12-30-2025, 04:16 PM
The fire suppression system was trying its hardest to pull smoke from the bridge with limited success, though Tyra could see little wisps swirling near helms as it was sucked away. The Klingon ship now hung lifelessly on the view screen, its shields gone, cloak demolished and engines shot out. Life support was still functioning and at this point, the redhead was just content to let them hang there for the time being.
If they'd been smarter, they'd have used their little cloak trick to vacate the area but they'd decided to flank Artemis instead. They'd gotten in a good surprise shot but had paid for it dearly when Artemis had dropped the hammer on their heads.
"Please tell me you're not considering boarding another vessel. Look where the last one led us," Givens pointed out from where she was now perched in the FO's chair, which had been vacated when it's previous occupant had knocked himself out on the nearby railing.
Tyra scoffed ever so slightly before shrugging. "They made their bed..."
However, her next order to helms was to begin moving Artemis back towards the away teams while keeping their disabled friend within view.
"Don't tempt me with a good time," Tyra murmured to Givens before leaning back. There was a restless energy as her fingers tapped on the armrest with a mismatched rhythm.
[Calleja to Crawford. We’ve got some answers. I’m cuttin’ a long story short but there’s definitely no Dominion activity here. This place was abandoned after the war. Klingons only got here a few months ago. Garrison are dead but we have got survivors, and they’re in a real bad way. Mayfair says it’s terminal, like they’re missin’ somethin’ they need to survive. There’s nothin’ we can do to save them. Our choices are either leave equipment and some medication to make what’s left of their lives as comfortable as we can, or offer them mercy. You can guess which was Robin’s suggestion and which was mine.]
There was a pause.
[Do you have orders for us, or should we see what the survivors want to do and go ahead on that basis? I’ve not put either option to them yet. Mayfair’s doin’ the exercise now on what we’d have to drop for the palliative option.]
"So much for that good time," Givens commented quietly as she began busying herself with her console, no doubt wanting nothing to do with this moral hot potato.
Tyra sat there in silence for a moment, quietly processing the information. Based on the totality of the circumstances, she assumed the "survivors" were clones of some kind, likely related to the DNA matter found on the first vessel located. She wondered if the presence of all that DNA was a clue to the gruesome fall out of their ****** up genetics; she supposed she could ask what Mayfair meant by terminal as there was a difference between a slow, peaceful system shut down and a horrific meltdown but it didn't sound like Calleja had the time or patience for 20 questions.
Her gut instinct was in line with Calleja's after years on a ranch where such hard decisions were made regularly but there was a distinct difference. The ideal of mercy when it came to animals lay squarely on the rancher's shoulders as their guardian and the person entrusted with making decisions for the good of the herd and animal but they were talking about people likely capable of making their own decisions. How would she feel in a similar position if someone came in and decided they knew better for her people than she did?
If they weren't capable of making that decision though, this was one for her shoulders, not her people.
"Nothing's simple with us, huh?" There was a wry and in no way amused chuckle attached to the end of the question.
"If they have some sort of leadership and are capable of making the decision, lay it out for them. I'm not going to play God over people capable of making their own decisions. If they're not, I need to know how long they've got and how messy the end would be."
If they'd been smarter, they'd have used their little cloak trick to vacate the area but they'd decided to flank Artemis instead. They'd gotten in a good surprise shot but had paid for it dearly when Artemis had dropped the hammer on their heads.
"Please tell me you're not considering boarding another vessel. Look where the last one led us," Givens pointed out from where she was now perched in the FO's chair, which had been vacated when it's previous occupant had knocked himself out on the nearby railing.
Tyra scoffed ever so slightly before shrugging. "They made their bed..."
However, her next order to helms was to begin moving Artemis back towards the away teams while keeping their disabled friend within view.
"Don't tempt me with a good time," Tyra murmured to Givens before leaning back. There was a restless energy as her fingers tapped on the armrest with a mismatched rhythm.
[Calleja to Crawford. We’ve got some answers. I’m cuttin’ a long story short but there’s definitely no Dominion activity here. This place was abandoned after the war. Klingons only got here a few months ago. Garrison are dead but we have got survivors, and they’re in a real bad way. Mayfair says it’s terminal, like they’re missin’ somethin’ they need to survive. There’s nothin’ we can do to save them. Our choices are either leave equipment and some medication to make what’s left of their lives as comfortable as we can, or offer them mercy. You can guess which was Robin’s suggestion and which was mine.]
There was a pause.
[Do you have orders for us, or should we see what the survivors want to do and go ahead on that basis? I’ve not put either option to them yet. Mayfair’s doin’ the exercise now on what we’d have to drop for the palliative option.]
"So much for that good time," Givens commented quietly as she began busying herself with her console, no doubt wanting nothing to do with this moral hot potato.
Tyra sat there in silence for a moment, quietly processing the information. Based on the totality of the circumstances, she assumed the "survivors" were clones of some kind, likely related to the DNA matter found on the first vessel located. She wondered if the presence of all that DNA was a clue to the gruesome fall out of their ****** up genetics; she supposed she could ask what Mayfair meant by terminal as there was a difference between a slow, peaceful system shut down and a horrific meltdown but it didn't sound like Calleja had the time or patience for 20 questions.
Her gut instinct was in line with Calleja's after years on a ranch where such hard decisions were made regularly but there was a distinct difference. The ideal of mercy when it came to animals lay squarely on the rancher's shoulders as their guardian and the person entrusted with making decisions for the good of the herd and animal but they were talking about people likely capable of making their own decisions. How would she feel in a similar position if someone came in and decided they knew better for her people than she did?
If they weren't capable of making that decision though, this was one for her shoulders, not her people.
"Nothing's simple with us, huh?" There was a wry and in no way amused chuckle attached to the end of the question.
"If they have some sort of leadership and are capable of making the decision, lay it out for them. I'm not going to play God over people capable of making their own decisions. If they're not, I need to know how long they've got and how messy the end would be."