Vice Admiral Quinn Reynolds - An Afternoon Stroll
Quinn Reynolds
((Crash Fields, Sargasso V))
There was so much to contend with on Sargasso V, it nearly made Quinn’s head spin—and that was before the increasingly oppressive heat played its part. Facing down an exploration of a crashed Jem’Hadar ship, she took a moment to think, weighing up their options. Then it struck her. Amongst the rising temperature, the gambolling wildlife, and the possibility of a dampening signal, they had let themselves lose track of something very important. She frowned, not normally one for losing her focus, even when distractions fell like rain. Time to rein that wandering attention in.
Reynolds: Have we still got the tourist shuttle’s transponder signal? That should be our priority.
Sevo: Oh, I had completely forgotten about that. Let me see…
From the looks which crossed faces, Quinn wasn’t the only one who’d become side-tracked, and she didn’t know if that was a comfort or a concern. Sevo checked her tricorder, while Ylvor holstered the phaser she’d drawn when it seemed they were about to poke around in the old Dominion ship.
Sevo: About five kilometres, give or take, in that direction.
The Trill pointed into the distance, and Gnaxac’s eyes followed. A forty-five minute walk. Quinn certainly wasn’t going to suggest they jog it, not in this heat. They’d be more sweat than person by the time they got there.
Gnaxac: We should p-p-probably get g-g-going then.
Ylvor seemed as though she had other ideas; the Trill gestured toward the ship, opening her mouth as if to speak. Then she changed her mind, dropping her hand back to her side. Quinn acknowledged the aborted intention with a nod, understanding the sentiment.
Ylvor: Understood Admiral.
Sevo: Don’t worry about that ship’s flight recorder. ::She indicated the Jem’Hadar ship.:: We’ll have plenty more chances to study one.
Gnaxac: I’m s-s-s-sure we will. ::He gestured to the ship graveyard:: There’s loads of the b-b-blighters about.
Ylvor: I am sure that an Engineering team could spend years here.
Quinn nodded, glancing around. It was a goldmine for the curious engineer, a wealth of ships from the Gamma Quadrants. Each with their own design quirks, forged out of an individual species’ experiences with taking steps into the stars. There was so much to learn, so much to understand... but it wasn’t why they were there. That project would fall to another, some day in the future.
Reynolds: I know I could.
Sevo: Besides, the tourist shuttle’s would have the most up-to-date information on the anomaly. Assuming we could retrieve the data from one of these wrecks, the information would be decades out of date.
Gnaxac: Would b-b-be interesting to study though — the history of the p-p-place.
Ylvor: I couldn't agree more sir! Would be interesting to see how these ships looked before their sudden deceleration.
Wouldn’t it just? Once they were finished, she’d have to watch out to see if Starfleet sent any research teams to Sargasso. It seemed too tempting for them not to, especially if the Gorkon crew solved the mystery of what was bringing ships down. She’d be fascinated to read the reports and find out what they discovered.
Sevo: On the other hand, if we have the time to retrieve multiple recorders, we can compare the data between them and see if there’s a change in the anomaly. Maybe it got worse over the years.
Their Ferengi engineer nodded and rubbed his sweat-glistened chin. Then—with the same look Quinn dispensed when she waded into her children’s bedrooms and discovered a week’s worth of dirty laundry on the floor—he wiped his hand on his trouser leg.
Gnaxac: If we have t-t-time, I’d love to make a t-t-timeline of crashes. That c-c-c-could be fascinating.
Ylvor: There is still a chance that the tourist shuttle has functioning systems and the area surrounding the site might have clues, the longer we wait, that could change. Comms and tricorder issues not-withstanding, we could split up to achieve both outcomes. But we are stretched thin.
Reynolds: We are, and it would put several kilometres between us. Even if comms work through this interference, we wouldn’t be able to get to one another in a hurry.
Sevo: Response
Gnaxac: ::He shrugged, moving on.:: D-d-do we think they’re alive? C-c-can you read any lifesigns at this d-d-distance?
Quinn shook her head, and it seemed no one else was having much success on that account. Nor were there any lifesigns on the sensors on the way down. But did that mean no one had survived, that they’d moved on from the crash site, or the dampening field did mask lifesigns under certain, unknown circumstances? Ylvor took a deep breath, dropping her gaze toward her tricorder, and chimed in.
Ylvor: Well I think we need to close in and scout out the site, depending on what we find we can circle back and examine these recorders.
Reynolds: Yes, that would be my plan, too. ::She nodded.:: Let’s go.
Sevo: Response
Ylvor: ::She wiped her brow.:: Has there been any report from the other teams as to their status?
About to answer in the negative, Quinn’s answer never left her throat. A low roar rumbled across the hills and grasses, coming from somewhere far in the distance. Like giants chewing on rocks. Some kind of landslide or subsidence? She frowned, looking down at her tricorder, while Ylvor stared at the ground beneath their feet. Unfortunately, neither view provided much in the way of answers.
Sevo / Gnaxac: Response
Ylvor: What was that?
Reynolds: I have no idea, but I don’t think it was nearby. ::Her frown deepened as the sound faded away.:: Unfortunately, the tricorders can’t add anything. Let’s keep going.
Gnaxac / Sevo / Ylvor: Response
Reynolds: It’s possible there’s some geological instabilities in the area, maybe as a result of building whatever is bringing these ships down. ::She glanced toward Ylvor.:: Or if you’re right, and the thing’s malfunctioning, it might be causing havoc on the ground as well as in the sky.
Gnaxac / Sevo / Ylvor: Response
Not for the first time, Quinn thought of the shower in her quarters in longing terms. Though the temperature had stopped rising, that didn’t alleviate the existing discomfort, and she grimaced through the sweat trickling down her spine. A flock of birds—or bird-like creatures, she couldn’t tell from the height they flew—whirled overhead, calling out to one another in strange, scratchy chirps. As though someone had taken birdsong from Earth, and run it over sandpaper.
Several kilometres and nearly an hour’s walk later, and the shuttle came into view. It was remarkably intact, given the state of some of the ships which had concertinaed into the ground. What made her heart sink was its position on the bank of a lake, tipped at a precarious angle, nose immersed in the water. The rear hatch was open, the mud around a puddle-filled, churned-up swamp. At first glance—with eyes and tricorders—there was no one around.
Reynolds: Those are phaser cut marks by the door, ::she spoke quietly, and gestured toward the open hatch.:: Someone might have been trying to rescue the occupants.
Gnaxac / Sevo / Ylvor: Response
Commanding Officer
USS Gorkon
T238401QR0