Lt. JG. Haukea-Willow: “There’s hope, there’s a silver lining.”
Aly Drolet
((Corridor, Deck 4, USS Shran))
It was like entering onto a paused holovideo screen. A ship’s corridor nearly pitch black from the smoke that consumed it. Crimson the only source of light, evident of a red alert signal. Naturally, once she had taken stalk of these details, Haukea, crisis mode activating, began wondering who she could assist.
Fairhug: We’re onboard the USS Shran, a Sovereign-class ship that’s transporting a Mazarite political delegation and being pursued by multiple Orion Syndicate ships. The Shran is holding its own while awaiting backup, but the Orions are starting to gain the upper hand. There are reports of multiple injuries all over the ship, including at least one of the delegates. ::pausing:: Computer, resume program.
The resuming of the program caused the Risian to shiver. The eeriness of the smoke combined with the deafening buzz of the klaxon made her head nearly numb. Even then she pushed onwards.
Fairhug: Okay, Lieutenant. What’s your plan?
Willow: ::she was quick on the draw:: Knowing multiple crew, along with members of the delegation are injured, I need to first know how severe those injuries are.
Fairhug: :: Nodding: Right…and once we have that information…?
Willow: I’m no certified medic, though I do have a basic working knowledge, passed my academy courses, even then it’s important to understand who should be prioritized.
Fairhug: Triage. Good. Anything else to consider?
If she hadn’t learned it herself, Haukea would have learned it from Madison, all the times she discussed medical matters that went far above her head. Yet, she learned it. The rule worked same enough for security. Don’t waste your time on an individual not worth saving. In other words, according to lesson number 6 of security, “know when to bend the rules.” Trusting your own self was worth every strip of latinum.
In a case such as this, the individual with graver injuries would take priority, though equally, considering security risks, Haukea would have to weigh who could likely survive the longest vs. who would attack first. It would be a real shame if one, tending to the dying, got stabbed in the back by the other more physically stable.
Willow: Though, as security I equally have to consider those injured who might be at risk of injuring themselves or others. That factors into who takes priority.
Fairhug: Good point.
Willow: What information do we have?
In seconds, phrase finishing, the USS Shran gyrated, motion swaying back-forth, smoke billowing threw the corridor, a crescendoing hiss, officers shouting. Gogi himself stumbled into the bulkhead, steadying, before pulling out a tricorder.
Fairhug: The delegation is made up of members of the Council of Mazar and their assistants. There are eight of them, in total. They are en route to Vulcan with important information regarding a particular branch of the Orion Syndicate. It's imperative that they deliver their message.
As the Shran rocked, Haukea reached out, placing one hand on the corridor wall.
Willow: Then we must ensure we assist in controlling the situation. What does your tricorder say?
Fairhug: ::tapping on his tricorder:: They're in Conference Room One, just down the corridor.
Willow: Conference Room One. We go in, assess the situation and give our assistance to the individuals who are at the greatest risk, physically and medically.
Patrolling down the corridor, Haukea, finding her rhythm, cast a determined demeanor across her face. Even through a simulation, the security officer certainly preferred to attack situations step-by-step, allowing the Risian to actively and accurately tackle each event as they came.
Finally, arriving at the conference room door, each officer could vividly hear thumping on the wall from the other side, accompanied by muffled shouts.
Fairhug: The power to the doors must be out.
Willow: Unresponsive doors can insight increased anxiety. We shall conquer them swiftly.
It seemed, every mission since the last, Haukea, as a Risian, explored, if not, experienced her emotion in more uneasy ways. And now, an unresponsive door between her, the distressed individuals, it was clear anxiety, as clinically diagnosed, was a feeling of fear, dread, or uneasiness that can be a normal reaction to stress. Those locked on the other side, from their pounding, displayed such anxiety.
Likewise, from her absorption of poetry, famous individuals, it was clear, in part, “There’s hope, there’s a silver lining.”
Fairhug: ::shouting through the door:: Stand by, we'll get the door open, don't worry. ::He turned to Haukea, this was her test, after all:: How do we get in, Lieutenant?
Willow: I’ve taken several basic engineering courses through the academy, I’ve seen it done plenty of times, yet, if I could have access to the door panel, I can hotwire the door free.
Fairhug: Response
Willow, had, kneeling before the door, detached the door panel from the wall, a criss-cross of damaged wires exposed. Gripping the set of exposed cords believed to give the desired effect, she prepared to intertwine them.
Willow: Give me a moment. ::Voice tense:: I’ve never actually done this before.
Fairhug: Response
Wires crossed, sparking, the door jolted, sliping, sliding until it was wide enough for an individual to pass through, a fine mist of smoke billowing from within, causing Haukea’s throat to give a slight tickle, one she ignored.
Willow: If you can move, please exit in an orderly fashion. If you cannot move, please do not attempt to leave, we will come to you.
Fairhug: Response
