Ghosts Haunting the Airwaves

Posted on Jun 05, 2014 @ 7:54am by Lieutenant Commander Aerdan Jos
Edited on on Jun 05, 2014 @ 7:56am

Mission: http://www.thefrpg.com/sim/missions/id/7

“Ghosts Haunting the Airwaves” (Continued from “Warning Shots”)
~*~

Location: USS ARMSTRONG
Stardate: 2.140602.2245
Scene: Main Sickbay

~*~
Time index: shortly before Justin’s last post

Aerdan Jos felt the hazy drifting of his mind back towards conscious thought and was keenly aware of the ever present smell of disinfectant that seemed to pervade every Starfleet sickbay.

In some ways he considered that a good thing. At least he was in a sickbay, at least something that smelled and sounded like one. He could vaguely hear Cade sassing a nurse, which made everything seem right in the world. The only question was – where was he? Did the PENDRAGON beam them up from wherever the hell they were?

His eyes seemed glued shut, stubbornly refusing to open, when a different voice hit his ears. Sharp, no nonsense, blunt … bitchy. For a moment Aerdan’s heart rate spiked. Phia.

His mind raced. What was she doing here? How did she get on the PENDRAGON. The answer was simple, she was never on the PENDRAGON, so therefore neither was he. A wave of terror passed through him as a thought occurred: what if this was all some horrific Aavenette induced dream? The Nocturian drug was capable of dreams that so closely resembled reality that they held the STONEHENGE’s crew in thrall for over a week while the aliens ransacked the ship looking for Captain Alcedo. He clearly remembered Zipa Pleo threatening to rewrite so much of the doctor’s memories that he wouldn’t know up from down. In that moment Aerdan Jos panicked, wondering if the past five years had been all a drug-induced dream while he was in a coma?

He sat up far faster than he thought he could, snapping to consciousness with a sickening lurch. Immediately hands were on his chest trying to press him back down.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Came a ~very~ familiar voice.

Aerdan blinked, wondering for a moment exactly what the hell he was trying to do. He turned, looking into his brother’s overly concerned expression and his next words came out strangely plaintive. “Where am I?”

The response he got was unexpected. Arjan leaned forward, wrapping both arms around him in a bear hug, saying nothing. Usually one to eschew physical contact, the younger of the two brothers merely relaxed, wondering what in the hell did happen? He cast his mind back, feeling the faint shaking of Arjan’s arms as he disentangled from the hug. “and what happened to you?” Aerdan added, his snowy brows knitting in concern.

Arjan took in a slow breath before the words started to tumble out in a disorganized torrent. “You were hit by a phase pulse weapon, went into shock, I sort of killed the Terran Empire chick who hurt you, Cade sent out a distress call and we were beamed up to this ship.”

The younger brother blinked. “That explains the red blood at least…” he murmured. “What ship is this?”

“The ARMSTRONG.” It was Sef who spoke, hovering beside the biobed. Slowly Aerdan sat up and gave a nod to the Bajoran nurse. She gave a small smile back, a look of concern tossed between the two. Arjan sat beside his brother, staring off into space. Sef kept wondering when the elder Jos would emotionally collapse. While Commander Jos was physically recovering and would be good to go shortly, Ensign Jos had suffered a major emotional wound. For someone who considered himself a physical coward, to have the blood of another creature on his hands – literally – coming to terms with killing would be a hard process. She lay a hand on his shoulder and looked back to her boss. “The artifact tossed us back to NIMBUS III, and from what I understand this ship was out here looking for … us? I’m not quite sure.”

“I wonder if I can speak to who is in charge…” Aerdan was already wavering to his feet, brushing dirt and dried blood from his uniform.

“You shouldn’t be up yet” Arjan chided weakly, looking up.

“Neither should you.” Aerdan replied, in a soft, compassionate voice. For a moment both brothers stared at one other, hands on the other’s shoulder. There was too much to be done, but it was a silent promise to be there for one another. Aerdan looked up to Sef and mouthed ‘take care of him.’

She didn’t reply, but her expression firmly said ‘I will.’

~*~*~

Location: Privateer Ship “ANNABELLE’s LAMENT”
Scene: Bridge

Captain Cassidy Rainner stared blandly at the viewscreen, watching as the Starfleet ship took up orbit. “Well, they’re taking their sweet time, aren’t they?”

Evaer, her Bolian second in command gave her an edgy look from behind the console that served both ops and helm. “I don’t see why we don’t jump ‘em right now.”

“Because it looks too planned.” Cass waved a hand in the air. “We were specifically hired to make this look like a hijacking from a rogue pirate. Gods know this area is full of them.” She smirked, watching the blue man stand down. Evaer knew as well as she did that the services of the ANNABELLE’S LAMENT fetched the prices they did exactly because of the patience and attention to detail that they showed towards missions like these. This mission was for a longtime patron, one that Rainner didn’t want to piss off. Especially since they had sent a spook along for the ride. “But you can call Conniston up here.”

“Sure thing.”

~*~
Scene: Crew quarters.
Time index: Concurrent

Saul Conniston stared at himself in the mirror, wondering if this was the last time he could bring himself to do this.

So far every step he had taken in service to Starfleet was for the good of the Federation. Every order he had gotten made sense, no matter what needed to be done to achieve his goals. Sure, he had targeted other Starfleeters before. Bloated, washed up criminals who were either too powerful to be drummed out, on their way out or had slipped out and never tarred for it. But he had never turned his tender ministrations towards a Starfleet Captain before.

He sucked in a breath, staring at his face. How the left eye had a faintly glassy appearance, the right ear a dull patina. Neither were real anymore. Nor was his right hand, his left leg and half his internal organs. Biosynthetic. That was the new thing. The first time he needed a replacement it had shocked him. Well, the entire affair had shocked him – but getting the replacements was adding another alien layer to it all. It felt like he had lost a part of himself, he wondered if he would ever get used to it.

He found that after it happened enough times he wasn’t just used to it – it felt like an inevitability.

Back in the days when he still had his hand and his left eye he was a doctor. Not the grim, determined intel agent he was now. Intel – could he really call himself that anymore? He had been one of a few chosen for a special task force half a decade ago, just about the time when Admiral Dupree disappeared. Call together by the newly promoted Admiral Edgerton, the task force was groomed from the best of intel and special forces – ones with special talents and special abilities to get things done. Edgerton called them his ‘watchdogs’ and had given them special privileges in return for services offered.

For the next few years Conniston was sent to cleanse rotting, corrupted dead weight from Starfleet. Both internal and external influences. Some of them had fought back pretty hard, which was how he earned his other replacements, but Saul always came out on top in the end. Back in the day he questioned Edgerton’s orders. But as the human in him was stripped away and replaced by machine he stopped questioning and simply started obeying. This was the first mission that had given him pause in over two years.

Torture a Starfleet Captain, gain her access codes, vent the atmosphere from her ship and then take it over. Edgerton promised he would be shocked at the un-approved changes they had made to the ship. Conniston wasn’t so sure. He had already decided to fill the ship with anesthezine until the inspection could be completed. Atmosphere could always be vented later. Or the crew could simply be deposited on NIMBUS III and left to fend for themselves.

Still, Conniston wasn’t one to question too much. That simple, querying innocence was cut out of him – literally – the day his teacher decided to use him for a labrat.

Pygram.

The name came to his mind, unbidden. Even after all these years the memory was burned into his consciousness. Curiosity prompted it. Why was the good doctor working late all the time? What could he be working on? Conniston had been an eager student back them, soaking up every scrap of information and skill that anyone could show him. He never thought that an innocent trip to the basement of the medical facility after house would have such lasting consequences.

The name brought back that initial sight of the good doctor and his half-dissected corpse. At first Conniston thought it was merely an autopsy, when the ‘corpse’ started screaming for help.

And he screamed, too. That would be his downfall.

He remembered watching as the ‘good doctor’ pinned him down and cut off his hand, the hand he had just used to ring the security alert. He hazily remembered drugs and the bleeding being staunched, being prepped for gruesome surgery. Pygram didn’t get very far. Conniston was more successful at getting the alarm out than the good doctor originally thought, leaving his one-time assistant strapped to the table and bleeding from the empty eyesocket as he made his escape.

And the thing that galled Conniston the most? That bastard had kept his eye.

From that day forward something inside Saul Conniston had died. After his recovery he sought out the intelligence service, with the specific goal in mind to hunt out cancerous tumors within the Federation – and later Starfleet- hunt them out, cut them out and destroy them. He would suffer the misery so that others would not.

And this was why this mission bothered him. He took a long, hard stare at his face in the mirror, wondering what cancer harbored inside Rose Harcourt. Usually he had more information to go on, but in this case he simply had to trust Edgerton.

[[Evaer to Conniston. The ARMSTRONG has pulled back but is in visual range. The Captain requests you on the bridge.]] the Bolian’s voice was all business.

Saul nodded to himself, tearing his attention away from the visage in the mirror and back towards the communications panel. “Are the derelict and my personal shuttle prepared?”

He could almost hear the Bolian calling up the information. [[Affirmative. All ships have been prepared and doublechecked.]]

“I’ll be right up. Get that communication relay ready to start sending comm signals. We’ll need it soon.” Saul rose, smoothing his non-descript grey uniform and heading towards the door.

~*~*~*~

Location: USS ARMSTRONG
Scene: Turbolift -> Bridge

He had a clean uniform.

That was really all Commander Jos could say was good about the summons. He had just spent several hours checking on his away team, checking on the civilians, troubleshooting medical problems while being told by multiple other doctors to sit down and stop working, catching up on what the situation was on the ARMSTRONG, and not liking one bit of it. To top it all off he ended up having to gently sedate his brother when the emotional backlash finally hit. He made sure Arjan was set up in a crew quarters with Sef by his side. Somewhere along the way Zabrielle had seen fit to make sure some sustenance was stuffed down his throat and washed down with some raktajino. And then there was the summons from the Captain. Captain Harcourt, a woman he had never met before and who he owed some heavy explanations.

Well, at least he had a clean uniform.

The lift doors opened to reveal a stunningly familiar face. One that made Aerdan immediately bristle. “You look like shit.” Phia intoned.

“Thanks. I’ll remember not to get shot after fighting crazy Terran surpremacists on a planet where we’re trying to salvage engine parts that were fried by a schitzophrenic, brain harvesting space station on the other side of the galaxy.” He snapped his fingers and added dryly, “next time.”

Phia almost smiled. Almost. “You have been hanging around Cade too much.”

“Is this a surprise?” Aerdan perked a brow, getting into the lift with just a hint of hesitation.

“Not really.” She tossed back. “And I’m not going to lock you in this turbolift unless you deserve it.” Phia indulged in a heavy smirk as she got a perfect doubletake. Even after all these years Doctor Jos was oh so easy to read.

“I never said…” he protested in perfect time.

“But you most certainly were thinking.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned back, rewarded as the Andorian tinged a slight navy.

“All right, I was. Force of habit.” He shrugged. “I still got in.”

“Eh.” Phia waved a hand in the air in a so-so gesture. “What were you going to do? Fly up to the bridge?”

“Levitate.” He replied with a faintly jovial tone.

The Bolian-Vulcan shook her head ever so slowly. “Yep, after all this time and you’re still an asshole.”

“I blame Cade.” Aerdan shrugged.

“Did you ever hit him?” Phia asked, leaning back against the lift.

Aerdan’s sapphire eyes drifted upwards in thought. “Yeah, yeah I did. But he hit me first.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Because Cade’s an asshole?”

She smirked. “Yes.” A pause. “Why’d he hit you?” She wasn’t expecting an answer.

Aerdan’s eyes flickered towards her, and a light smile played about his features. “I kissed him.”

It was time for the usually unflappable counselor to do a double-take. “You did not.”

Aerdan gave a little smirk as the doors opened onto the bridge, leaving Phia to follow him out, vowing to hunt Cade down and get this story.

Captain Harcourt was already on the bridge. Dark circles were under her eyes, and his face was pinched from exhaustion and worry. “You must be Commander Jos?” she asked, turning towards the officers exiting from the turbolift. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. Andorians in red uniforms were not a dime a dozen on this ship.

He stopped and offered a formal address. “Yes, Captain. Lieutenant Commander Aerdan Jos, Executive Officer of the USS PENDRAGON.”

“I would like to speak with you after this meeting, in my ready room.” Harcourt returned. “Meanwhile, welcome on board.” She trailed off there, not adding the thought that despite the oddity of this away team’s arrival – the fact that she had some experienced officers to use in the boatload of children was a relief.

“Thank you, Captain.” Aerdan offered a slight nod. He straightened and took a step back to settle beside Phia. Oddly enough the half Bolian shifted and wedged herself neatly between Doctor Foster and Doctor Jos.

“I thought you hated me.” Cade grinned lightly towards Phia.

She merely rolled her eyes in return (though even she admitted that the familiar banter was not wholly unwelcome – if only to herself). “Bomba’s here and you’re my meatshield.” She murmured.

“Friends! So glad you could make it!” Lt, Commander Bomba started, a wide grin on his features.

“Can it, Bomba.” O’Malley snapped. “We have a report tae get though.”

Storm opened his mouth to protest, but Rose Harcourt was quicker. “That we do. At 0348 hours we picked up a hail from the planet, indicating that pirates had attacked one of the Federation settlements.”

“Not our problem, we were sent here to find the PENDRAGON, we found the PENDRAGON, we should leave.” The words came from Phia’s mouth hot and quick as she locked eyes with Harcourt.

The older woman swallowed and clenched her jaw. “I understand, however this signal was unique as it was carried through a Starfleet communicator.”

“A communicator?” Sylvia Warren perked a brow, looking towards her fellow engineer. “Could you parse the signal and find out who’s communicator it was?”

“Already did.” Angus replied, and the expression on his face said it all: they were not going to like this. “The signal is registered to the badge of Colonel Alexander Towers.”

Aerdan’s face ghosted white. Towers was the original CO of the PENDRAGON, transferred off ship just before the accident. “Are you sure?”

“Dead sure, Laddie.” Angus smiled grimly.

~*~
NRPG: So this gets us going! I never knew what happened to Towers… he could be most anywhere, but his (old) communicator is down on the planet… ooh what a tasty bit of bait!

Also, Shawn, hope you don’t mind the Pygram reference. *fingers crossed!*

~*~

Jamie LeBlanc
Lieutenant Commander Aerdan Jos
Andorian in a Red Shirt…
USS ARMSTRONG

"Why do we fly? Because we have dreamt of it for so long that we must"

~Julian Beck

_______________________________________