Lt. JG Varik - Fly, You Fools!
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Varik
Feb 19, 2026, 11:36:53 PM (5 hours ago) Feb 19
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(( Dyson Sphere, Communications Platform A2 ))
The question of 'what if...?' was one of both inaction and necessity. One could spend far too much time considering the 'what ifs' of an action or plan. On the other hand, asking 'what if' was one way to proactively save your ass when everything began to go awry. In Starfleet, it was a benefit to constantly be thinking of backup plans to address those 'what ifs'.
Forsyth: If not, we may need a backup plan of a backup plan.
Greaves: Then we cut them open. Focus fire on the seam. Full output. It won’t be pretty, but if we can breach even a partial aperture, that might be enough for transport lock.
Lahl: Understood sir.
Forsyth: We can try, sir.
He nodded as they walked, phaser rifle covering the group from behind should the sphere have any parting gifts for them.
Varik: We will get it done.
One minute and twelve seconds.
Were the others counting the seconds as well?
Greaves: Here we go.
They were in.
Lahl: Alright. Let’s get this door open.
Forsyth: Need a hand, dear?
As the pair worked on the consoles, Varik assessed the 'viewport' that provided a view of the docking bay and the distant door.
It began to open slowly. Too slowly. They did not need it fully open, but at this rate it would likely still create enough interference for any transporter signal.
Varik: (low) It needs to open more quickly...
Lahl: Work faster, damnit.
Forsyth: Calm, shouting isn’t going to help.
They were correct, but shouting did help the soul. Sometimes.
Varik: An assist from Stella would be amazing right now.
The Rekarian hated leaning on any AI for assistance, but for the sake of survival, he could put aside his prejudices. At least for a brief moment.
Greaves: Response
Lahl: Sorry sir, the doors haven’t been activated in a bit…
Forsyth: It's alright, nothing you can control.
Forty five seconds.
Though now a helm officer, Varik was a tactical officer in a previous life. It was that training and experience that now helped him assess their options. The door was opening far too slowly and they needed another plan.
Varik: We need to shoot it.
They were out of tools except for their weapons. It was a longshot, but if they concentrated their fire closely enough, they could burst through the door seams and create a space just large enough in the aftermath to help the transporter signal through.
Greaves: Response
Lahl: Firing!
Forsyth: Varik, give us a hand.
Varik: On it!
He raised his phaser rifle and, with the settings at maximum, opened fire through the broken window onto the outer doors which -- thankfully -- were not too far from the control room overlook.
Greaves: Response
Forsyth: It's working, look!
Twenty five seconds.
The doors continued their snail paced expansion, operating at a fraction of their original speed. Varik continued the sustained fire on the seam until the colored haze around the impact point gave way to darkness. They had managed to cut through the seam and with an echoing groan that shook the room they stood in, one of the outer doors bent inwards.
It would have to be good enough.
Varik: The door is suffering a rapid unscheduled disassembly.
Greaves/Lahl: Response
Forsyth: Did I mention I think you're amazing, dear…
The Rekarian tapped his combadge and spoke with urgency, attempting to get through to the ship.
Varik: =/\= Away team to Butler -- five for emergency beamout! =/\=
He had not miscounted. It was an impulse decision to include the automaton that had accompanied them thus far. First as a foe and then as a friend. If the sphere was to go up in flames, perhaps they could at least recover a small piece of the ancient yet advanced technology. Perhaps it could also shed some light on the mysterious object he had recovered from the Dosi ship...
Greaves/Lahl: Response
Five. Four. Three. Two.
A thin lattice of light snapped into being around him, the transporter field taking hold with that familiar, skin-prickling hum. The air turned metallic on Varik's tongue as the deck beneath his boots lost its definition.
One.
(( Transporter Room 3, Deck 7, U.S.S. Octavia E Butler ))
A moment later he was somewhere else, the ribbed architectural contours of the sphere replaced with familiar lines and Federation design. Varik's vision solidified as the lattice of light dissipated and he found himself standing on a transporter platform.
Varik: Transport complete.
The words were said with a rare expression of relief by the normally regulated Rekarian, a sigh escaping his lips.
Greaves/Lahl/Forsyth: Response
Varik: Is anybody missing anything?
The question of 'what if...?' was one of both inaction and necessity. One could spend far too much time considering the 'what ifs' of an action or plan. On the other hand, asking 'what if' was one way to proactively save your ass when everything began to go awry. In Starfleet, it was a benefit to constantly be thinking of backup plans to address those 'what ifs'.
Forsyth: If not, we may need a backup plan of a backup plan.
Greaves: Then we cut them open. Focus fire on the seam. Full output. It won’t be pretty, but if we can breach even a partial aperture, that might be enough for transport lock.
Lahl: Understood sir.
Forsyth: We can try, sir.
He nodded as they walked, phaser rifle covering the group from behind should the sphere have any parting gifts for them.
Varik: We will get it done.
One minute and twelve seconds.
Were the others counting the seconds as well?
Greaves: Here we go.
They were in.
Lahl: Alright. Let’s get this door open.
Forsyth: Need a hand, dear?
As the pair worked on the consoles, Varik assessed the 'viewport' that provided a view of the docking bay and the distant door.
It began to open slowly. Too slowly. They did not need it fully open, but at this rate it would likely still create enough interference for any transporter signal.
Varik: (low) It needs to open more quickly...
Lahl: Work faster, damnit.
Forsyth: Calm, shouting isn’t going to help.
They were correct, but shouting did help the soul. Sometimes.
Varik: An assist from Stella would be amazing right now.
The Rekarian hated leaning on any AI for assistance, but for the sake of survival, he could put aside his prejudices. At least for a brief moment.
Greaves: Response
Lahl: Sorry sir, the doors haven’t been activated in a bit…
Forsyth: It's alright, nothing you can control.
Forty five seconds.
Though now a helm officer, Varik was a tactical officer in a previous life. It was that training and experience that now helped him assess their options. The door was opening far too slowly and they needed another plan.
Varik: We need to shoot it.
They were out of tools except for their weapons. It was a longshot, but if they concentrated their fire closely enough, they could burst through the door seams and create a space just large enough in the aftermath to help the transporter signal through.
Greaves: Response
Lahl: Firing!
Forsyth: Varik, give us a hand.
Varik: On it!
He raised his phaser rifle and, with the settings at maximum, opened fire through the broken window onto the outer doors which -- thankfully -- were not too far from the control room overlook.
Greaves: Response
Forsyth: It's working, look!
Twenty five seconds.
The doors continued their snail paced expansion, operating at a fraction of their original speed. Varik continued the sustained fire on the seam until the colored haze around the impact point gave way to darkness. They had managed to cut through the seam and with an echoing groan that shook the room they stood in, one of the outer doors bent inwards.
It would have to be good enough.
Varik: The door is suffering a rapid unscheduled disassembly.
Greaves/Lahl: Response
Forsyth: Did I mention I think you're amazing, dear…
The Rekarian tapped his combadge and spoke with urgency, attempting to get through to the ship.
Varik: =/\= Away team to Butler -- five for emergency beamout! =/\=
He had not miscounted. It was an impulse decision to include the automaton that had accompanied them thus far. First as a foe and then as a friend. If the sphere was to go up in flames, perhaps they could at least recover a small piece of the ancient yet advanced technology. Perhaps it could also shed some light on the mysterious object he had recovered from the Dosi ship...
Greaves/Lahl: Response
Five. Four. Three. Two.
A thin lattice of light snapped into being around him, the transporter field taking hold with that familiar, skin-prickling hum. The air turned metallic on Varik's tongue as the deck beneath his boots lost its definition.
One.
(( Transporter Room 3, Deck 7, U.S.S. Octavia E Butler ))
A moment later he was somewhere else, the ribbed architectural contours of the sphere replaced with familiar lines and Federation design. Varik's vision solidified as the lattice of light dissipated and he found himself standing on a transporter platform.
Varik: Transport complete.
The words were said with a rare expression of relief by the normally regulated Rekarian, a sigh escaping his lips.
Greaves/Lahl/Forsyth: Response
Varik: Is anybody missing anything?
.... or was anybody missing?
He glanced around, stepping off the platform. He was glad to see the automaton had made it, already surrounded by a stasis field by the quick-thinking transporter chief.
Greaves/Lahl/Forsyth: Response
He glanced around, stepping off the platform. He was glad to see the automaton had made it, already surrounded by a stasis field by the quick-thinking transporter chief.
Greaves/Lahl/Forsyth: Response
[TAGS/TBC]
--
Lieutenant Junior Grade Varik
Helm Officer
USS Octavia E. Butler
A239709VR0
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