07-28-2025, 09:07 AM
==NRC's Radley, Bandit & Stripe==
==Sorry it's really long, playing a bit of catch up with it too.==
Radley stood with arms folded loosely across his chest, posture deceptively casual, as Jensen gave his orders. He listened closely, didn’t interrupt. There was no need, Jensen’s tone made it clear the man wasn’t expecting a technical response, just results.
At the mention of using whatever protective gear they had or could replicate, Radley gave a curt nod. “Understood, sir. We’ll avoid the glamour of Sickbay for now.”
Jensen's tone and smile admitted to some mechanical cluelessness as he mentioned the destroyed pump. Radley turned and his eyes lingered on the scorched floor panels, the shattered conduits, the bite of melted duranium where the explosion had blossomed. He didn’t say anything right away.
Then came the real question, a murmur, a thought spoken aloud:
"If it was sabotage… that means it was done by an expert. Someone who knew exactly what they were doing, from what I’m hearing. Because if I’m understanding you right, damage this specific is almost impossible without knowing precisely how?"
Radley turned his head slightly, exchanging a look with Bandit and then Stripe.
There it was. The XO might not be an engineer, but he was reading the room and trusting his people to read the wreckage.
Radley exhaled through his nose and offered a dry, low murmur in return.
“Well, I didn’t do it, if that narrows your list down any.”
Bandit snorted once. “We were at poker night.” he added very quickly.
“Which proves nothing,” Stripe said dryly, rolling his eyes vocally without actually looking up from his scanner.
Radley allowed himself the faintest hint of a grin.
He watched then as Jensen pulled out his PADD and started typing. Quick, focused, and private. Radley didn’t know what was being written, but he could guess. Security would be getting looped in and fast if the word sabotage was being tossed about.
Radley sobered, letting the humour slip back into caution before his gaze drifted from Jensen to the Engineer, who stood just outside the wreckage looking both dazed and vaguely starstruck in the First Officer’s presence. Radley didn’t blame him. He’d probably looked the same once or twice in his life too, though hopefully with less open-mouthed gawping. The thought made him chuckle quietly to himself.
Trying to inject some levity, Bandit leaned half out through the crumpled accessway, only to realise there was nothing more interesting on the other side than the same smoke-slick corridor. Undeterred, he called out to the lingering officer.
“Sorry bud, I don’t really know your name. You joining us, or just standing there looking pretty? More hands, less work, and all that.”
Radley rolled his eyes. The joke dropped like a brick. He shook his head but stepped back from the blasted entryway anyway, giving the Engineer room. ‘Ian Elliot’ was the man's name he reminded himself as he watched as he finished fitting his respirator and climbed in without complaint. He paused to take in the devastation before tapping his badge.
“Elliot to Engineering,” came the slightly bleated call. “Can we get some… exhaust fans over here? Or at least a couple floor fans or tower fans? And a couple of oxygen concentrators? And if someone could bring up a TR-580 tricorder, that’d be really helpful. I just grabbed a standard.”
Stripe, without looking up from his scan, chimed in with the driest of tones. “Oh. And maybe a few support beams too, if anyone’s feeling generous. Just in case.”
Radley huffed out a breath, the closest thing to a laugh he could risk with his mask returned snugly over his own face. At least Elliot wasn’t afraid to get stuck in.
He took a step forward, mentally cataloguing what they’d covered and what they still needed. Without the proper tools, they couldn’t do much with the exploded pump yet, but they could still build a picture. Elliot was green, sure, but extra eyes and a second opinion never hurt.
“What do you think, Mister Elliot?” Radley asked, voice calm but deliberate. His emphasis on the name was pointed but for Bandit’s benefit. The other triplet gave a short grunt, clearly recognising the jab for what it was.
“Sabotage? Accident? Or something else we’re not seeing?” Radley continued, tone levelling out as he crouched beside the mangled assembly again.
Behind him, Bandit quietly muttered, “I still vote for sabotage by someone with a vendetta against neat plumbing.”
Radley didn’t turn, he just waved a hand to shush them as he waited for Elliot’s take.
Without warning, in the brief pause while waiting for Ian's response, there was a low shudder. The kind that spoke more to strained inertia than a clean course correction and then a full-bodied rattle that hummed up Radley’s boots and set his teeth on edge.
For the briefest moment, everything pulsed white. Like a camera flash without a source.
He blinked. And something was wrong.
No smoke. No scorched metal. No cracked paneling or carbon scoring. Just… corridor. Clean. Pristine. Too pristine.
“...what the hell,” Radley muttered, instinctively checking the wall beside him.
Gone were the jagged cuts in the hull. Gone were the burns and soot. Even the heat was different.
“Bandit! Stripe! Elliot!” Radley screamed. Calling each in turn hoping their replies would come quickly so he knew if they were still alive and present. A mental pause and inward curse before he shouted again. “Commander Jensen!”
Aside from his surroundings, something else was wrong and its yet another moment before the penny dropped. His voice. It too had changed. Then he caught sight of his hands.
Not his gloves. His hands. Pale blue skin. Webbed fingers and a phaser in hand but his attention was torn elsewhere as the air caught in his throat. He could see the very edges of a rebreather collar around his neck and past that, he saw his now narrow torso and strange uniform. Taking stock of his features, the only conclusion was that he was now, somehow, a Benzite.
His head snapped to the others.
Bandit was squinting at his own reflection in a now-gleaming panel trying to adjust the angle so he could see past the ridges and folds of a Denobulan face. “...Did I get handsomer or is this someone else’s chin?”
Stripe had already moved back toward the corridor, one hand, that had previously held a tricorder, was now on the curved hilt of a 2370s-issue Type-2 phaser. His now smooth, olive-toned features looked carved in place, which was unnervingly calm for a Deltan. “We're not just somewhere else. We're when else.”
The bodies and faces were unknown to him, but the comments, one filled with dead pan humour and the other overly critical analysis, were unmistakably his would be brothers.
Before Radley could respond or look to find Elliot’s condition, the unmistakable whine of a transporter filled the corridor.
He turned, saw the shimmer of particles mid-materialisation, and then came the shriek of a phased polaron burst, cutting through the silence like a vibroblade through sheet metal.
Jem’Hadar. No training sim came close to the reality of that sound but every officer knew it regardless from their own Academy days.
The grip on the phaser that magically appeared in his webbed hand felt wrong, unfamiliar, but solid. He looked at the others and not hearing orders yet from the first officer, he used his rank as he was taught and began giving orders until such a time as a more senior officer took over.
“Positions!” he barked, not waiting for full comprehension. “Cover that corridor! Get eyes, cover, and no one gets taken!”
Bandit ducked behind a crate, one that hadn’t been there before, while Stripe dropped low and rolled beside the far wall, scanning for field nodes or structural lines they could funnel attackers toward.
Radley crouched, eyes narrowed down the hall. The sounds were getting closer. Heavy boots. More than one pair.
He glanced toward Elliot or rather, the broad-shouldered Orion who’d been Elliot just seconds ago.
“You still you in there, kid?” he asked, not unkindly. “Because unless that scanner’s started doing time travel too, I think we’ve got bigger problems than sabotage.”
His voice was calm. But his phaser hand was steady. Safety off. Waiting.
==Tag Jensen, Elliot & Ellis==
== GM Input - How many Jem’Hadar are approaching and how long until they reach us?
==Sorry it's really long, playing a bit of catch up with it too.==
Radley stood with arms folded loosely across his chest, posture deceptively casual, as Jensen gave his orders. He listened closely, didn’t interrupt. There was no need, Jensen’s tone made it clear the man wasn’t expecting a technical response, just results.
At the mention of using whatever protective gear they had or could replicate, Radley gave a curt nod. “Understood, sir. We’ll avoid the glamour of Sickbay for now.”
Jensen's tone and smile admitted to some mechanical cluelessness as he mentioned the destroyed pump. Radley turned and his eyes lingered on the scorched floor panels, the shattered conduits, the bite of melted duranium where the explosion had blossomed. He didn’t say anything right away.
Then came the real question, a murmur, a thought spoken aloud:
"If it was sabotage… that means it was done by an expert. Someone who knew exactly what they were doing, from what I’m hearing. Because if I’m understanding you right, damage this specific is almost impossible without knowing precisely how?"
Radley turned his head slightly, exchanging a look with Bandit and then Stripe.
There it was. The XO might not be an engineer, but he was reading the room and trusting his people to read the wreckage.
Radley exhaled through his nose and offered a dry, low murmur in return.
“Well, I didn’t do it, if that narrows your list down any.”
Bandit snorted once. “We were at poker night.” he added very quickly.
“Which proves nothing,” Stripe said dryly, rolling his eyes vocally without actually looking up from his scanner.
Radley allowed himself the faintest hint of a grin.
He watched then as Jensen pulled out his PADD and started typing. Quick, focused, and private. Radley didn’t know what was being written, but he could guess. Security would be getting looped in and fast if the word sabotage was being tossed about.
Radley sobered, letting the humour slip back into caution before his gaze drifted from Jensen to the Engineer, who stood just outside the wreckage looking both dazed and vaguely starstruck in the First Officer’s presence. Radley didn’t blame him. He’d probably looked the same once or twice in his life too, though hopefully with less open-mouthed gawping. The thought made him chuckle quietly to himself.
Trying to inject some levity, Bandit leaned half out through the crumpled accessway, only to realise there was nothing more interesting on the other side than the same smoke-slick corridor. Undeterred, he called out to the lingering officer.
“Sorry bud, I don’t really know your name. You joining us, or just standing there looking pretty? More hands, less work, and all that.”
Radley rolled his eyes. The joke dropped like a brick. He shook his head but stepped back from the blasted entryway anyway, giving the Engineer room. ‘Ian Elliot’ was the man's name he reminded himself as he watched as he finished fitting his respirator and climbed in without complaint. He paused to take in the devastation before tapping his badge.
“Elliot to Engineering,” came the slightly bleated call. “Can we get some… exhaust fans over here? Or at least a couple floor fans or tower fans? And a couple of oxygen concentrators? And if someone could bring up a TR-580 tricorder, that’d be really helpful. I just grabbed a standard.”
Stripe, without looking up from his scan, chimed in with the driest of tones. “Oh. And maybe a few support beams too, if anyone’s feeling generous. Just in case.”
Radley huffed out a breath, the closest thing to a laugh he could risk with his mask returned snugly over his own face. At least Elliot wasn’t afraid to get stuck in.
He took a step forward, mentally cataloguing what they’d covered and what they still needed. Without the proper tools, they couldn’t do much with the exploded pump yet, but they could still build a picture. Elliot was green, sure, but extra eyes and a second opinion never hurt.
“What do you think, Mister Elliot?” Radley asked, voice calm but deliberate. His emphasis on the name was pointed but for Bandit’s benefit. The other triplet gave a short grunt, clearly recognising the jab for what it was.
“Sabotage? Accident? Or something else we’re not seeing?” Radley continued, tone levelling out as he crouched beside the mangled assembly again.
Behind him, Bandit quietly muttered, “I still vote for sabotage by someone with a vendetta against neat plumbing.”
Radley didn’t turn, he just waved a hand to shush them as he waited for Elliot’s take.
Without warning, in the brief pause while waiting for Ian's response, there was a low shudder. The kind that spoke more to strained inertia than a clean course correction and then a full-bodied rattle that hummed up Radley’s boots and set his teeth on edge.
For the briefest moment, everything pulsed white. Like a camera flash without a source.
He blinked. And something was wrong.
No smoke. No scorched metal. No cracked paneling or carbon scoring. Just… corridor. Clean. Pristine. Too pristine.
“...what the hell,” Radley muttered, instinctively checking the wall beside him.
Gone were the jagged cuts in the hull. Gone were the burns and soot. Even the heat was different.
“Bandit! Stripe! Elliot!” Radley screamed. Calling each in turn hoping their replies would come quickly so he knew if they were still alive and present. A mental pause and inward curse before he shouted again. “Commander Jensen!”
Aside from his surroundings, something else was wrong and its yet another moment before the penny dropped. His voice. It too had changed. Then he caught sight of his hands.
Not his gloves. His hands. Pale blue skin. Webbed fingers and a phaser in hand but his attention was torn elsewhere as the air caught in his throat. He could see the very edges of a rebreather collar around his neck and past that, he saw his now narrow torso and strange uniform. Taking stock of his features, the only conclusion was that he was now, somehow, a Benzite.
His head snapped to the others.
Bandit was squinting at his own reflection in a now-gleaming panel trying to adjust the angle so he could see past the ridges and folds of a Denobulan face. “...Did I get handsomer or is this someone else’s chin?”
Stripe had already moved back toward the corridor, one hand, that had previously held a tricorder, was now on the curved hilt of a 2370s-issue Type-2 phaser. His now smooth, olive-toned features looked carved in place, which was unnervingly calm for a Deltan. “We're not just somewhere else. We're when else.”
The bodies and faces were unknown to him, but the comments, one filled with dead pan humour and the other overly critical analysis, were unmistakably his would be brothers.
Before Radley could respond or look to find Elliot’s condition, the unmistakable whine of a transporter filled the corridor.
He turned, saw the shimmer of particles mid-materialisation, and then came the shriek of a phased polaron burst, cutting through the silence like a vibroblade through sheet metal.
Jem’Hadar. No training sim came close to the reality of that sound but every officer knew it regardless from their own Academy days.
The grip on the phaser that magically appeared in his webbed hand felt wrong, unfamiliar, but solid. He looked at the others and not hearing orders yet from the first officer, he used his rank as he was taught and began giving orders until such a time as a more senior officer took over.
“Positions!” he barked, not waiting for full comprehension. “Cover that corridor! Get eyes, cover, and no one gets taken!”
Bandit ducked behind a crate, one that hadn’t been there before, while Stripe dropped low and rolled beside the far wall, scanning for field nodes or structural lines they could funnel attackers toward.
Radley crouched, eyes narrowed down the hall. The sounds were getting closer. Heavy boots. More than one pair.
He glanced toward Elliot or rather, the broad-shouldered Orion who’d been Elliot just seconds ago.
“You still you in there, kid?” he asked, not unkindly. “Because unless that scanner’s started doing time travel too, I think we’ve got bigger problems than sabotage.”
His voice was calm. But his phaser hand was steady. Safety off. Waiting.
==Tag Jensen, Elliot & Ellis==
== GM Input - How many Jem’Hadar are approaching and how long until they reach us?