The Needs of the Many, Part One

Posted on Jul 08, 2015 @ 12:22am by Captain Michael Turlogh Kane & Commander Jacob Crichton
Edited on on Jul 08, 2015 @ 12:24am

Mission: The Lights of Hyperion

"THE NEEDS OF THE MANY, PART ONE"

(Continued from "No Good Deed")

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"Logic clearly dictates that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."
- Spock

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Captain's Log, Supplemental - the refugees of Cargo Bay Three are rioting, and several groups have attempted to escape the deck. Our security systems are responding to protect the ship, and thanks to Selyara, we have an inside man in one of those groups...

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Location: USS Phoenix, en route to Elandipole through the Hyperion Expanse
Stardate: [2.15]0707.1800
Scene: Computer Core 3, Deck 22 (drive section)


Gorn, Chaucer knew, did not exhibit emotion in the same way most bipedal organics do. Their reptilian genetics meant that their methods of communication had always relied more on the subleties of pheromones and body language than it ever did on overt displays of anger or fear. This difference, although mostly physiological, contributed to the common misconception amongst other species that the Gorn were cold-blooded, emotionless creatures, but that was not the case. The Gorn simply displayed their emotions differently, usually in ways much too subtle for the untrained observer to pick up on. Relations between the Federation and the Gorn Hegemony had been cordial for the past fifty years, and despite the visits of several cultural exchange missions, the Federation as a whole still had many unanswered questions about the minutiae of Gorn inter-personal communications.

So much the better, because right now, Chaucer was terrified. He could see it on his own body - skin a little more grey, diaphragm involuntarily contracting - but the others in his group appeared not to be aware.

He was sitting on the floor of one of the computer core rooms, thick tail curled about his legs protectively. His mobile PADD was connected to one of the computer core's access ports, but instead of proceeding with a hacking attempt on the ship's main computer, he was staring nervously at a series of text messages on the screen. Someone had detected his attempt to breach the computer's main programming, and had transferred him to the bridge.

On the deck-plating behind him, the Vulcan named Savaar stalked back and forth like a caged predator. He occasionally stopped to peer over the Gorn's shoulder at the computer display, and each time he did this, Chaucer quickly switched the view from the text screen to a screen full of programming gibberish. It had worked so far, but Chaucer was worried that Savaar would sniff out the ruse and realize Chaucer was not doing any work, and was in fact stalling him. The Gorn wasn't sure what Savaar would do if he discovered this betrayal, and he didn't want to find out.

On the screen before him, a message popped up. [[Are you still there, Chaucer?]]

[[Yes. Who are you?]] Chaucer typed back. He spared a glance behind him at Savaar. The Vulcan had momentarily turned his attention back to his three other men, who were all still standing sentry by the computer core's entrance. They were worried about the arrival of heavily-armed marines, but the corridor outside was deserted.

Another message popped up. [[This is Captain Kane on the bridge. Your companion Savaar doesn't know it yet, but the riot in Cargo Bay Three is being subdued. I am sending marines to your location. They will be there soon. Don't let Savaar out of there if you can help it.]]

Chaucer huffed a breath through his nostrils. They flared to the size of Human fists. [[Hurry please,]] Chaucer typed. [[I am not safe.]]

[[Just a little longer. Thank you, Chaucer.]]

"This is taking too long," Savaar barked, so suddenly and from so close that it startled Chaucer. He was standing scant feet away, eyes flickering from PADD screen to Chaucer's face and back again. "You were supposed to have gained control of their security counter-measures by now."

Chaucer looked up from the floor and shrugged apologetically at the Vulcan.

"I am growing tired of that gesture," Savaar frowned. "Give me a definite answer. Will your efforts take longer than another two or three minutes?"

Chaucer couldn't reply, which at least spared him from having to make up a lie on the spot. He repeated the shrug, since it was really the only thing he could do.

That didn't make Savaar any happier. "I believe you have discovered you are not up to the task," said the Vulcan. "And that you are stalling for time in the hope that another solution will present itself."

Savaar's green eyes locked on Chaucer's yellow ones. The Vulcan's gaze was so withering that Chaucer felt he would have cracked if he'd been able to do so. But of the four phrases in his vox repertoire, a confession of betrayal was not among them. Chaucer made do with what was available. He keyed in a response.

[[No,]] said the vox in its soulless, robotic, calm voice. [[My name is Chaucer. Help.]]

Savaar's eyes never wavered, but Chaucer saw a subtle shift in the Vulcan's expression, a slight softening of the skin around the eyes, an almost imperceptible slackening of the muscles in the jaw. Chaucer could never be sure of what he read in the faces of others, as he often found their emotions as mystifying as they found his own, but in this case he thought he could make a pretty good guess. Savaar had been suspicious, but Chaucer's stunted form of communication had been frustrating enough to make the Vulcan abandon the line of inquiry altogether. Interrogating someone who would only respond with four phrases was, after all, a rather pointless way to spend an evening.

"This plan is no longer tenable," Savaar announced, loud enough so that his men stationed by the door could hear him.

"What's wrong?" asked one of the Humans. He was swarthy, with thick brown hair all over his cranium and on his face. Chaucer thought his name was Gibbs.

"It seems that Chaucer has been unable to defeat the ship's security systems," Savaar said. "This eventuality has been considered. We will move to our secondary objective."

"Where is that?" Gibbs asked.

"Main Engineering," Savaar said. "We will take control of the ship's engines. We move out now."

Chaucer slowly climbed to his feet, unfurling his tail. There was no way he could remain seated and not make it patently obvious that he was delaying them. He glanced at the PADD screen desperately.

"Hold on a minute, Savaar!" one of the other Humans exclaimed. Chaucer couldn't remember if this one was Harper or Metcalf. "Engineering is more than ten decks below us! There's no way we go that far without running into someone!"

"We cannot afford for the alarm to be raised," Savaar said. "We will use maintenance access tunnels where possible. If anyone sees us, neutralise them immediately."

"What do you mean, neutralise?" the other Human - Harper or Metcalf - asked.

"A variety of things, given the situation," Savaar said, placing a hand on the grip of his disruptor and fixing his men with a cold stare that Chaucer didn't like. It didn't take much imagination to guess at what the Vulcan was recommending. "We move now. Metcalf, take point."

Chaucer wasn't sure what to do. Savaar would expect him to accompany them to Main Engineering and use his expertise with computers there, but the person texting at the other end of the computer had told him to stall Savaar, and to stay in the computer core. Whatever their plan was, the Vulcan could be throwing a hyperspanner into the works by changing their objective. Chaucer might not be in a position to interfere with Savaar's plans any more, but he at least had to notify the Starfleet crew what was happening.

Frantically, Chaucer typed out a final message. [[Savaar moving to Main Engineering. Do not know what his goal is. Keep corridors clear if you can. He will use lethal force if intercepted.]] He watched the message be sent, but there was no immediate reply.

"Chaucer!" Savaar said, and Chaucer turned. The Vulcan was staring at him, one eyebrow quirked. "Is something wrong?"

[[No,]] said Chaucer's vox.

"Good," Savaar said. "Now move."

Chaucer disconnected his PADD and followed Savaar out of the computer core. He cast one final glance back at the access port he'd been using, but it was unlit and in standby mode. Worriedly, Chaucer hoped the Starfleet crew were prepared for whatever might happen next.

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Scene: Cargo Bay Three, "Shanty Town" -> Deck 22 Corridor


Arthur Embry watched from behind his tent flap as Selyara and Barnes threw themselves back into the fray. He didn't know he they could do that, and they were damn good. They were winning. Between the alarm klaxons, the cries of pain or rage, and those sickening sounds of metal scraping metal or slapping dully into flesh, the riot was just so loud, much louder than Embry had thought it would be. It was like the myriad noises were slamming into his addled head with just as much force as any punch or kick.

The plan had been so clear in the beginning. The refugees needed the things only the Starfleet crew could provide - safety, food, stability. But high-and-mighty Captain Kane was too distracted by other concerns to see how serious things would get in Shanty Town. Safe up there in his ivory tower, Kane thought he could simply toss some food rations at the problem and keep everyone locked up, deep down in the bowels of his precious starship. Very well - Kane would simply need to be forced to acknowledge the reality of the situation. If he would simply come to the table and negotiate, Embry could make sure everyone got what they needed. Embry was good at negotiations. He was good at making people happy.

But bringing Kane to the table required leverage, and Embry's leverage was Shanty Town's potential for violence. Several thousand people all crammed into a confined space, living in each other's pockets, all of whom had spent years simply surviving the brutalities of life on Limbo. The leverage was a tool that Embry had realized from the start, and one that the wisest of his inner circle had seen as well. Embry would wield it like any tool - there was no satisfaction in it, no joy or malice, but neither would he deny himself its use just because he found it distasteful. The satisfaction was in using the tool to accomplish a goal.

His intentions were only the most noble, he knew. To ensure that everyone could coexist on the ship, safely, peacefully, and equally. He was fighting for the disenfranchised masses, the forgotten multitudes who had fled their homes under threat of death. If Captain Kane would not move to protect them, then Arthur Embry would. And so, he had begun to plan his riot.

No, he told himself, not riot. It was more than that - it was his statement, his manifesto, nothing less than his indictment of Kane and the rest of the Starfleet crew that were so eager to lock them all away.

We are here. We matter. And there are a hell of a lot more of us than there are of you.

Savaar had helped. The Vulcan's logic was ruthless, but it was also unassailable. Embry suspected that, had he not been there to take on the role of leader, Savaar would have tried something like this on his own, but Embry had no doubt a lot more people would have gotten hurt if Savaar had been left in charge. The Vulcan's intentions were as noble as Embry's own, and he was capable of recognising the danger the refugees posed to themselves and the ship moreso than anyone else (save perhaps Barnes). But Savaar's methods were rather more final that Embry preferred. There was no need to destroy an enemy when an accord could be reached.

However, things had gone wrong, badly wrong, and Embry could no longer deny that. Starfleet's counter-measures had been more formidable than they'd expected - anesthesine gas in the corridors, forcefields and transporter beams fizzing into life everywhere - and it was well past the time when Savaar was supposed to have contacted him with the news that Chaucer now had control of the Phoenix's security systems. The Gorn must have failed. Embry supposed it was his fault for putting so much faith in some big, stupid lizard that could barely talk.

As he watched, Embry saw Barnes and Selyara. They were both a little worse for wear themselves. Barnes' fingers were scarlet with blood not his own. They were too far away for him to hear what they were saying, but as he watched they exchanged a nod and then made for the cargo bay door. Nobody else seemed to be paying them any attention; the rest of the looters either appeared to be looting, unconscious, or to have run off altogether, probably to cause all kinds of havoc throughout the rest of the ship.

And now Barnes and Selyara were running off. Where could they be going? With a start, Embry realized they must be trying to find Savaar. His strike team hadn't reported in yet. If they'd failed in the nearby computer core, Embry knew their next goal would be Main Engineering.

Embry stepped outside of his tent and looked around. Refugees were swarming past him in all directions. Most of them had their arms laden down with goods, and with a sickening twist in his heart Embry realized that the refugees were looting the various tents and cloth-huts that were scattered around the cargo bay.

Anger rose within him, that burned away the pain of the phaser stun shot that had laid him low. These worthless fleas were actually stealing from each other while those Starfleet marines conspired to lock them all away again! Didn't they see that would only put them all right back where they had started? Couldn't they see that they had to work together if they wanted to take over the ship?

It was too much for him to bear. For once, Arthur Embry allowed his true emotions to bubble to the surface.

"No!" he bellowed, stepping forward and holding up his hands. None of the refugees stopped, or made any sign that they'd even heard him. Embry took a stand at the center of the thoroughfare, but the river of people just diverted and flowed around him like he was no more important or worthy of attention than a lump of rock.

"No!" he shouted again, his hands balled up into fists so tight that they hurt. "No! It wasn't supposed to be like this!"

Still nobody stopped, but Embry kept shouting, unable to contain it any longer. "You're fools!" he railed at them. "Don't you see, this is what they want! We tear ourselves down while they hide safe and warm in their furnished quarters! They placate us with scraps while they dine on warm food! They think we're animals! Can't you see you're making them right? Can't you see - "

Someone collided with Embry from behind, hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Embry stumbled forward, catching his breath in shock. There were so many people, so many legs and feet pounding past him, all in a blur. Embry was caught up in the crush and pulled under. He curled into a ball, doing his best to protect his head and stomach, as the crowd kept surging over the top of him.

Embry was crying. It wasn't the pain of the people trampling him, though. It just simply wasn't supposed to be like this.

He fought his way to his feet and blindly staggered to the cargo bay door, legs unsteady and mind whirling. People barged him several times, but he refused to fall. Like that lump of rock in the river, he endured.

He slammed into the wall. In the crush, someone thrust their elbow into his right eye, bursting a blood vessel and turning half his vision red. His legs wavered unsteadily, but he willed himself to keep going. His face was puffy and bruised, his clothes were ripped and smeared with grime, but as long as he kept moving forward, he was alright.

In the corridor outside the cargo bay, he stepped over the comatose forms of dozens of refugees rendered unconscious by the anesthesine. They had fallen together like they had fought a battle, and Embry picked his way through them like he was stepping amongst the dead.

Free and loose in the corridor, he paused to take stock of his position. A small sign on the wall nearby read Deck 22 - Drive Section. Directions underneath pointed towards Transporter Room Three, Primary Computer Core Three and the turbolifts at both ends of the deck, but Embry ignored them all.

Lurching up the corridor on unsteady legs, he made for the nearest access tunnel hatch. He had to get to Main Engineering. He had to find Savaar.

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Scene: Main Engineering


Main Engineering was buzzing with activity. There was always a lot to do, but with almost half of the staff doubling up as marines or operations crew, it seemed that nobody got an easy shift lately. The most important tasks got priority, but the innocuous power monitoring jobs still needed doing, and in order to get them done the duty crew hopped between workstations, always moving, always reacting to some new shrill alert buzzing out from the ship's computer.

John Maynell was focused on co-ordinating the repair teams that were moving throughout the Phoenix, doing their best to repair any potentially dangerous damage caused by the riot. Several groups of rioters had breached the cargo bay using maintenance access corridors, and had given in to the baser instincts of destruction, wrenching off power network hatch covers and attempting to pull out the isolinear chips inside. Maynell's teams had to move fast, running power bypasses or completing slapdash repairs in the wake of rioters to prevent relay-station overloads from killing power to half the ship.

Sylvia Warren was coordinating with Major Thytos's marines, making sure the ship's counter-measures remained non-lethal. Thytos's jury-rigged defenses, put in place in the days before the riot, had proven effective, but the sheer crush of refugees had overloaded the electrical deck-plating outside the cargo bay, causing fires in the wiring and other system malfunctions. Physical damage to the doors and panelling had created additional fire hazards. One of the atmospheric processors on Deck 21 had malfunctioned after a refugee had smashed it, causing the safety overrides to fail and a whole corridor on that deck to fill with anesthesine gas, posing a lethal threat to any refugee who lost consciousness there. Sylvia was managing each of these threats from multiple work stations, making sure engineers had marine backup, or using the internal comms to walk marines through the most simple repairs themselves.

Cindy Rochemonte was tasked with general ship diagnostics - the checks and double-checks that were always running as a natural by-product of a starship's myriad system functions. Her job was made more difficult thanks to the nebulous threat of the Amaterasu. Their random appearances and the radiation spikes that accompanied them were playing hell with the ship's internal sensors and interfering with normal diagnostics across several subsystems. The automated forcefields implemented to contain the Amaterasu were their own headache, requiring sudden, unexpected draws on the ships power, and constantly forcing Cindy to improvise, shutting down non-critical ship functions and rerouting power from empty decks to keep everything running as smoothly as possible.

And that left Jake Crichton. His attention was split between supporting his assistants when they needed it, and completing modifications to the deflector dish for the graviton pulse. The earlier briefing in the conference room had been interrupted with the news of the riot's outbreak, and had had to be abandoned without full resolution. The quick decision from Captain Kane was to go ahead and prepare the gravitron pulse as a possible solution to the Amaterasu manifestations. Jake didn't like that idea, least of all because the gravitron pulse would probably annihilate the Amaterasu, but with all the chaos from the riot, it had been easier for him to push his doubts aside and focus on getting the job done. Now the graviton pulse was almost ready, and reports were coming in that the rioters were being contained.

"Bloom and Chadwick are reporting Turbolift Nine has lost power," Maynell reported, glancing over at Cindy.

"How do they know?" Cindy asked, not looking up from her workstation. Her face was eerily underlit by the glow from the computer screen and the lenses of her glasses was reflecting a frighteningly complicated data stream.

"Because they're standing in it," Maynell said. "I need them on Deck 21 immediately."

"Pas maintenant," muttered Cindy, still intently watching something on her screen. "I can't deal with it right this second, Jonathan. Give me a moment."

"No time," Maynell said apologetically.

"Make the time!" snapped Cindy.

"Lieutenant, we've got a malfunctioning power node that's not responding to remote shutdown commands. If they don't perform an on-site bypass right now - "

"I said to wait!" Cindy said, still not looking up. As Maynell watched, her fingers pirouetted rapidly across her workstation.

Jake watched with growing concern from his command work station. There was a chance that the power node would negatively affect the operation of the entire deck, and if that happened, it meant problems with implementing the gravitron pulse. He left his station and walked between them. "Deck twenty-one is the main deflector," Jake said, looking at them both in turn. "I can't have it going dark now!"

"Fils de salope!" Cindy hissed through gritted teeth, slapping the side of her computer.

"Specs," Jake said, in a warning tone, "we're all spinning a lot of plates here. Only way this works is if we all support each other."

"Power restored to Turbolift nine," Cindy said tiredly. She reached up to rub at her glasses, which were thickly smudged with the echoes of her fingerprints. Jake couldn't help but grin at her.

"Bloom and Chadwick are moving," Maynell nodded. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

"I want that node repaired on the double," Jake said, moving over to Maynell's station to look over the Ensign's shoulder. "Then have them rendezvous with Harwood on Deck twenty-two. Fire suppression systems have failed, and we need - "

"Jake!" Cindy called in alarm. "Transporter systems are activating!"

Jake hurried across the room to Cindy, and saw at a glance that she was right. Power draw on the transporters had suddenly spiked. He shook his head in growing frustration.

"That couldn't be the refugees?" Sylvia asked.

"No way they have access," Maynell said.

"Computer, bring up the transporter system overview on this terminal," Jake said, and a moment later the screen before him winked into life. There was a small overlay of the ship's power usage, and next to that was a a live feed of the transporter. As Jake watched, the number of patterns in the buffer kept growing. Jake realized what was happening, and grinned.

"What is it?" Cindy asked.

"Reroute power to the transporter pattern buffers," Jake said. "Draw it from any nonessential systems we haven't shut off yet. And if we have space, tie it all into the main computer."

Cindy blinked at him. "But why?"

"Because it's about to get awfully crowded in there," said Jake. He looked down at the screen - there were dozens of separate patterns being stored in the buffers, coming from every transporter room on the ship. "Someone's started beaming up the rioters!"

"Beaming them where?" asked Warren.

"Nowhere!" Jake exclaimed. He couldn't suppress a laugh born of relief. "They're storing them inside the pattern buffer. It's pure genius!"

"It's not genius, it's insane!" Cindy said, hurrying to Jake's station to watch the feed. "If we lose power, all those people are as good as dead. We'll never be able to restore their patterns and they'll just degrade out of existence!"

"That's why we need to make sure we don't lose power," Jake said, serious again. "Stop what you're doing and get me that extra juice, Specs. Whatever it takes,understand?" He turned to Sylvia and Maynell. "Warren, inform Thytos' people about what's happening. Maynell, get me two repair teams back here. We're going to need them to help pull these people out of the transporter safely once things calm down."

Maynell smiled and started to nod, but suddenly his features contorted into a rictus of agony. A hand had appeared, as if from nowhere, to clamp like iron onto the place where Maynell's neck met his shoulder, and as Jake, Sylvia and Cindy watched in shocked horror, the knuckles on the hand went white as it squeezed down hard. Maynell's whole body seized up like he was being electrocuted. His knees collapsed from under him and he slumped forward, revealing the cold, determined face of Savaar standing behind him. The Vulcan released the nerve pinch and stepped over Maynell's unconscious form, his other hand sweeping a disruptor over the room.

"Away from your workstations! Now!" Savaar said, loud enough to make sure he had everyone's attention. Sylvia and Cindy glanced at Jake, who briefly considered trying to bum-rush Savaar and catch him by surprise, but he quickly abandoned that idea when Savaar's men stepped out from behind a nearby workstation. There were three Humans of various shapes and sizes, but the fourth figure was unmistakeable. It was the hulking reptilian form of the Gorn refugee Jake had met during the evacuation of Limbo. Between Savaar's men, that Gorn, and the disruptor, Jake's team didn't stand a chance.

"Move away. Do as he says," Jake said, stepping away from his own workstation with his hands raised. Sylvia and Cindy slowly followed his lead while the three men covered them Savaar took a step closer, positioning himself between Jake and his terminal, and glanced down to inspect the readout.

Jake watched them carefully. Savaar's features were as inscrutable as a Vulcan's could be, but the three refugee men under his command were plainly nervous. Their eyes darted about this unfamiliar place, and they started at the slightest movement from any of the engineers. Nervous men were dangerous men, Jake knew. He felt a pang of worry for his crew.

Savaar finished his inspection of Jake's work station. "You are beaming the refugees into the pattern buffer."

"Not me," Jake said innocently. "I have my hands raised, see?."

Savaar's fixed Jake with a cold, green-eyed stare. "Someone on your crew, then."

"We can't take credit for this one," Jake said. "Wish we could."

Savaar turned the disruptor on Jake, aiming it square at the centre of his chest. "You will release them from the buffer."

"No chance, sunshine," Jake said.

"You will do it. If you do not, then I will incinerate you and do it myself," Savaar said, as if he was coercing a child.

Jake slowly let his hands come down and crossed them in front of his chest. His heart was pounding as he stared down the barrel of the disruptor, but he tried hard to appear confident. "Not a great plan. Too many people in the buffer, too much activity in the cargo bays. You try an emergency override, you'll either wind up with half your rebellion stuck in some bulkhead, or with a great big pile of broken bones."

Savaar took all of this in without a single chance in his expression. His emerald eyes drifted over to the Gorn, who was looming behind the rest of Savaar's men.

"Could you manage it?" Savaar asked.

The Gorn lifted a shoulder, then let it drop, in what Jake immediately recognized as an 'I don't know'. Savaar didn't look pleased by the gesture, but he looked back at Jake. "Very well," the Vulcan said. "They can wait. Chief engineer, you will contact the bridge now."

"What for?" Jake asked.

"I want your captain to come down here," Savaar said. "He will guarantee amnesty for the participants of this revolt and negotiate improvements to the living conditions inside the car - "

"Are you kidding me?" Jake interrupted him.

"I assure you that I am not," Savaar hissed, brandishing the disruptor dangerously. His yellow-green finger curled around the trigger. "Do it, or I will kill you right here."

"You've lost, you idiot!" Jake exclaimed. "The riot's over! You've only got one disruptor between the five of you! You've got no cards left to play, just give it up already!"

"I have one card, at least," Savaar said, and that is my one disruptor." He moved his arm to the right. Now he was aiming directly at Sylvia Warren's pregnant belly. "You will contact your captain now, or I will kill your crew."

Jake searched the Vulcan's eyes for any sign of weakness, any hint that Savaar wouldn't go through with it. He found none. Savaar's emerald gaze held only unwavering, terrible certainty. Jake stepped in front of Sylvia, and scowled at Savaar. "Cindy," he said. "Get the boss on the phone. Tell him there's someone down here that wants to talk to him."

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NRPG: Part One of Three. Stay with us, now ;)

Shawn Putnam
a.k.a
Jake Crichton
Chief Engineering Officer
USS PHOENIX


Jerome McKee
the Soul of Captain Michael Turlogh Kane
Commanding Officer
USS PHOENIX


"[They] speak an infinite deal of nothing!"
- Shakespeare's "The Merchant of Venice", Act 1, Scene 1.117

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