Ensign Talon Morda: Three-card transporter buffer monte
Eston Melton
((A bit back, Deck 4, Computer Core Master Control, USS Khitomer))
Morda glared at the haunted nest of optic cables, interstices, patch panels, phase detractors, and diopters he’d wedged into what he thought might be some kind of retroencabulator? He didn’t understand the “why” that Lieutenant Michaels had tasked him with, but he knew how to read cable labels well enough, and the circuit bays had been -- past tense -- neatly ordered. He only halfway heard Michaels’ praise-threat as he tried to conceal the blinking abomination he had wrought behind an access cover.
Michaels: We will make an engineer out of you yet.
The lieutenant then tapped her communicator and reported to the bridge.
Michaels: =/\= LtJg Lera Michaels to Commander Hobart. The transporters and buffers are ready. Remember that we can only store fifty-six profiles before the transporters will be functionally disabled. We can make those all prisoners if we transport all the ship personnel and equipment first. =/\=
Hobart: =/\= That’s why we’re wiring into the core partition. Going to have to get creative, Lieutenant. =/\=
Morda looked at the mess of rewiring. He’d done the work, but at the lieutenant’s direction -- seemed pretty creative so far.
Michaels: =/\= What you are asking is essentially impossible, sir. There simply is no additional computer memory available... unless you wish to disable the ship. =/\=
The ensign frowned, wishing there were more craft nearby to assist. They’d picked up plenty of unaligned vessels earlier, but he doubted any could be relied upon or would be willing to potentially enter a combat situation and give up mass amounts of computer storage to hold criminal transporter patterns.
Hobart: =/\= We’re beginning our descent, now, and we’re not leaving anyone behind to be blown up. =/\=
Michaels: =/\= So I have ... what? ... fifteen minutes to create and install twice the computer memory. We will do what we can, sir. But I will not promise you anything. =/\=
Hobart: =/\= Use PADDs if you have to, Michaels. Hobart out. =/\=
Michaels’ brief but open reflection on how she’d gravitated to Starfleet echoed as he read the distress on her face and frustration in her tone. He shared shades of both. Part of him wished he were back on that diplomatic courier, hot-bunking with the other junior officer en route to their new post. It wasn’t his preferred way to unwind, but the residual heat of ...
Morda: Oh, stang. Lieutenant-- ::Shaping the impression in his head into actual words:: --can we hotbunk these folks? Beam them all into a cargo bay. Beam half them to another hold, then beam the second half over. And then repeat, but in the opposite direction. Back and forth. They’d have a few seconds of lucidity, bare moments out of the annular confinement beam before they’re taken up again.
Michaels’ intense look was a bit intimidating, likewise her snap-and-point.
Michaels: We are going to do the impossible. We are going to do a variant of what you suggested.
Morda: --Okay. Just please don’t threaten to make me an engineer again.
Michaels: :: tapping her communicator :: =/\= Michaels to Lacy and Sparks. Ladies. New top priority. We need the most powerful containment field we can generate around an area... as large a completely clear area as you can in Cargo Bay 4. Preferably the entirety of the cargo bay. And we need it set up in the next ten minutes. Use the portable forcefield generators if you need to. Once that is done, send me the complete coordinates for the area.=/\=
Lacy/Sparks: =/\= Response =/\=
Morda: Okay, so…? Wait, we’re doing this? Well, the holodecks might be a viable holding area, too. We really don’t want any of these folks to be permanent residents.
Michaels: It does not need to be very large though larger is better. :: She paused. :: The issue is in the word "permanent." There simply is not enough computer memory to store all the individual profiles on a permanent basis. The transporter profiles are extremely large if the individual is to be restored with their personal memories intact. On a short term basis is another story because we are only storing those profiles temporarily. So we are going to set up is called a "quick cycle." We beam the prisoners into Cargo Bay 4 and then almost immediately beam them back out again. No more than fifty six will be in computer memory at any given moment. We do it so quickly, every few seconds, that they have no time to react. No time to analyze what is happening to them or formulate an escape plan. The containment field should prevent them from being able to do anything even if they did manage to do something. If necessary, we will have Security on standby.
Morda nodded, trusting the lieutenant. He wondered about the mechanics of beaming a group in at the same time a group was beaming out, and how to avoid a buffer overrun -- a term he knew only because it was the name of a glittering drink concocted by an equally glittering (off-duty) transporter tech in the home fleet.
Morda: Better we’re there and superfluous than the alternative. I think at least my next stop is back to Cargo Bay 4 to make this comes together from a security perspective until Lieutenant Zerva returns.
He knew he was veering well out of his lane -- along with these prisoners, the ship’s actual chief of security would soon return. But based on Crewman Beaumont’s professionalism in the anteroom, he suspected Lieutenant Zerva wasn’t one to cut corners on regs and procedures -- and having a firm security presence where threat forces could plausibly appear in numbers was a no-brainer.
((Deck 14, Cargo Bay 4, USS Khitomer))
The once echoey space was bustling with yellowshirts slinging gear and prepping for their unconventional mass prisoner ingest. The computer console had extruded Ensign Lacy above-the-legs, and she was now perpendicular to the deck and doing Engineering Stuff with several others. Meanwhile, Morda had queried whether the security chief was back on board, and whether the brig was available to hold a few of the prisoners. The computer gave him, at best, imprecise non-responses regarding the brig and Lieutenant Zerva’s location -- making the ensign think the two were related.
Morda: Computer, notify me when Lieutenant Zerva’s no longer incommunicado. And drop a message in the queue for him: my compliments, and a request for his attention in the cargo hold at his convenience.
The computer acknowledged, and Morda moved on to the shift roster. He tapped his commbadge and called the security staff on rotation in the lowest decks to the cargo bay. Mostly crewmen, a few noncoms. It didn’t take long to get anywhere on the small frigate, and he soon hit a critical mass of eyes staring at him. A critical mass that abruptly became heavy high in his chest. He’d been pumping adrenaline since Lieutenant Michaels had all but yanked his arm, dragged him back and forth across the ship, pushed him to think, and given him work to do. He realized that he’d largely slipped into that “doer” role he’d had before the Academy, deferring actual judgment -- but also responsibility -- to the officer on the scene.
Then somewhere in the last little while, with a real safety and security puzzle to solve, he’d started gnawing at it. Initially, on his own: evaluating the space, thinking of complications. He new enough that he couldn’t possible do all the work to get the ship ready, so he’d called for help. And that help was before him now: all of them more familiar with the ship than he was, yet all of them looking to him for orders. For leadership.
A week ago, he’d felt ready to leave the Academy, to ply his learning and experience on a real starship far from home. For a moment -- and just a moment -- he let himself feel that same uncertainty he’d felt at basic training, and again during Plebe “Beast Week” at the Academy.
Then he took a breath and decided that it was time for the moment to pass. That "critical mass" weighing in his chest: it was there, he felt it, and he just breathed on through it. oO I’m going to tell them what I’d want to hear in their shoes, and we’ll see where it gets us. Oo
Morda: Okay, folks. I’m Ensign Morda. I’m part of your team. The situation is this: Lieutenant Michaels has a plan to keep prisoners from the planet below rotating through the transporter buffer. But they quickly and at high frequency will essentially still beam in. ::Jerking a thumb over his shoulder:: Our friends in yellow are rigging up containment gear as a fallback in case they materialize in and we can’t dematerialize our. Our task is, one: secure this space so nothing can be used as a weapon, for cover and concealment, for egress, or to otherwise jeopardize the crew and ship. ::He pointed to one of the petty officers in front of him:: I need you to get started on that. Second task: to equip and position ourselves to prevent any prisoner from leaving the cargo hold; or, if they do, to rapidly neutralize the threat and re-secure the space. ::Pointing to the second petty officer:: I'll want you to make recommendations. I'm going to start in here, then join the second group for a leader's recon. ::A pause:: Questions?
Some of the junior crew looked toward the petty officers, and the POs themselves raised a few suggestions in the form of helpful leading questions for Morda. He took their queues, then set them to their tasks and began following up with their working teams. In one of the corridors outside the cargo bay, Security Officer Jones recommended limiting access to the deck. It seemed a worthwhile idea, and Morda realized he’d lost track of where Michaels was plugging away at things.
Morda: =/\= Morda to Michaels. Lieutenant, security’s coming together for contingency at the cargo bay. Is there anything you need assistance with? =/\=
Michaels: Response
The balance of the conversation was interrupted by an override from Hobart.
((Present, Bridge, Deck 1, USS Khitomer, low orbit of Alpha Trionus II))
Shayne: Get anyone still in the facility back on board. Red alert! Mr. Stros, signal battle stations. Stow breakables and secure the radish officers. Helmsman, take us to the defense perimeter.
Stros / Bridge: Response
Hobart: =/\= Hobart to Michaels. Party guests are on their way. How many more to go? =/\=
Michaels: =/\= We are nearly finished with our work, sir. I could do a more accurate estimate if I knew how many more "guests" are coming. A minimum of ten minutes though I would prefer an hour.=/\=
Hobart: =/\= Acknowledged. If you can speed it up, do so. =/\=
Michaels: =/\= We will do what we can, sir. No promises. No Lies. =/\=
Morda: =/\= Bridge, This op involves a bit of transporter juggling in and around at least Cargo Bay 4. Recommend Deck 14 become an exclusion zone for all personnel except security personnel and damage control parties. =/\=
Shayne / Stros / Kendrick / Bridge: Response
Tags/TBC