Ensign T’Fearne - The Roots of the Tree [Part 1]
teayl.thorn
((Interior —Outer Concourse, Tether Terminal, Proxima Sigma IV))
T-minus 85 Hours, 53 Minutes to Impact
The outer concourse had clearly once been a thoroughfare for thousands—a glittering artery of transit. Now it was a tomb of shattered glass and twisted steel. Faded banners of Alpha Sigma and Proxima Sigma rival sports teams of some sort hung from broken support beams, flapping softly in the hot breeze that whispered through the breaches in the structure.
Their boots squeaked against the white ceramic tile, powdering it in red dust. Steam hissed from a fissure in the ceiling overhead. A distant klaxon moaned somewhere deep in the transit building.
Despite the damage near the entrance to the structure, further into the Terminal looked in better condition. T’Fearne deactivated her personal shield with a soft hiss and exhaled slowly, forcing herself to unclench. She didn’t realise until that moment how tightly she’d been wound.
Through occasional transparent aluminium skylights, they could see the Orbital Tether itself stretching into the lavender sky from the building like an impossibly tall metallic tree, and they, merely the ants crawling at its roots.
T'Fearne: The building seems stable, with less damage further in. Should we try to aim for the Tether? :: gesturing up through the skylight :: See if it is still operational.
O’Connor: Sounds reasonable.
Syrex: I tend to agree.
Carpenter: I think, yeh. I mean, that's gotta be where we can do the most and learn the most, right?
They continued to look around and scan as they moved farther into the structure. Power was out, so the deeper in they went, the darker it got. There was a lot less damage as they went along. Lt. O’Connor activated an illumination device, and T’Fearne did the same, activating the beam on her phaser rifle, its cone of light cutting a clear path through the settling dust.
O’Connor: Which way do we head?
oO Good question. Oo
Syrex: I don’t know about either of you, but this terminal looks slightly, well… on with lack of a better term. Maybe it has some data on it?
T’Fearne tilted her head slightly to the side, letting one pointed ear focus on Alyndra. Her brows quirked together in momentary confusion as she tried to parse the Trill’s phrasing.
oO Something was lost in translation there, friend. Oo
Turning, she saw Alyndra digging in the ruptured guts of a half-lit console.
oO Oh, that kind of terminal. Oo
Carpenter: Transporters should be a priority too. We still have no clue how we're gonna access the upper levels still in orbit.
That was a question she understood! Refocusing on her CO, the ensign shook her head, a few dark curls that had slipped free from her gathered hair whipping gently around her face.
T’Fearne: From the data I’ve read, I don’t think transporters are native tech here. They seem to be a very practical society, built around what industries they could support long-term. They relied on shuttles, freighters, soliton wave-rider locomotives, and orbital to ground tether stations like this one. No clear reference to site-to-site teleportation. :: Thoughtfully:: I don’t know if they have something against transporters themselves or if it’s something to do with their culture of beliefs or if it's a physiological issue, but I haven’t seen any reference to teleportation technology in the data so far. Either way, my recommendation stands: we head to the terminal lounge. Passenger or cargo lifts that slide up the Tether column might still function.
As they moved deeper, the ambient radiation receded, falling back into safe parameters. T’Fearne risked unclipping her rebreather. The unfiltered air kissed her face as she breathed in carefully, nostrils twitching at the scent of recently abandoned corridors. Nothing stood out as sharp or acrid—just dry air. She hooked the mask at her hip, within easy reach.
Roughly fifty meters in, O’Connor slowed near a sealed hatch.
O’Connor: ::pointing at the bathroom:: Hey, do you mind if we stop for a second? I need a bio break. So, unless this updated tricorder has some other features you haven't told us about yet, I need to use the facilities.
Looking back over her shoulder, the Vulcazoid merely raised a slanted brow in a sharp, disbelieving line.
Syrex: Why didn’t you go in the shuttle?
Carpenter: I...sure, whatever. On the bounce, Lieutenant
T’Fearne: :: very dryly :: Ah, yes, I forgot to mention. Activate the combat tricorder, tap your heels together three times, and whisper “There’s no place like Sojourn!”. That’ll activate a site-to-site transport and beam you straight to the shuttle’s head.
O’Connor: I was just pleasantly surprised I was able to hold it when the station chunks were falling on top of us.
Syrex: Great… ::Rolls her eyes:: Thanks for that image…
Carpenter: I ain't sure I'm up fer jokin' about that just yet, Lieutenant.
Assuming the interruption would be brief, T’Fearne continued down the corridor, sweeping her beam across abandoned gear and a few dully glowing emergency markers. A faint ping on her tricorder led her to a recessed panel—an old Federation standard wayfinding glyph marked the device still humming faintly with power. She tapped her tricorder to it and watched as a station schematic bled into the shared data space. She triggered a HUD and studied the new data. The full terminal layout, wayfinding and helpful prompts for visitors. Now they could move through the station with ease, not just relying on scans.
oO Of course, there are wayfinding data points; I should have checked for those earlier. Oo
She lightly tapped the side of her own head for slight stupidity recalibration. The movement sparked a fleeting memory—Tess’ face, the ops officer who had joined the crew during the chaos of their Temporal mission on Bajor. She had shown him the Musashi lounge aboard the Ronin when they met, and he had been a consistent part of her slowly growing circle of friends. The memory caused a curious feeling in her chest, as though the winged insects pinned to the walls of Commander Dekas’ quarters were fluttering about, trying to escape her ribcage.
She blinked the sensation away, focusing on the mission at hand.
Behind her, she could hear a scuffle as Ian tried to get into the head.
A sudden ZAP of a phaser discharge.
She spun back on instinct, weapon half-raised—only to see O’Connor standing before a now-smouldering unlocked bathroom door, holstering his phaser with a slightly sheepish grin on his face.
O'Connor: Universal key.
T’Fearne heard Alyndra’s snort clearly.
Syrex: and for your next trick..
Carpenter: Today, please? S'not like we have a loomin' locomotive of death barin' down on us 'er nothin'!
Holding up her combat tricorder and calling down the corridor.
T’Fearne: Bypassing electronic locks and encryption is actually a feature of the combat tricorders.
She turned back to her local search, torch beam falling on a jumbled pile of gear shoved into a side alcove. She lifted what appeared to be a jacket to examine the pile further. It appeared to be someone's discarded clothes, jacket, pants, a bag with various gear and devices, all but someone's underwear and boots.
oO Curious Oo
She tapped her comm to call Kirsty over when Ian beat her to it, his voice ringing out.
O'Connor: Umm, you guys should see this.
There was a slight strain in his voice that she initially took to mean he had encountered a problem that prevented the relief he had been seeking.
As she stepped back toward them and the open compartment door, the smell hit her. Subtly sweet like rotting fruit but with a bitter coppery tang. Clearly, the situation was more serious. She moved behind Kirsty, looking over her shoulder and Alyndra’s head. O’Connor’s light played across the floor of the compartment.
A body, clearly deceased, sprawled awkwardly on the floor.
[No Tags, just catching up! / TBC in part 2]
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Security Officer
USS Ronin - NCC-34523
R240107T14