Lt. JG T’Fearne - Minority Report
Teayl Thorn
((Lt. JG T’Fearne’s New Quarters, Deck 04, Starboard Catamaran, USS Ronin))
T'Fearne's boots struck the deck in crisp, steady rhythm as she made her way down the corridor from the turbolift, leaving behind the controlled chaos of disembarking personnel in the shuttle bay. She was deep in thought, her mind still parsing the implications of what she and Tess had uncovered on Proxima Sigma Four, on a professional and a personal level.
So preoccupied were her thoughts that she didn’t realise her feet had taken her to her old quarters she’d shared with Acting Ensign T’anara on Deck 09. She clicked her tongue in a small self-admonishment before pivoting and making for Deck 04 instead.
Her new quarters, befitting her newly earned half-pip, were modest but blissfully private with several cubic meters more space, solitude and included a whole lot more responsibility than before. A view strip overlooked the grey metallic skin of the Ronin and afforded her a view of the starboard nacelle and the starfield beyond, and the 1DC/ES compartment was almost directly across the hall.
Her civilian attire had to go! Her left sleeve was still slightly damp where moisture had wicked through from wrist to shoulder, and her boots and pants were dirty. She had lost her belt during their excursion, but the data and connections they had uncovered were safe in a data chip. She placed it in the bio-locked safe built into her new desk. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, retrieved it and secreted it somewhere less obvious.
She let discipline flow over her thoughts, then disengaged from the investigation on the planet, compartmentalised it, memories and feelings temporarily shelved for a later time when she could discuss them in more depth with Tess. She shed the soiled attire, washing up, slipping into a crisp uniform, tugging her golden tunic into place. She fastened the two pips on her collar.
She set about arranging her quarters with Vulcanoid efficiency, bedding folded precisely, equipment stowed by frequency of use, desk cleared save for a single PADD. She stood in the centre of the room, hands on her hips, and realised something was missing…the Sofa…when the Commander's voice came over the comm.
Raga:... =/\= Bridge to all Ronin crew, report back to the ship for immediate departure. We’ve received a distress call from a Starfleet vessel and will be departing in five minutes. Captain, please report to the bridge. =/\=
Minutes after the announcement, she watched out of her viewstrip as the glowing edge of Proxima Sigma’s Primary Star disappeared and the glitter of the starfield stretched as the Ronin leapt into warp.
She drew in a long breath.
oO Back to patrolling the Isles. At some point, I need to see Lt. Morgan about my modified weapons. Oo
((Time Skip - Three Hours after Recieving Disstress call - Deck 12, USS Ronin))
She was in the middle of seeing to minor ships' security duties when she received the comm from the Chief. Kessler: =/\= Lieutenant T'Fearne, report to Security right away. Alpha shift report to the bullpen. =/\=
As she was Alpha shift, but had been singled out by name personally, T’Fearne slowed her stride in the corridor and switched direction, striding swiftly towards the nearest turbolift. She tapped her comm.
T'Fearne: =/\= Acknowledged, Chief. On my way. =/\=
Her lips pressed together in a slight frown, wondering if the Chief had found out about her extracurricular activities on PSIV? Or if this was to do with the aid the Ronin was on the way to rendering? He had specifically denied her request to pursue the investigation. She had gone anyway.
((Security Complex, Deck 11, USS Ronin))
The doors to the Security Complex hissed open. The usual hum of Security operations had deepened, voices lower, movements sharper, a slightly more intense level of controlled industry. T’Fearne greeted several security personnel with a glance of acknowledgement or a nod as she moved quickly across the complex and stepped into the bullpen.
Inside, a tall, bearded officer with an easy stance was engaged in conversation with Kessler. She recognised Lt. Frost, but hadn’t had much interaction with the senior officer to date.
Deacon: ::extending a hand:: Chief, I'm Lieutenant Jay Frost, but everyone calls me Deacon. Welcome aboard..
As she had been directly requested, T’Fearne stepped to the Chief’s left and nodded crisply to both men, her PADD already in hand bearing the compiled report from her duty section.
T’Fearne: Sirs. Ensi…ah, Lieutenant T’Fearne. Reporting as ordered.
She felt her ear tips flush green at the near mistake.
Kessler: Response
Deacon: Yes, sir, my specialty is search and rescue, but I am also very proficient in urban and shipboard combat, and have been running the certification gauntlet…err..test since this tub launched. ::he smiled::
T’Fearne: :: with a small, amused tilt of her head :: No major incidents to report, sir. All security posts accounted for. :: without looking at the PADD she recited her report from recent memory :: Type-2 phaser missing from locker 12A, turned out to be a sensor error. One stun baton is overdue for maintenance in the training holosuite. The brig’s bio-containment lock test was successful. No breach was detected. As for the main issue…:: she flicked the report to a corner of the large display so they could all see :: Automated distress call from the USS Compass Rose. Oberth class survey vessel, lightly armed, 2 phaser turrets, a single torpedo tube aft. :: she shook her head slightly :: Originally marked as in distress, recently upgraded to include a quarantine warning. No recent threats in the area, according to reports.
She watched them scan the report and wondered if she had gone overboard with the requested report.
Kessler: Response
Deacon: So what’s the plan, Chief?
Kessler: Response
T'Fearne’s fingers stilled over the PADD.
She could feel the deckplates vibrate differently, and her sensitive ears picked up the subtle shift in engine pitch. After a moment, it returned to normal.
T’Fearne: Affirmative, Sir. Likely active bio-hazard, severity unknown. Still no direct contact with the Rose?
Deacon: Response
Kessler: Response
T’Fearne: :: counting off some possible scenarios on her long fingers, calmly :: Possibilities: One, the crew is frightened and confused. Two, they could be infected or incapacitated with something. Three, they could be compromised or hostile.
Deacon: Response
She nodded in agreement at the point.
Kessler: Response
T’Fearne: Sir… do you think it's a trap? :: pausing at the various expressions both men gave her :: Eighty-seven per cent of away missions I’ve been assigned to since my arrival on the Ronin have included a trap or a trick of some sort of subtterfuge. Statistically, it would be logical to assume hostile intent or manipulation as operating procedure in the Alpha Isles.
oO It’s not paranoia if it's true. Oo
She let the statistic sit on the deck for the Humans to make what they wanted of it.
Deacon: Response
Kessler: Response
T’Fearne: Understood, Sir. I’ll copy you both in on my report once the information is compiled.
She crossed back to her console and began pulling all the data they had on the Compass Rose, ship’s schematics, emergency junctions, containment seals, blast doors, and manual release overrides for the Oberth class and anything that they might need in a breach or extraction scenario.
[Tags / TBC]
OOC:
1DC/ES locker = Damage Control & Emergency Supply Compartment.
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Security Officer
USS Ronin - NCC-34523
R240107T14