Lieutenant Jonathan Cumar: Blank Spots
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Jonathan Cumar
Nov 21, 2019, 1:12:17 AM11/21/19
to Veritas IC
(( “The Guts”, S.S. Iberia))
Before anyone else could speak, the distinctive thud of EVA boots on deck plates could be heard from the hallway as more people approached. A few moments later, Lt. Cumar and Lt. Maravosh, hands tied behind their back, were shoved through the door, followed behind by more figures with improvised weapons and EVA suits. Teller immediately began moving towards his crew.
Petras: What happened?
Teller: Are you two alright?
Jon blinked. He was seeing red, but it wasn’t anger. The cut on his forehead from his earlier collision with the deck in the closet seemed to have once again begun bleeding, and it was messing with his vision. He stumbled forward and dropped to his knees, equilibrium going out the airlock. In his present state, with the amount of pain and the lack of cognitive functionality, he could process Teller’s question and manage only a single word in reply.
Cumar: No...
Maravosh: Response
Teller: I want my people released, now!
A final figure crossed into the room, and a pregnant pause filled the room. Jon looked up, attempting to use his good eye to process what was going on. He saw the short, stocky man, and glanced between him and Geoff.
Franz: Response
He managed to croak out a single word, hardly more than a whisper.
Teller: ...Dad?
Petras: ::blinks:: What did you say?
The world around him began to fade. His condition was worsening, and he keeled over on the ground where he was. He couldn’t make out the voices around him, he wasn’t remembering that his hands were bound, and consciousness slipped from his grasp as the pain overwhelmed him. His body hit the ground with a thud as he became 95 kg of dead weight.
(( Flashback -- The Hole, San Francisco. SD 238804.03 ))
The morning had been filled with exams and studying, and right now all he wanted was to relax. His poker game had been cancelled, his homework was sitting half-finished on his desk back at the academy only a few blocks away, but he didn’t want to go back to an empty dorm room while his room mates were off partying on their own. Instead, he met up with his best friend, Leland Bishop and they went to The Hole, a local bar a few blocks away.
Jon and Leland were enjoying a quiet drink inside when a group of rowdy Klingons came into the room. They seemed to be on edge, and taunting whomever struck their fancy. A few taunts were aimed at the pair of cadets, and Jon did his best to ignore them. Except for his friend returning the actions.
Cumar: Leland. Knock it off. You’ll just make them mad. Ignore them and go back to your drink.
Bishop paid him no heed, continuing to taunt the Klingons. In fact, it seemed to intice them. They came over to the table the two boys were seated at, and one of them grabbed Jon by the collar. Leland attempted to intervene, but to no avail. After a minute, one of them brandished a dk'tagh and sliced at JC’s left arm, his strength enough to sever the limb. The young cadet screamed in pain before everything went black.
(( End Flashback ))
(( Flashback -- Starfleet Academy Infirmary, SD 238804.05 ))
Two days since the incident, and Jon finally woke up. He glanced around and didn’t recognize where he was for a moment. oO Sickbay. I am in a sickbay. But whose? Oo It was then he caught sight of a teal collar with lieutenant commander’s pips. He cleared his throat before attempting to speak.
Cumar: oO Starfleet. That’s a relief. Oo Excuse me, commander? Might I have a word?
The teal-collared individual made his way over to the bio-bed, being roughly Jon’s height but in his mid fifties. His hair was greying around the temples, and a slightly dirty blond with calming blue eyes. He offered a soft smile to the cadet as he made his way over.
McAllister: A pleasure to have you back, Mr. Cumar. I’m Dr. Harris McAllister.
Cumar: I wish we could’ve met under better circumstances, doc. Could you fill me in on what happened?
McAllister: You mean why you’re here? What’s the last thing you remember?
Cumar: I was at a bar with my f-- :: He paused. Saying “my friend” seemed wrong for some reason, so he continued without that word. :: ...with Leland. We were drinking, and then… nothing. I got nothing.
McAllister: Well, the blood levels indicate you were pretty hammered. Somehow, Mr. Bishop had enough coherence of mind to contact us once you lost your arm.
The words struck Jonno like a ton of bricks. He was speechless for several moments, and glanced at his left arm. He let that sink in: he’d suffered a severe injury that had cost him a limb after a night of drinking, but he had an arm instead of a stump. Warily, he flexed his mechanical fingers as though not trusting his eyes. Mac watched as the lad did so, silently observing for a few moments before continuing.
McAllister: After you were brought in and we’d stopped the bleeding, you were sedated, your parents were contacted, and your father approved the biosynthetic replacement. He cited your love for flying and stated you would hate to have your wings clipped.
Jon nodded slowly in approval of his father’s foresight, but was still speechless as he clenched and relaxed his hand, as though making sure it worked. He didn’t trust himself to move it higher yet, because he was still somewhat lucid and recovering from the sedatives.
McAllister: Mr. Bishop has been asking about you, but we’ve denied visitation until you regained consciousness. Now that you have, we can discuss physical therapy and whether you wish to see him during your recovery.
Cumar: I’m...I’m not ready to talk to him. Therapy, yes. Leland, no.
McAllister: That can be arranged. I’ll come by to check on you in a few hours, alright?
Cumar: Thanks, doc.
He glanced back at his cybernetic arm as the doctor moved away. It was true, then: he’d suffered a crippling injury, and through the wonders of medical science still had all ten digits. His father was a wise man, who knew how much piloting meant how much to his son. Jon felt a sense of relief at the fact he’d still be able to do what he loved.
(( End Flashback ))
Someone pressed a hypo to Cumar's neck, and he gave a groan as his eyes opened. He didn’t say anything, and took a moment to glance around at where they were. The pain was gone, for the moment. He recognized his surroundings as an airlock, and moments later he recognized Petras. The others who weren’t wearing Starfleet gear, he didn’t recognize.
Cumar: oO I’m alive. Oo
Teller: I'll tell Mac you've got a promising future in medicine, Petras. You with us, Mr. Cumar?
Cumar. That was his name. He was a lieutenant in Starfleet. They were aboard a ship of some sort. That was the captain’s voice: Lt. Commander Geoff Teller.
Cumar: Aye, sir.
Teller: Excellent. Strip your gear and head to the bridge, I need you to get our tactical systems online - we're going to need another high explosive distraction for our friends out there.
Tactical. That was his position. It all started to come back to him. They were somewhere inhospitable with some big blue meanies outside that he’d set up a distraction for earlier. He didn’t remember why he needed to strip his gear, but from what he could tell he was in an EVA suit and his helmet was off. The others who weren’t wearing Starfleet-issue gear were not known to him.
Cumar: Aye, sir. One pyro display coming up.
He stood up and began removing his gear. As he did so, he could feel that his badge was missing. That wasn’t a good sign, but he suspected somehow that he didn’t have time to get a new one. They needed to get out of wherever it was they were, and fast.
Teller: Good man. Alright, as for you folks - Diligent is an experimental ship, so we're missing some of the luxuries like..well...floors and walls. I'm going to take you to a cargo bay where we've got food, cots and medical supplies. Make yourselves as comfortable as possible, I suspect there's going to be a few bumps on the road before we get out of here. You think you can handle that, old man?
Franz: Response
The Diligent. That's where he was. The name of the ship. It all started coming back in a rush of information, though everything from the time they donned the EVA suits to the time he woke up was a blank. Teller squinted, then snorted, then began laughing loudly for what seemed like no good reason.
Teller: That's my line, old man.
Cumar: :: to G. Teller :: See you on the bridge, sir. :: then, to Petras. :: Thank you, by the way.
Maravosh / Teller / Petras: Response
He gave a nod to both, and to the survivors before making his way toward the bridge, with Maravosh falling in step beside him.
(( Bridge, USS Diligent ))
This looked familiar. He recognized it from after his little stint in the closet with that one ensign, whose name he forgot. He took two minutes to pull up the roster of the people aboard the Diligent to refresh his memory before he got to work assessing the situation. Some of the big blue meanies were outside, a ways off, but gradually making their way toward them. He took a breath and keyed in a sequence of commands to pull up the last action from this terminal: his previous pyrotechnic display. After reviewing the number of photon torpedoes used versus the number they had left, he began keying up a sequence similar to his last one but slightly larger.
Maravosh: Response
Before anyone else could speak, the distinctive thud of EVA boots on deck plates could be heard from the hallway as more people approached. A few moments later, Lt. Cumar and Lt. Maravosh, hands tied behind their back, were shoved through the door, followed behind by more figures with improvised weapons and EVA suits. Teller immediately began moving towards his crew.
Petras: What happened?
Teller: Are you two alright?
Jon blinked. He was seeing red, but it wasn’t anger. The cut on his forehead from his earlier collision with the deck in the closet seemed to have once again begun bleeding, and it was messing with his vision. He stumbled forward and dropped to his knees, equilibrium going out the airlock. In his present state, with the amount of pain and the lack of cognitive functionality, he could process Teller’s question and manage only a single word in reply.
Cumar: No...
Maravosh: Response
Teller: I want my people released, now!
A final figure crossed into the room, and a pregnant pause filled the room. Jon looked up, attempting to use his good eye to process what was going on. He saw the short, stocky man, and glanced between him and Geoff.
Franz: Response
He managed to croak out a single word, hardly more than a whisper.
Teller: ...Dad?
Petras: ::blinks:: What did you say?
The world around him began to fade. His condition was worsening, and he keeled over on the ground where he was. He couldn’t make out the voices around him, he wasn’t remembering that his hands were bound, and consciousness slipped from his grasp as the pain overwhelmed him. His body hit the ground with a thud as he became 95 kg of dead weight.
(( Flashback -- The Hole, San Francisco. SD 238804.03 ))
The morning had been filled with exams and studying, and right now all he wanted was to relax. His poker game had been cancelled, his homework was sitting half-finished on his desk back at the academy only a few blocks away, but he didn’t want to go back to an empty dorm room while his room mates were off partying on their own. Instead, he met up with his best friend, Leland Bishop and they went to The Hole, a local bar a few blocks away.
Jon and Leland were enjoying a quiet drink inside when a group of rowdy Klingons came into the room. They seemed to be on edge, and taunting whomever struck their fancy. A few taunts were aimed at the pair of cadets, and Jon did his best to ignore them. Except for his friend returning the actions.
Cumar: Leland. Knock it off. You’ll just make them mad. Ignore them and go back to your drink.
Bishop paid him no heed, continuing to taunt the Klingons. In fact, it seemed to intice them. They came over to the table the two boys were seated at, and one of them grabbed Jon by the collar. Leland attempted to intervene, but to no avail. After a minute, one of them brandished a dk'tagh and sliced at JC’s left arm, his strength enough to sever the limb. The young cadet screamed in pain before everything went black.
(( End Flashback ))
(( Flashback -- Starfleet Academy Infirmary, SD 238804.05 ))
Two days since the incident, and Jon finally woke up. He glanced around and didn’t recognize where he was for a moment. oO Sickbay. I am in a sickbay. But whose? Oo It was then he caught sight of a teal collar with lieutenant commander’s pips. He cleared his throat before attempting to speak.
Cumar: oO Starfleet. That’s a relief. Oo Excuse me, commander? Might I have a word?
The teal-collared individual made his way over to the bio-bed, being roughly Jon’s height but in his mid fifties. His hair was greying around the temples, and a slightly dirty blond with calming blue eyes. He offered a soft smile to the cadet as he made his way over.
McAllister: A pleasure to have you back, Mr. Cumar. I’m Dr. Harris McAllister.
Cumar: I wish we could’ve met under better circumstances, doc. Could you fill me in on what happened?
McAllister: You mean why you’re here? What’s the last thing you remember?
Cumar: I was at a bar with my f-- :: He paused. Saying “my friend” seemed wrong for some reason, so he continued without that word. :: ...with Leland. We were drinking, and then… nothing. I got nothing.
McAllister: Well, the blood levels indicate you were pretty hammered. Somehow, Mr. Bishop had enough coherence of mind to contact us once you lost your arm.
The words struck Jonno like a ton of bricks. He was speechless for several moments, and glanced at his left arm. He let that sink in: he’d suffered a severe injury that had cost him a limb after a night of drinking, but he had an arm instead of a stump. Warily, he flexed his mechanical fingers as though not trusting his eyes. Mac watched as the lad did so, silently observing for a few moments before continuing.
McAllister: After you were brought in and we’d stopped the bleeding, you were sedated, your parents were contacted, and your father approved the biosynthetic replacement. He cited your love for flying and stated you would hate to have your wings clipped.
Jon nodded slowly in approval of his father’s foresight, but was still speechless as he clenched and relaxed his hand, as though making sure it worked. He didn’t trust himself to move it higher yet, because he was still somewhat lucid and recovering from the sedatives.
McAllister: Mr. Bishop has been asking about you, but we’ve denied visitation until you regained consciousness. Now that you have, we can discuss physical therapy and whether you wish to see him during your recovery.
Cumar: I’m...I’m not ready to talk to him. Therapy, yes. Leland, no.
McAllister: That can be arranged. I’ll come by to check on you in a few hours, alright?
Cumar: Thanks, doc.
He glanced back at his cybernetic arm as the doctor moved away. It was true, then: he’d suffered a crippling injury, and through the wonders of medical science still had all ten digits. His father was a wise man, who knew how much piloting meant how much to his son. Jon felt a sense of relief at the fact he’d still be able to do what he loved.
(( End Flashback ))
Someone pressed a hypo to Cumar's neck, and he gave a groan as his eyes opened. He didn’t say anything, and took a moment to glance around at where they were. The pain was gone, for the moment. He recognized his surroundings as an airlock, and moments later he recognized Petras. The others who weren’t wearing Starfleet gear, he didn’t recognize.
Cumar: oO I’m alive. Oo
Teller: I'll tell Mac you've got a promising future in medicine, Petras. You with us, Mr. Cumar?
Cumar. That was his name. He was a lieutenant in Starfleet. They were aboard a ship of some sort. That was the captain’s voice: Lt. Commander Geoff Teller.
Cumar: Aye, sir.
Teller: Excellent. Strip your gear and head to the bridge, I need you to get our tactical systems online - we're going to need another high explosive distraction for our friends out there.
Tactical. That was his position. It all started to come back to him. They were somewhere inhospitable with some big blue meanies outside that he’d set up a distraction for earlier. He didn’t remember why he needed to strip his gear, but from what he could tell he was in an EVA suit and his helmet was off. The others who weren’t wearing Starfleet-issue gear were not known to him.
Cumar: Aye, sir. One pyro display coming up.
He stood up and began removing his gear. As he did so, he could feel that his badge was missing. That wasn’t a good sign, but he suspected somehow that he didn’t have time to get a new one. They needed to get out of wherever it was they were, and fast.
Teller: Good man. Alright, as for you folks - Diligent is an experimental ship, so we're missing some of the luxuries like..well...floors and walls. I'm going to take you to a cargo bay where we've got food, cots and medical supplies. Make yourselves as comfortable as possible, I suspect there's going to be a few bumps on the road before we get out of here. You think you can handle that, old man?
Franz: Response
The Diligent. That's where he was. The name of the ship. It all started coming back in a rush of information, though everything from the time they donned the EVA suits to the time he woke up was a blank. Teller squinted, then snorted, then began laughing loudly for what seemed like no good reason.
Teller: That's my line, old man.
Cumar: :: to G. Teller :: See you on the bridge, sir. :: then, to Petras. :: Thank you, by the way.
Maravosh / Teller / Petras: Response
He gave a nod to both, and to the survivors before making his way toward the bridge, with Maravosh falling in step beside him.
(( Bridge, USS Diligent ))
This looked familiar. He recognized it from after his little stint in the closet with that one ensign, whose name he forgot. He took two minutes to pull up the roster of the people aboard the Diligent to refresh his memory before he got to work assessing the situation. Some of the big blue meanies were outside, a ways off, but gradually making their way toward them. He took a breath and keyed in a sequence of commands to pull up the last action from this terminal: his previous pyrotechnic display. After reviewing the number of photon torpedoes used versus the number they had left, he began keying up a sequence similar to his last one but slightly larger.
Maravosh: Response
Cumar: I feel fine. oO Mostly. Oo The last few hours are a bit hazy.
Maravosh: Response
(( OOC: I’ll backsim here as needed, Rich. ))
Cumar: Understood. I’ll ask for a recap later.
He was just finishing up the display sequence when the doors parted again. This time, admitting skipper Geoff Teller onto the bridge.
Teller: Response
Cumar: Display settings primed, sir. Full spread, maximum yield. Since I’m not familiar with how many we had to start with, I suspect it’ll use most to all of our remaining compliment.
Teller / Maravosh: Response
Cumar: Understood. Adjusting calculations. :: He typed in a few commands to the console, and added it to his little display program. :: On your mark, sir.
Teller / Maravosh: Response
TBC
===
Lieutenant Jonathan Cumar
Lieutenant Jonathan Cumar
Security Officer
USS Veritas NCC-95035
O239002CS0
&
Lieutenant Cadfael Peters
Chief Operations Officer
USS Juneau NX-99801
O239002CS0
Chief Operations Officer
USS Juneau NX-99801
O239002CS0
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