Post by Judith Eastman on Aug 1, 2021 22:54:19 GMT
First of all, find the form for August nominations here.
Now, let us proceed to July's POTM noms. There were three noms, and two honorable mentions.
The following are honorable mentions. That means they're from an admin, which means they're ineligible to win. Still a nice gesture!
Voting will remain open for 48 hours - i.e. until 4 PM Pacific Time on Tuesday, August 3rd. A runoff will be held if needed.
Now, let us proceed to July's POTM noms. There were three noms, and two honorable mentions.
{Submission #1, by Evorís, is in the event}Here's what the nominator wrote:
Here's the post itself:
The situation was getting trickier by the minute, not in small part due to Evorís’ own difficulties maintaining his composure. It was typically much easier to will away exhaustion and discomfort, but now he found it near-impossible. If he were a human, he may have already been sweating, in his struggle to remain both standing and functioning enough to handle his duties.
If there were any time to express gratitude for years of Vulcan endurance training, it would be now.
=A= “Standby,” =A= he responded to Enola, just as another message filtered through the Operations comm. His suspicion that the apparent emergency was related to Romulan blood took another turn at the mention of T’Laara. Though he did not know the victim, it was a clearly Vulcan name.
He glanced toward the Captain for approval, but decided that in this case, expediency and transparency would be more logical than confidentiality and patience. If this were indeed a crisis, as it now appeared to be, it would be imperative that all those affected were aware of it, and immediately examined. His own affliction, a heavy numbness that seeped into his brain, only further loosened his grip on the intricacies of procedure. (If events continued to unfurl this quickly, there was no knowing how long he would last.)
He initiated a response, quickly altering the transporter parameters to locate the nearest Vulcan life sign to the comm’s origin signal. =A= “Acknowledged, this is Ensign Evorís in Operations. Please step back from the patient and see a witness to Sickbay.” =A= A quick transfer left the communication signal open for the Captain to continue a response if she wished, as Evorís continued his attempts to isolate T’Laara’s signal.
There was no time and little point in lamenting the lack of information received in the message, but Evorís was satisfied to find that T’Laara was the only Vulcan signal in the immediate vicinity. Though by assignment, he was not an Operations officer, his familiarity with communication (and Vulcan) signals made the configuration manageable in his current state. “Energizing,” he once again announced, and activated the transfer.
Immediately following the console’s confirmation of a successful transport, he tapped his personal comm to reinstate communication with Enola. =A= “Ensign Evorís to Enola. There have now been two Vulcan and Romulan collapses in mere minutes, with no known cause. What is your current location? Prepare to be beamed directly to Sickbay in the case of an emergency.” =A=
Adrenaline flickering on its fuse, Evorís broke his strict posture to lean his hands against the edges of the console, and directed his focus toward conserving his depleted energy until he was addressed again. Once again, the blip of an anomaly on a nearby screen went unnoticed.
You can read the post in context here.
It was difficult to choose but with this one, Evoris was kind of thrown in at the deep end whilst also being affected & how he was trying not to let his difficulties get in the way.
Here's the post itself:
[Ensign Evorís - Operations, Front Ear]
The situation was getting trickier by the minute, not in small part due to Evorís’ own difficulties maintaining his composure. It was typically much easier to will away exhaustion and discomfort, but now he found it near-impossible. If he were a human, he may have already been sweating, in his struggle to remain both standing and functioning enough to handle his duties.
If there were any time to express gratitude for years of Vulcan endurance training, it would be now.
=A= “Standby,” =A= he responded to Enola, just as another message filtered through the Operations comm. His suspicion that the apparent emergency was related to Romulan blood took another turn at the mention of T’Laara. Though he did not know the victim, it was a clearly Vulcan name.
He glanced toward the Captain for approval, but decided that in this case, expediency and transparency would be more logical than confidentiality and patience. If this were indeed a crisis, as it now appeared to be, it would be imperative that all those affected were aware of it, and immediately examined. His own affliction, a heavy numbness that seeped into his brain, only further loosened his grip on the intricacies of procedure. (If events continued to unfurl this quickly, there was no knowing how long he would last.)
He initiated a response, quickly altering the transporter parameters to locate the nearest Vulcan life sign to the comm’s origin signal. =A= “Acknowledged, this is Ensign Evorís in Operations. Please step back from the patient and see a witness to Sickbay.” =A= A quick transfer left the communication signal open for the Captain to continue a response if she wished, as Evorís continued his attempts to isolate T’Laara’s signal.
There was no time and little point in lamenting the lack of information received in the message, but Evorís was satisfied to find that T’Laara was the only Vulcan signal in the immediate vicinity. Though by assignment, he was not an Operations officer, his familiarity with communication (and Vulcan) signals made the configuration manageable in his current state. “Energizing,” he once again announced, and activated the transfer.
Immediately following the console’s confirmation of a successful transport, he tapped his personal comm to reinstate communication with Enola. =A= “Ensign Evorís to Enola. There have now been two Vulcan and Romulan collapses in mere minutes, with no known cause. What is your current location? Prepare to be beamed directly to Sickbay in the case of an emergency.” =A=
Adrenaline flickering on its fuse, Evorís broke his strict posture to lean his hands against the edges of the console, and directed his focus toward conserving his depleted energy until he was addressed again. Once again, the blip of an anomaly on a nearby screen went unnoticed.
You can read the post in context here.
{Submission #2, by Kaya Som, is in the mission}Here's what the nominator wrote:
Here's the post itself:
Any data coming into Engineering from the away teams was sidelined as the local crew dealt with the immediacy of the hull breach and unwanted access - pulsing alert lights made the former difficult to ignore, the stream of data keeping tabs on the latter.
Kaya took the PADD from Mora and keyed into what he'd taken the initiative to find.
"This is good," she said with furrowed brows. From the meta-data, the object was indifferent at best to their warp engine and weapons; it was far more curious about ... them.
"They're either carnivores or biologists. Thanks."
She clapped Mora on the shoulder and tapped her comm badge.
"Engineering to Bridge. The data stream has been cut off at 29.4%. And now we have some feedback on what they were focusing on: biological profiles and ship prefix codes - not weapons, not warp technology. Sending the data up there now."
She handed Mora the PADD to carry out her promise to get the data packaged for Ellis. "Good work."
Then she rounded back, seeking a vital update. "Status on my warp engines!"
You can read the post in context here.
Kaya assumes her role as Chief Engineer with great humility, and throughout the mission is forcing herself to grow into what she think the position means. However, the simplicity of her deduction of these aliens poking around their computers as either carnivores or biologists is the perfect way to remind us that she is many things, but will always be Kaya first.
Here's the post itself:
[ SCPO Kaya Som | Engineering ]
Any data coming into Engineering from the away teams was sidelined as the local crew dealt with the immediacy of the hull breach and unwanted access - pulsing alert lights made the former difficult to ignore, the stream of data keeping tabs on the latter.
Kaya took the PADD from Mora and keyed into what he'd taken the initiative to find.
"This is good," she said with furrowed brows. From the meta-data, the object was indifferent at best to their warp engine and weapons; it was far more curious about ... them.
"They're either carnivores or biologists. Thanks."
She clapped Mora on the shoulder and tapped her comm badge.
"Engineering to Bridge. The data stream has been cut off at 29.4%. And now we have some feedback on what they were focusing on: biological profiles and ship prefix codes - not weapons, not warp technology. Sending the data up there now."
She handed Mora the PADD to carry out her promise to get the data packaged for Ellis. "Good work."
Then she rounded back, seeking a vital update. "Status on my warp engines!"
You can read the post in context here.
{Submission #3, by Joshua Niles, is in the Down Time thread Breakdown}Here's what the nominator wrote:
Here's the post itself:
"Jupiter Star," Niles said without thinking. The Orunmila had yet to be found, so far as he remembered. But he remembered the smell of blood and voided bowels on that ship, the decks tacky with blood, the sight of savaged bodies. The warm and foul splash of Charlie Fox' vomit on his boots.
"You're just about right about why I went Sec/Tac, but focused on the tactical side. You remember, during the War when the Breen sucker-punched Earth? Where was the fleet? Where were the fixed defences? I lost friends, that day and that was the last nail in the coffin for what my folks were planning for me, why I chose to join Starfleet instead of going into politics or the public service like a 'proper' Niles is supposed to."
But that was hardly all of what he had to say, especially about dead Talorians. "And it's not that simple, when it comes to Dias Irae or Orya or her crew. Firing into their ship when she was a threat? That's combat; that's ending the threat; but using escape pods for target practice, or not rescuing those still on the ship and letting them die when she breaks up? That's murder. Not that different from gutting merchant spacers who never had a chance."
He was trying to control his breathing. For he remembered the degree of exultation in unleashing the fury of starship weapons into the Talorians, and in finding out that the vagaries of their internal arrangements made what should have been a disabling strike turn into damage that turned out to be terminal. "The part where I have a problem isn't that every last one of those savages is dead, but it's that we're the ones accused of not rescuing them, or using escape pods for target practice."
Finally, he looked up and his eyes met the counselor's once more. "I know that I was following orders, within policy and rules of engagement and the call was Commodore Perry's, but that doesn't matter, it was still my hand on the trigger, and that doesn't bug me one bit. But what really bothers me, is that it doesn't bother me that I killed them. If that makes sense."
You can read the post in context here.
It is always interesting to see what makes a character who they are, whether it be tragedy or triumph. This seemed like a unique and rare introspection into the character, Josh.
Here's the post itself:
[ LT Joshua Niles - Counselling Offices - Front Ear Station ]
"Jupiter Star," Niles said without thinking. The Orunmila had yet to be found, so far as he remembered. But he remembered the smell of blood and voided bowels on that ship, the decks tacky with blood, the sight of savaged bodies. The warm and foul splash of Charlie Fox' vomit on his boots.
"You're just about right about why I went Sec/Tac, but focused on the tactical side. You remember, during the War when the Breen sucker-punched Earth? Where was the fleet? Where were the fixed defences? I lost friends, that day and that was the last nail in the coffin for what my folks were planning for me, why I chose to join Starfleet instead of going into politics or the public service like a 'proper' Niles is supposed to."
But that was hardly all of what he had to say, especially about dead Talorians. "And it's not that simple, when it comes to Dias Irae or Orya or her crew. Firing into their ship when she was a threat? That's combat; that's ending the threat; but using escape pods for target practice, or not rescuing those still on the ship and letting them die when she breaks up? That's murder. Not that different from gutting merchant spacers who never had a chance."
He was trying to control his breathing. For he remembered the degree of exultation in unleashing the fury of starship weapons into the Talorians, and in finding out that the vagaries of their internal arrangements made what should have been a disabling strike turn into damage that turned out to be terminal. "The part where I have a problem isn't that every last one of those savages is dead, but it's that we're the ones accused of not rescuing them, or using escape pods for target practice."
Finally, he looked up and his eyes met the counselor's once more. "I know that I was following orders, within policy and rules of engagement and the call was Commodore Perry's, but that doesn't matter, it was still my hand on the trigger, and that doesn't bug me one bit. But what really bothers me, is that it doesn't bother me that I killed them. If that makes sense."
You can read the post in context here.
The following are honorable mentions. That means they're from an admin, which means they're ineligible to win. Still a nice gesture!
{Submission #4, by Felicity Ellis, is in the Down Time thread Sweet Like}Here's what the nominator wrote:
Here's the post itself:
Hot Candy - Southern Comfort Pop-Up Piknik Spot, Park, Deck 6]
Candy Barr was an entrepreneur at heart. It was in her blood, it pumped through her veins and one day it would make her just as much latinum as it had her daddy, and his daddy before him. Sure, things would be easier if one of them would just give her the funds to set up her own legitimate business somewhere closer to civilisation, but since that wasn't forthcoming (not in a month of Sundays), she'd just have to hustle.
The park had no cafés in it, and Candy thought that was just a crying shame. Sometimes small stalls set up during events and festivals, but on a regular old day in June, there didn't seem to be anyone about to take advantage of the footfall. And even more importantly, there wasn't anyone around to stop her from taking advantage of the footfall. And so, close to the small group of picnic tables, just next to the tinkling, trickling stream, Candy opened shop.
Standing behind a catering table, which she'd covered with a pink gingham cloth, she was packing delightful little wicker baskets full of the absolute necessities for a proper Southern picnic. Fried chicken bites, cold pasta salads, homemade spicy slaw and potato salad with fresh bread rolls, a small tray of peach cobbler, with lemonade for the kids and frozen fruit daquiris for the not-kids; food all replicated that morning, though the sign read:
Nobody would know the difference. The devil spawn punching one of her pink and yellow balloons, which were tied to a nearby bench and pulled the whole presentation together, certainly wouldn't know. And the young ensign trying to chat her up wouldn't care.
"Do you come with the basket?"
She laughed at his terrible line, a pleasant sound amidst the relative peace of the park. Her eyes crinkled in the corners as she looked at him. "Oh, honey, I don't think that's legal."
The ensign's smirk grew and he leaned in closer, hands splayed on the table. "That smile of yours isn't legal. I'll take a basket, but in return you have to join me."
Candy blushed, her cheeks turning a pretty light rose colour, and she looked up at him from beneath long lashes. "'kay," she said breathlessly. He leaned in further without even realising it, and Candy knew she had him. "But we'll need one each. Something tells me we'll be working up quite the appetite."
The ensign was already whipping out his handheld, ready to pay. "I'll be finished in twenty minutes," she told him as she took payment with a smile, "I'll meet you at the triple tree near the west exit. It's real private there."
Catching her meaning - well, a rock could catch her meaning - the young, gullible man took two of the baskets and with a broad, smug grin, took off for a place that didn't exist.
...
.....
........
"Sucker."
She giggled to herself and checked her balance with glee.
You can read the post in context here.
Candy as a character has grown on me, and that post just did it for me.
Here's the post itself:
[
Candy Barr was an entrepreneur at heart. It was in her blood, it pumped through her veins and one day it would make her just as much latinum as it had her daddy, and his daddy before him. Sure, things would be easier if one of them would just give her the funds to set up her own legitimate business somewhere closer to civilisation, but since that wasn't forthcoming (not in a month of Sundays), she'd just have to hustle.
The park had no cafés in it, and Candy thought that was just a crying shame. Sometimes small stalls set up during events and festivals, but on a regular old day in June, there didn't seem to be anyone about to take advantage of the footfall. And even more importantly, there wasn't anyone around to stop her from taking advantage of the footfall. And so, close to the small group of picnic tables, just next to the tinkling, trickling stream, Candy opened shop.
Standing behind a catering table, which she'd covered with a pink gingham cloth, she was packing delightful little wicker baskets full of the absolute necessities for a proper Southern picnic. Fried chicken bites, cold pasta salads, homemade spicy slaw and potato salad with fresh bread rolls, a small tray of peach cobbler, with lemonade for the kids and frozen fruit daquiris for the not-kids; food all replicated that morning, though the sign read:
FRESH, HOMEMADE & AUTHENTIC SOUTHERN FAMILY-STYLE PICNICS
"Do you come with the basket?"
She laughed at his terrible line, a pleasant sound amidst the relative peace of the park. Her eyes crinkled in the corners as she looked at him. "Oh, honey, I don't think that's legal."
The ensign's smirk grew and he leaned in closer, hands splayed on the table. "That smile of yours isn't legal. I'll take a basket, but in return you have to join me."
Candy blushed, her cheeks turning a pretty light rose colour, and she looked up at him from beneath long lashes. "'kay," she said breathlessly. He leaned in further without even realising it, and Candy knew she had him. "But we'll need one each. Something tells me we'll be working up quite the appetite."
The ensign was already whipping out his handheld, ready to pay. "I'll be finished in twenty minutes," she told him as she took payment with a smile, "I'll meet you at the triple tree near the west exit. It's real private there."
Catching her meaning - well, a rock could catch her meaning - the young, gullible man took two of the baskets and with a broad, smug grin, took off for a place that didn't exist.
...
.....
........
"Sucker."
She giggled to herself and checked her balance with glee.
You can read the post in context here.
{Submission #5, by Felicity Ellis, is in the Mission}Here's what the nominator wrote:
Here's the post itself:
Superiority of fire. He might not have focused heavily on physical security, but Niles certainly knew of the concept as it was universal to all forms of ranged combat ever since sentient beings learned to duck when something was flying at their heads with intent. And between the explosion, his hand phaser and the rifles of the six members of the counter-boarding party he certainly established that quickly. The air smelled of ozone and charred metal, of evaporated coolant and burning plasma, and he was vaguely aware that a sizable piece of metal went flying past him at some point.
And it would seem that, indeed, the firefight had been won for the damn thing that had boarded them withdrew down the path it had taken to enter the Mac. Which, well, was the signal for everyone to stop firing. His heart was beating like a drum in his chest, and he tapped his commbadge. =A="Niles to Commander Ellis. Ma'am, the boarder has broken contact, looks like it's leaving. Unable to pursue because of ruptured conduits and..."=A=
He was just turning around to ascertain the status of everyone who'd been with him in the corridor and stopped as soon as he saw Gates laid out on the deck in an expanding pool of blood. =A="One severe casualty! Gates is hurt, taking him to Sickbay now! Niles out!."=A=
At least, the counter-boarding party knew their business and they wasted little time in grabbing the medic and heading right back where he would normally be working... only to find the medical facility had been deserted. Between the away team, damage control and casualty clearance parties and the need to evacuate the deck, odds are not a one of them was anywhere near at this time. "Put him on a biobed," he called out, if a little unnecessarily. "Computer, activate EMH."
Well, one thing for certain, a balding hologram did not appear, but the computer did make an outraged sound. "Computer, EMH, now!" And again, the computer bleeked in displeasure. "Computer, respond!"
"EMH is non-responsive; Sickbay hologrid is down."
Well, that wasn't good, and there was no way in hell Gates would live long enough for another medic to get on the scene which meant...
Niles' eyes darted across the medical bay, only to see an emergency casualty cart that had been pulled out earlier, probably when Yellow Alert had been called. And it meant it would be time to see if he remembered one of his Security-related electives: emergency trauma casualty care. "Get that cart over here," he barked at one of the crewmen as he dashed to the prostrate Petty Officer, and was pleased to see the biobed's scanners were still operating and he very quickly had an idea of the extent of the damage... and it wasn't good.
Without taking the time to think, he pulled a cauterizer from the cart and quickly adjusted the settings. That was something he'd been taught to do, and it wasn't guaranteed to work, but he didn't have much choice but to try or let him bleed out. "Petty... Gatesy, I don't know if you can hear me. There's no nice way to do this, and it's going to hurt," he said... before he jammed the instrument into Gates' entry wound and swirled it around a few times, the superheated rod closing off blood vessels and searing flesh. Which meant that for now he not only had to contend with blood sticky on his hands, but also the sickening smell of roast pork wafting into the air, but somehow he managed to hold on to his last meal. With a terse gesture, he indicated two of the Security detail to roll his casualty onto his side, and he repeated the process with the thoroughly gruesome exit wound.
All right, bleeding would be mostly under control for now, and when he dropped the smoking tool back onto the cart, it was to withdraw a hypospray of a triox compound, which he immediately followed up with setting up an IV drip of blood expanders, a process that had him missing the vein a few times before he got the line set up.
And if Niles had properly remembered his training, if he did everything correctly and Gates was lucky and some real medics would start returning to Sickbay sooner rather than later, he was no longer in immediate risk of dying.
Hopefully.[Felicity Ellis & Lieutenant Doug Dimmadome - Bridge, USS Mac]
"I've got them! I've got them!"
"Confirm!"
"The Away Team are in Transporter Room 1, Ma'am!"
That was all she needed. "Helm, get us the bloody hell away from that planetoid, Warp 3." Confirmation came in from Deck 7 that they'd dispatched of the satellite, which O'Connell had just moments earlier reported. But the next part caught her by surprise.
She'd found her feet as soon as Dimmadome had locked on to the Away Team, and the news about Kellen Gates gave her movement further impetus. With Hunt and Left Ear on the Away Team, and responders dispatched to various parts of the ship, Felicity was fairly certain that nobody remaining was as equipped to deal with an emergency as the emergency himself was.
=/\= "Ellis to all available Medical personnel. Medical Emergency in Main Sickbay. Report when able." =/\= She'd reached the turbolift, turned sharply and her parting words were for Ops I. "Lieutenant, you have the Bridge."
[Petty Officer Kellen Gates - Colosseum, Rome]
His arch nemesis, Fritz Frederick, AKA Professor Inclement, was holding a futuristic looking phaser pistol against his Love Interest's pretty neck. "Unhand her, foul pedagogue!" Gatesy sliced the air with his huge broadsword. He wasn't sure why he had a sword while his enemy had a gun, or why he was dressed in a very revealing gladiator costume, but sometimes these stories made no sense.
"NEVAAAHHHH!" Professor Inclement cried, and then shot the busty blonde at point-blank range. Kellen watched, agog, as the laser split Miss Pennyless in two. His sword drooped and the nefarious Fritz Frederick threw his head back and cackled with glee. "YOUR TURN, Mr. Gates!"
Suddenly terrified, Kellen Gates began to stumble backward, but his pitiful appearance did nothing to earn any sympathy from the villain. "Mine is an evil laugh!" He cackled again, and opened fire.
But wait. This had happened before, hadn't it? This was a dream, something he'd been forced to live during a mission over a year ago. He'd run, he'd encountered a maze... he'd eventually figured it out.
Why can't I figure this out?
Professor Inclement shot Gatesy in the shoulder. He didn't think gladiators were supposed to scream so loudly, or in such a high pitch, but getting shot hurt.
"Petty... Gatesy, I don't know if you can hear me. There's no nice way to do this, and it's going to hurt..."
He was in Sickbay. He'd been stabbed in the back during his very first First Contact. Lieutenant Words was wordsing at him. This time, Gatesy understood. "It's okay..." He breathed, his pale skin slick with a cold sweat. And while the young medic knew what it was that the officer had to do, it still did not lessen the shock of the intense pain from the cauterizer. The smell of his own burning flesh reached his flared nostrils just as the blessed blackness returned to reclaim his mind.
[Felicity Ellis - Main Sickbay, Deck 7]
Felicity swept into Sickbay and wasted zero time. She stepped up beside Gatesy's biobed, eyes flitting back and forth as she took in and processed the displays with his vitals.
"Niles, report."
She'd noticed two important things: Sickbay was devoid of Medical personnel, and filled with Security, and Kellen Gates was alive.
You can read the post in context here.
Gatesy's dream is a real contrast to the rest of the story, and had me pretty much roaring laughing. Reminded me of Alan Tudyk as Wash.
Here's the post itself:
[ LT Joshua Niles - Deck 7, USS Mac ]
Superiority of fire. He might not have focused heavily on physical security, but Niles certainly knew of the concept as it was universal to all forms of ranged combat ever since sentient beings learned to duck when something was flying at their heads with intent. And between the explosion, his hand phaser and the rifles of the six members of the counter-boarding party he certainly established that quickly. The air smelled of ozone and charred metal, of evaporated coolant and burning plasma, and he was vaguely aware that a sizable piece of metal went flying past him at some point.
And it would seem that, indeed, the firefight had been won for the damn thing that had boarded them withdrew down the path it had taken to enter the Mac. Which, well, was the signal for everyone to stop firing. His heart was beating like a drum in his chest, and he tapped his commbadge. =A="Niles to Commander Ellis. Ma'am, the boarder has broken contact, looks like it's leaving. Unable to pursue because of ruptured conduits and..."=A=
He was just turning around to ascertain the status of everyone who'd been with him in the corridor and stopped as soon as he saw Gates laid out on the deck in an expanding pool of blood. =A="One severe casualty! Gates is hurt, taking him to Sickbay now! Niles out!."=A=
At least, the counter-boarding party knew their business and they wasted little time in grabbing the medic and heading right back where he would normally be working... only to find the medical facility had been deserted. Between the away team, damage control and casualty clearance parties and the need to evacuate the deck, odds are not a one of them was anywhere near at this time. "Put him on a biobed," he called out, if a little unnecessarily. "Computer, activate EMH."
Well, one thing for certain, a balding hologram did not appear, but the computer did make an outraged sound. "Computer, EMH, now!" And again, the computer bleeked in displeasure. "Computer, respond!"
"EMH is non-responsive; Sickbay hologrid is down."
Well, that wasn't good, and there was no way in hell Gates would live long enough for another medic to get on the scene which meant...
Niles' eyes darted across the medical bay, only to see an emergency casualty cart that had been pulled out earlier, probably when Yellow Alert had been called. And it meant it would be time to see if he remembered one of his Security-related electives: emergency trauma casualty care. "Get that cart over here," he barked at one of the crewmen as he dashed to the prostrate Petty Officer, and was pleased to see the biobed's scanners were still operating and he very quickly had an idea of the extent of the damage... and it wasn't good.
Without taking the time to think, he pulled a cauterizer from the cart and quickly adjusted the settings. That was something he'd been taught to do, and it wasn't guaranteed to work, but he didn't have much choice but to try or let him bleed out. "Petty... Gatesy, I don't know if you can hear me. There's no nice way to do this, and it's going to hurt," he said... before he jammed the instrument into Gates' entry wound and swirled it around a few times, the superheated rod closing off blood vessels and searing flesh. Which meant that for now he not only had to contend with blood sticky on his hands, but also the sickening smell of roast pork wafting into the air, but somehow he managed to hold on to his last meal. With a terse gesture, he indicated two of the Security detail to roll his casualty onto his side, and he repeated the process with the thoroughly gruesome exit wound.
All right, bleeding would be mostly under control for now, and when he dropped the smoking tool back onto the cart, it was to withdraw a hypospray of a triox compound, which he immediately followed up with setting up an IV drip of blood expanders, a process that had him missing the vein a few times before he got the line set up.
And if Niles had properly remembered his training, if he did everything correctly and Gates was lucky and some real medics would start returning to Sickbay sooner rather than later, he was no longer in immediate risk of dying.
Hopefully.
"I've got them! I've got them!"
"Confirm!"
"The Away Team are in Transporter Room 1, Ma'am!"
That was all she needed. "Helm, get us the bloody hell away from that planetoid, Warp 3." Confirmation came in from Deck 7 that they'd dispatched of the satellite, which O'Connell had just moments earlier reported. But the next part caught her by surprise.
She'd found her feet as soon as Dimmadome had locked on to the Away Team, and the news about Kellen Gates gave her movement further impetus. With Hunt and Left Ear on the Away Team, and responders dispatched to various parts of the ship, Felicity was fairly certain that nobody remaining was as equipped to deal with an emergency as the emergency himself was.
=/\= "Ellis to all available Medical personnel. Medical Emergency in Main Sickbay. Report when able." =/\= She'd reached the turbolift, turned sharply and her parting words were for Ops I. "Lieutenant, you have the Bridge."
[Petty Officer Kellen Gates - Colosseum, Rome]
His arch nemesis, Fritz Frederick, AKA Professor Inclement, was holding a futuristic looking phaser pistol against his Love Interest's pretty neck. "Unhand her, foul pedagogue!" Gatesy sliced the air with his huge broadsword. He wasn't sure why he had a sword while his enemy had a gun, or why he was dressed in a very revealing gladiator costume, but sometimes these stories made no sense.
"NEVAAAHHHH!" Professor Inclement cried, and then shot the busty blonde at point-blank range. Kellen watched, agog, as the laser split Miss Pennyless in two. His sword drooped and the nefarious Fritz Frederick threw his head back and cackled with glee. "YOUR TURN, Mr. Gates!"
Suddenly terrified, Kellen Gates began to stumble backward, but his pitiful appearance did nothing to earn any sympathy from the villain. "Mine is an evil laugh!" He cackled again, and opened fire.
But wait. This had happened before, hadn't it? This was a dream, something he'd been forced to live during a mission over a year ago. He'd run, he'd encountered a maze... he'd eventually figured it out.
Why can't I figure this out?
Professor Inclement shot Gatesy in the shoulder. He didn't think gladiators were supposed to scream so loudly, or in such a high pitch, but getting shot hurt.
"Petty... Gatesy, I don't know if you can hear me. There's no nice way to do this, and it's going to hurt..."
He was in Sickbay. He'd been stabbed in the back during his very first First Contact. Lieutenant Words was wordsing at him. This time, Gatesy understood. "It's okay..." He breathed, his pale skin slick with a cold sweat. And while the young medic knew what it was that the officer had to do, it still did not lessen the shock of the intense pain from the cauterizer. The smell of his own burning flesh reached his flared nostrils just as the blessed blackness returned to reclaim his mind.
[Felicity Ellis - Main Sickbay, Deck 7]
Felicity swept into Sickbay and wasted zero time. She stepped up beside Gatesy's biobed, eyes flitting back and forth as she took in and processed the displays with his vitals.
"Niles, report."
She'd noticed two important things: Sickbay was devoid of Medical personnel, and filled with Security, and Kellen Gates was alive.
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