponent once again danced away out of range, the Klingon stumbled and roared with rage. The Lyran only smiled slightly, showing his mouth full of razor sharp teeth, as it slowly circled its wounded prey. There was no doubt the Lyran was toying with the Klingon and it would only be a matter of time before this bout was over. The time came swiftly as the Lyran apparently tired of this exercise and when the Klingon came at him again he deflected his blow to the side, slipped inside his guard forcing the Klingon’s Bat’leth down then the Lyran’s own Bat’leth came up under the Klingon’s chin and laid him out on the floor sending his weapon flying across the floor.

The Lyran stood over his defeated opponent for a moment, the Klingon looking up at him with hatred and rage in his eyes, and then the Lyran swung his Bat’leth around in an arc and brought it down in a hammering blow. The Razor tip of the Bat’leth’s blade pierced the Klingons chest, his heart, out his back and into the deck below. As the light went out of the Klingon’s eyes, the Lyran stepped back and growled softly as he looked upon his defeated opponent, the Bat’leth still sticking up out of the Klingon’s chest.

“Well did you have fun?” asked a human man standing over to the side watching the battle.

“It was entertaining.. for awhile,” answered Talon as he walked over and pulled out the Bat’leth from the Klingon’s chest. “End Program.” He said and the dead Klingon on the floor phased our as the Gymnasium’s holo-emitters removed the adversary it had chosen for the Lyran’s workout today.

“I think the computer needs to program more worthy opponent’s for you,” he human said and chuckled.

Lt. Cmdr Talon glanced over at the human with a look that said he was not amused by his words as he opened the weapons locker that contained all kinds of hand weapons from all sort of worlds, he hung the Bat’leth alongside Terran, Betazoid, Vulcan, Bajoran, and other non-energy weapons are available for training.

Closing the locker, he grabbed the Towel the human now held out for him and wiped at the damp fur on his face as he studied the human. Lt Jake Myers, one of his senior Security Officers and probably the only man who worked for him that didn’t fear the Lyran. Lt Myers was tall for a human, standing an inch over 6 feet in his perfectly pressed security uniform with his ever present Type II Phaser resting at his hip. He was an average looking human with decent features, brown hair and green eyes, which he claimed the ladies adored. Of course, he considered himself quite the ladies man and often tried to entice Talon to join him in his wild nights out on the town.

“The computer is programmed to study my actions and to design an opponent it feels can defeat me,” Lt. Cmdr Talon says with a grin, “of course I adapt faster than the computer.” He tossed the towel in a laundry bin in the corner as he turned to exit the gymnasium.

Lt. Myers followed him out and down the hallway, “So only 4 hrs of drills this morning? Someone must be pleased.” He joked knowing that Talon was seldom pleased with anything.

“They managed to get their efficiency on those last two simulations to 99.9%… so it was.. Satisfactory” Talon said not bothering to look at the Lt knowing he would be smirking back at him.

“Well you have been hard on them and don’t you think they feel as bad as you about the beating we took?” Myers asked serious now.

They arrived at the Lt. Cmdr’s quarters/office, “Yes but it is my responsibility to see that such an event is not repeated.” Talons said once they were inside. He turned on the Lt then and stared him down. “Do you think it would be better if they were dead?”

Myers stared back and smirked, “Well some of them feel that way now, but they will get over it I guess.”

Talon growled slightly and turned and headed into the washroom leaving Myers in the office area while he showered quickly. He came out in a fresh uniform with his Phaser in a low holster which wasn’t exactly regulation being cut low and more open than usual. It made it easier and faster for the Lyrans large clawed hands to draw and use the weapon.

“You still here?” He said seeing Myers sitting in the chair waiting on him.

“Where else would I go?”

“Someplace where you are not bothering me, Lt.” Talon growled as he sat at his desk and pulls up the display.

Myers rose and shrugged, “Well come eat with me, I havent had lunch yet and I promise I wont mention the drills anymore.”

Talon eyed him suspiciously and turning off the display he rose, “Alright, I am hungry, lets go.”

As they left the room headed for the turbo lift, Myers chuckled, “Me too.” After a slight pause he added, “So no more simulations for while then right?”

The Lyran only rumbled slightly.

Stardate:2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Shuttle Loading Dock; Onboard Shuttle 5982374– 1345 hours
Staff Sergeant Taggart was pacing the shuttle while his men twiddled their thumbs. He spoke swiftly, loudly, and aggressively. "Alright boys, don't you f*** this up! I ain't havin' you make a mess of this ship. We're gonna be living together for a really f***ing long time, so I don't want to hear no whinin' out of your mouth or I'll give you a fat lip to distract you." It was obvious that the shuttle had landed in the middle of his speech, but he refused to stop, and his men had gotten used to this by now. They shifted in their seats, but didn't stand until he was finished. In this case, though, he wanted to get on board as well, so he made an effort to keep his speech brief. "Keep your bunks clean and be on time for PT and we shan't have any problems. F*** up and I'll shove you in an air lock." He turned his head as the shuttle door had completely opened to the deck. He saw quite a few people working outside...or inside...or whatever this qualified as.

"Alright boys, lets find out where we get to sleep on this s***hole." He stepped out of the shuttled and onto the metallic ground, his men grabbing their bags and following behind him. He was vaguely aware of a cold drip coming from his forehead, but he shook it off and tried to focus on the task at hand. He was still getting used to his promotion, and the sweat was becoming a regular experience. His men filed in behind him when he paused on the deck to look for the nearest Officer to report to. He felt rather fortunate that there was an Operations Lieutenant nearby allowing him to avoid walking all over the ship in search of an officer. His duffle bag swung from his shoulder as he approached the Ops. He gave a customary salute and spoke loudly. "Fireteam Alpha reporting, sir."

::you said you wanted to npc, response?::

"We're always early sir, which can turn out rather unfortunate in a battle." His men chuckled behind him.

::response? if you haven't told us where the barracks are-::

"Thank you sir, now where do we unpack?"

::once you have established that::

"Your help is appreciated. How can I find out when our MACO is on board?" The sweat was starting to bead again.

::response?::

"One final thing, where's the nearest alcohol. I need a drink." After the Operations Lieutenant's response, he gave another salute and turned back to his men. "Alright boys, get your s*** unpacked. Inspection is in 2 hours." and he followed them to the barracks to unpack himself. The men were smiling a good bit more during the trip and James knew why. Two hours was a long time to unpack. He figured he'd be a bit generous since the ship was still docked and there was little to do until the MACO arrived on board. He found his quarters and didn't even bother looking at the state of the room. It was a bunk, just like all the others he'd had in his life. They were all the same. He dropped his duffle bag onto the trunk and his pack onto the bed and sat down, wiping the sweat off his forehead. He left his things packed for the moment, stood up and walked into the main barracks, scanning his men.

Most were feverishly unpacking and looking around excitedly, but a few had pictures out and were sitting on thier bunks staring at them. Others were calling parents or writing girlfriends, but James was just standing there. After a moment, he realized he was staring, mostly because the room had gotten quieter and the PFC he was staring at had a terrified look in his eyes. He turned and walked out of the barracks heading for the lounge mentioned previously. He had decided he'd have one drink to loosen up and then head back to get packed. He was quite used to being the only one in the bar from time to time, but perhaps he'd run into someone there. He could use a good conversation.

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Transporter Room 2 – 1010 hours
“Thank you, Captain MacTavish, I see we see eye to eye,” the Centurion had said as Mac strode for the hatch.
Er so et would appear, MacTavish noted without slowing his pace or even looking back at her, bu’ yer lot’s a’ways been keen on appearances no’ marryin’ up ta wha’s truth, ‘aven’t they.
“Since my techs have gone with the cloaking devices,” Sienae continued, as the doors whisked away into the bulkheads, “their duffles need to be delivered to Deck 5 and their designated quarters. I do not think you want them wandering about the ship trying to find their way back here.”

“Et’s no’ a big ship, Centurion, nor is et some bloody hotel on Risa,” he rumbled in reply, slowly turning to regard Sienae, “I’m sure yer lads’re more’n capable o’ shootlin’ their own gear ta their bunks an’, should they wander aboot where they’re no’ s’posed ta be, LtCdr Rrowl an’ Lt Valberg’s crew’ll be keen ta set ‘em back on course.”

His gaze panned toward the looming kzinti; “Would tha’ be a proper assumption, Mester Rrowl?”

((assuming an affirmative of some sort))

“Aye,” Mac nodded, “I’d figgered’s much.”

Mac’s gaze drifted back to the Romulan woman and her fireplug of a second. He had purposely ignored her interjections through the course of his ‘welcome speech’ but they had not gone unheard. The point-ears would need intra-ship communications with the Cerberus and her crew… his fingers lifted to tap his combadge; “MacTavish ta Ops.”

=/\\=Operations; Ensign Wade, here. What can I do for you, Captain,=/\\= came the reply.

“I’ve go’ six Romulans abaird tha’ need communications, Wade,” Mac answered, “Make et ‘appen.”

=/\\=Aye, sir. Let me coordinate with engineering and I’ll get them localized and sync their com units, right away. Give me fifteen minutes.=/\\=

“Acknowledged,” Mac said, closing the channel. “There ye ‘ave et, Centurion. Ye’ll ‘ave yer communications en fifteen.

Mester Rrowl,” he said, turning now, and continuing out of the transporter room, “When ye’ve finished wi’ wha’ ye need ta do, I’ll see ye in me ready room.” The Kzinti likely felt ambushed by the arrival of the Romulans and, for his part, Mac felt as if the big rug needed an explanation, if not an apology, for not having been notified sooner.

((leaving the “when’s and where’s” of Rrowl’s meeting with Mac up to Olan… Mac’s now gone from TR 2... forthcoming posts to catch up Sitok, P'Tammah, and the gyrines... possibly one from Charon's CEO, as well. ))

Stardate: 2371.08.31
USS Cerberus – Deck 4; Shuttlebay (Flight Deck) – 1345 hours
“…lets find out where we get to sleep on this s***hole.”

Lt Duarte looked up from the PADD as the distinctive MACO banter spilled from the now open hatch of the recently landed Type 9B shuttle and watched as a SSgt and another dozen or so Marines pounded onto the deck of the shuttlebay. “Heh,” he grinned as the riflesquad fell into formation and the dark-haired Staff Sergeant stomped his way, “Looks like the Marines have landed.”

“Fireteam Alpha reporting, sir,” the SSgt barked, snapping a salute as he came to attention just a few feet shy of Duarte.

“At ease, Staff Sergeant,” the Ops Lt nodded, his eyes skimming the PADD and locating the file on Cerberus’ MACO attachment… Here we go… Platoon 3626-178 Delta; Alpha Squad; that’d make you… “Taggart. We weren’t expecting you so soon.”

“We're always early, sir,” Taggart snapped back, “which can turn out rather unfortunate in a battle.” Taggart’s men chuckled behind him and a wry smile curled the corners of Duarte’s mouth, too.

“From what I hear about Captain MacTavish,” he grinned, “he’ll be glad to know that. Welcome aboard the Cerberus, Marine.”

“Thank you, sir,” Taggart said, “now, where do we unpack?”

Lt Duarte pointed in the direction a forward corner of the shuttlebay. There was a cargo-lift there that, up until yesterday, had lowered into Cargo Bay 2. As of 1115 today, though, Cargo Bay 2 had been reconfigured to serve as the barracks and muster/mess hall for the MACO platoon. “There’s a barracks for your platoon on Deck 5,” he said, indicating the lift, “that Cargo Drop’ll take you right to it.”

“Your help is appreciated,” Taggart nodded faintly and, Duarte couldn’t help but notice that the man seemed to be sweating despite the shuttlebay’s regulated temperature, “How can I find out when our MACO is on board?”

The Ops Lieutenant looked glanced at the PADD, once more. “As I said, Staff Sergeant,” he offered, “I don’t think that Ops was really expecting you guys until tomorrow morning – at least that was the schedule I was given – so, I’m guessing that, at the latest, Captain Caide will be arriving at 0900 tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll know where to find you when he boards.”

((assuming Taggart’s okay with that answer))
Duarte made a note to tack a notification on to the Platoon CO’s welcome file, making a note of the time of Alpha Squad’s arrival and the disposition of the facilities. “Anything else I can do for you, Marine?”

“One final thing,” came the reply, “where's the nearest alcohol? I need a drink.”

Of course you do, Duarte grinned, belying the inward chuckle, If you jarheads aren’t shooting phasers, you’re shooting tequila. Well earned liberty, these days, I’m sure. “You’ll find the Lounge on deck 5, as well, Staff Sergeant Taggart,” he smiled, “not too far from the barracks, in fact. I don’t have anyone staffing it, just yet, but I’ll see to it that the replicators are online for you and your boys.”

Lt Duarte returned the salute rendered by SSgt Taggart and, as the Marine turned back to his squad, Duarte returned to his inspection of the shuttlebay’s loadout.

((Aaaand there you have it… the first third of our Marine contingent is aboard and, it appears, their Squad Leader is headed for the NCO Club… guess that means the Lounge is officially open. ))

Stardate: 2371.08.31
USS Cerberus – Deck 1, Captain’s Ready Room – 1856 hours
“I would suggest giving our distinguished guests an armed escort while they are aboard this ship,” Sitok had proffered upon being informed of the Romulan presence aboard the ship.

Mac picked up on the well-masked condescension in Sitok's voice, offered the Vulcan a faint smile and a slow nod of the head; “No need ta suggest et, Sitok. Et’s a’ready been done. The Roms’re cleared fer access ta wha’ they’ll need an’ wha’ protocol says they’re entitled ta bu’ we’ll be keepin’ ‘em buttoned doon, fairly tight.”

((P’Tammah’s entry, etc, goes here))

“A pleasure to meet and serve with you I'm sure.” Sitok said to Vaela, offering a subtle inclination of his head as Mac reintroduced the CFCO.

“Charmed,” was the simple reply from P’Tammah before the fair-skinned Andorian took her seat…

Aenar, something in Mac’s mind corrected before he continued on, laying out what he expected of the Flight Control department to the silver-haired woman.

((Mac’s “spiel” to P’Tammah starts here))


“Sir,” Sitok interjected, likely hoping that doing so now would be better than waiting for MacTavish to finish with the helmswoman, “I have much work to catch up on if I'm to be ready for the crew's arrival at 900 tomorrow. With your permission, I would like to have that meeting with the senior officers and the Romulan contingent at 1000 hours tomorrow.”

“Aye, Sitok,” Mac nodded, his gaze shifting from Andorian (Aenar) to Vulcan once again, “I’m sure ye do. I’ll let ye at et, then. Go ‘head an’ schedule tha’ meetin’ wi’ th’ senior staff an’ th’ Romulans an’ send th’ details oot ta those consairned when ye’ve finished.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sitok offerend a slight but respectful bow, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Aye,” Mac replied, watching his XO file out of the ready room, “G’night, Commander. Good tae ‘ave ye abaird, lad.”

((backposts if Sitok has anything else… otherwise, feel free to coordinate that meeting Jenth))

Mac’s steel-hued eyes ticked back to Vaela before the door to the ready room had whispered closed in the XO’s wake… Ye were askin’ aboot her experience wi’ cloaks… “Right, then” he nodded marginally, “back tae it… ‘ave ye any experience wi’ mannin’ th’ ‘elm of a cloaked ship?”

“Cloaked, sir?” Vaela’s antennae twitched a bit just before she answered, “No, I only have experience with flying cloaked ships in simulators. But Captain, as far as I’m aware the only cloaked vessels are the Defiant and Sao Paolo.”

“Of course,” she added after a moment’s thought and with a broad grin, “if you’re suggesting that the Cerberus now has a functional cloak, then I think I’d enjoy flying her even more than usual.”

Mac returned her enthusiastic smile with an almost wolfish grin of his own. “Tha’s exactly wha’ I’m suggestin’, lass. A’least th’ theng should be functional ere we cut the umbilicals an’ leave th’ dock b’hind us. Be sure tha’ yer crew’s aware o’ th’ fact an’ tha’ they all spend some time inna simulators picking through th’ fine points, aye?”

MacTavish hadn’t expected a response to that question… in his mind it was a rhetorical one, anyway, and, given P’Tammah’s record, he was sure she was already adjusting whatever plans she had prepared for her department to include those simulation routines… nor did he wait for her to reply. Instead, the Cerberus’ CO continued on with his spiel. When he ended with; “I’ll no’ ‘ave anyone snoozin’ a’ th’ CONN an’ gettin’ us, ever’one, rendered ta dust fer a nanosecond’s ‘esitation…” P’Tammah didn’t hesitate.

“Have no fear, Sir. Whoever is manning the helm with me will do you proud, and if they are ever caught ‘snoozin’ they’ll have me to deal with,” Vaela replied with a playful wink.

“Now Captain, what I need from you are my access codes…”

“O’ course,” he chuckled, one hand drifting to a panel inset in his desk and shunting the required codes to the PADD she had deposited in front of him a short time ago. P’Tammah’s exhuberance and her slightly playful demeanor reminded him somewhat of a certain Ensign Llafet he had once served with aboard the Discovery and, as Llafet was called to mind, Mac couldn’t help but think that, with P’Tammah at the helm, this cruise would likely be all the more interesting. “There ye are, Lieutenant,” he said, sliding the PADD back across the desk, “All yer codes an’ protocols’re loaded an’ I’ve dumped th’ specs fer th’ cloak fer ye, as well. Ye’ll be wantin’ ta familiarize yerself wi’ tha’, I’m sure.”

((anything here… if nothing other than, ‘thank you, I guess I should get to work’…))

“Yer office, ye’ve prob’ly discovered by now, is on Deck 4,” Jack nodded after Vaela retrieved the PADD and made to take her leave, “an’ ye’ve likely been assigned quarters on Deck 3. If ye’ve go’ any consairns, lass, dinnae ‘esitate ta bring ‘em ta me er Commander Sitok.” He rose from his seat, finally, and extended a hand to the blue-skinned woman; “If there’s nothin’ else fer ye, then, lass,” he said, “I’ll bid ye a good evenin’ an’ll see ya a’ t’morra’s staff meetin’ if no’ sooner.”

((OOC: After P’Tammah leaves, Mac will be ‘alone’ in his RR, again, and, given the hour, likely thinking about dinner and ‘taking a bit of a break’… ))

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Transporter Room 2 – 1010 hours
Adrenaline drove Rrowl to the transporter room where, to their credit, he found a small detachment of armed security personnel, led by a tall, blonde male lieutenant. Try as he might, the kzinti felt the battle rage flowing through his veins in a way that it had not done for some time. Allies or not, Romulans had been – and as far as he could tell, always would be – enemies of his people. His instincts cried to him to charge into the transporter room and cut down the filth as they materialized, and it took every fiber of his discipline not to act on them.

Instead, he managed to keep his voice to a feral growl, rather than the roar of hate he so longed to loose. “Have your team cover them well, Lieutenant Valberg. If the Romulans hint at treachery, I expect them to be reduced to ash on the spot.”

OOC: no response needed, but make one if you wish

The contingent materialized, and unsurprisingly, the Romulans acted every bit the condescending, arrogant slime that Rrowl expected. The pointed comment about an honor guard caused the kzinti’s already heated blood to boil, and he entertained notions of ripping out her throat, of bathing in her blood. The little man to her side attempted to intimidate him - here, on his own vessel! - and had they been on a kzinti ship, Rrowl would have immediately thrown down a challenge. However, this was a federation vessel, and for whatever reason, the powers that be had decided that the Cerberus somehow needed these hateful bastards, and so, he simply seethed in his own hatred. Fortunately, Captain MacTavish interceded, handling introductions diplomatically, while managing to not allow any loss of face. Had Rrowl been in a more agreeable mood, he’d have found extreme humor in the very though of MacTavish serving as the voice of cool in any situation.

Rrowl allowed his temper to settle a bit as the Captain finished verbal sparring with the Romulan, though when addressed by the Captain, he was quick to answer.

“Et’s no’ a big ship, Centurion, nor is et some bloody hotel on Risa,” MacTavish rumbled in reply, slowly turning to regard Sienae, “I’m sure yer lads’re more’n capable o’ shootlin’ their own gear ta their bunks an’, should they wander aboot where they’re no’ s’posed ta be, Lieutenant Commander Rrowl an’ Lieutenant Valberg’s crew’ll be keen ta set ‘em back on course.”

His gaze panned toward the looming kzinti; “Would tha’ be a proper assumption, Mester Rrowl?”

Cerberus’ TAC allowed his teeth to be bared in a frightening parody of a smile. “That would be correct, captain. We will be happy to ensure that the centurion’s crew do not become lost.”

The captain secured communications for the Romulans before turning back to Rrowl.

Mester Rrowl,” he said, turning now, and continuing out of the transporter room, “When ye’ve finished wi’ wha’ ye need ta do, I’ll see ye in me ready room.”

“Aye, sir,” Rrowl replied as the anger slowly simmered away to be replaced by watchfulness. “I will finish with Lieutenant Valberg, then join you immediately.”

Before long, the room was empty. “Walk with me please, lieutenant,” he addressed the new security chief.

OOC: assuming he does…

“Mister Valberg,” Rrowl began, “As you may have noticed, I do not trust Romulans. I detest them. I would rather remove my tail than serve alongside them.”

He paused for a moment. “But I have no choice. That does not mean I will blindly allow them to roam this ship. I want security watches at critical systems – engineering, life support, shields, weapons, the bridge – doubled at all times. It would seem that the Romulans will be required access to engineering for their cargo, but under no other circumstances are they to be granted access to any critical systems. If they make an attempt to do so, detain them immediately; kill them if necessary.”

OOC: any interjects, responses

The orders continued. “Get with operations, and configure a security terminal to keep tabs on each member of the contingent at all times through their commbadges. I want to know where they are at all hours of the day and night. If one makes his dirt, I want to know it. Do you understand me?”

OOC: any answer

“Very well,” Rrowl snarled. “Welcome aboard the Cerberus, lieutenant.”

With that, Rrowl left Valberg to his duty – he was more than interested to see what the captain had in mind.

Stardate: 2374.08.31
Starbase 10 - Teleporter 4 - 1200 Hours

Your transport is ready sir” the operator replied for the second time. Lieutenant Solus was deep in conversation with a civilian teen explaining the intricacies of the teleporter to her. The young traveler seemed to become even less at ease with the idea of Teleportation as the Lieutenant explained the effects of de-molecularization on the human body. Hearing the transporter technician for the first time he turned with a smile. “Excellent. I wouldn’t be taking this infernal contraption if I wasn’t running late as it is. I always prefer the shuttlecraft. A breathtaking view of the starts beats disintegration any day in my book”. He smiled once more at the troubled teen who looked at the pad as the Lieutenant stepped on. “Whenever you are read-” and the teleportation began before he even finished his sentence.
Royelle Lafayette Solus III, a Starfleet Lieutenant was excited about his new post aboard the Cerberus. He had studied hard at the Academy and even harder after, thoroughly enjoying his recent job which gave him much time in Astrometrics. He was obsessed with learning all there was to know about space. Even as a child he had looked up into the vast wilderness of stars and wondered. All the new discoveries, all the different species, the technology, the purpose he could find up there. Now in his 30s, he had finally landed a post as Chief Science Officer and took this job with an eagerness that would be found in ensign on his first assignment. He was this way with all new opportunity.

Cerberus – Teleporter Room 2

The molecules found their way back to their original sequence and in an instance Lt. Solus stood on board the Cerberus with a smile. “Welcome to the Cerberus” a rough voice echoed through the chamber. Standing before Lt. Solus with a salute and a smile was his second, Lt. Jordan Lassiter. Lt. Lassiter arrived much earlier and was already acclimated to the Cerebrus. “ I’m glad you could finally make it aboard sir.” Your things await you in your quarters. The captain would like to meet you as soon as possible.”
“I am anxious to meet the Captain as well. And good to see you have adjusted yourself so well. We will catch up later this evening. Perhaps a drink at the bar.” Lt. Lassiter nodded and saluted once more as Lt. Solus strode out of Teleporter Room 2 eager to meet his new Captain.