Sgt. Francesca Vaille
Alliance Official 
[AWD:01050d]36 Years Old
Sergeant
You can continue to hate me after I've saved your life. Promise.
Posts: 20
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Post by Sgt. Francesca Vaille on Jan 18, 2012 10:15:10 GMT -5
november, 2522
[/b] :::::::::::::::::::::::::::: INCOMING TRANSMISSION :::::::::::::::::::::::::::: --- (message is recorded and full of static and poor interference)--- Vaille's face appears somewhat visible on the screen.
This is Sergeant Francesca Vaille; acting commanding officer of the Alliance Patrol Vessel, Cheyenne. After a brief engineering malfunction we're stranded on the planet of Haven. Coordinates of our exact location will follow. We require assistance and pick-up.
Vaille out.Coordinates of the Cheyenne's location on Haven flash up on the screen. The transmission goes silent. :::::::::::::::::::::::::::: END TRANSMISSION :::::::::::::::::::::::::::: [/center][/font] |
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Post by grabem on Jan 18, 2012 15:08:37 GMT -5
The communications screen flashed to life on the bridge of the Phoenix, startling Jonathan as he sat half zoned out in the pilot's chair. He wasn't sure at first what it was, Alliance having reworked the communications in the ship from what he was used to. A hail? A wave? No, no just a message and it wasn't coming in too clear. Jon game the machine a few good smacks to clear up the picture.
"Captain. Incoming transmission for you on the bridge." he dutifully reported over the ship's intercom before the message had even played halfway through. As it ended, he prepped the message to replay once the captain arrived.
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Post by ethanpike on Jan 18, 2012 16:23:08 GMT -5
Ethan was in his bunk, smoking a cigar. The crew was great, the ship was great, the cigar was great, and therefore life was great. He felt a rare sense of satisfaction with everything, and a sigh of contentment escaped him. Allowing himself a moment of relaxation after the hectic moments of introductions and such felt necessary, and so he had excused himself and gone to smoke a cigar.
The new pilot's voice suddenly came over the intercom, and Pike rose at once. Unwilling to waste such an excellent cigar, he kept it in his mouth as he hurried to the bridge. Moving quickly towards the pilot, he asked: "What have we got, Jon?"
He leaned over the pilot, hands on the back of the chair, awaiting the forthcoming playback of the message. Clearly it was a recorded message, not a wave, because the screen was currently blank. Not a live message.
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Post by grabem on Jan 18, 2012 23:33:16 GMT -5
The captain arrived a little sooner than expected, not that it was necessarily a bad thing but Jon wasn't anticipating it and was still a few seconds away from having the message ready to replay.
"Distress call sir. I'm trying to clean it up for you."
In about five seconds the screen flashed to life once more and the face of the woman appeared again. It wasn't much clearer than the first time, at least no clearer than it was after he'd hit the monitor. The message played once more for the captain and the coordinates appeared on screen.
"Should I lay in a course, sir?"
He had never really been this close to the officer decision making process of military life before. This wasn't an order from a superior but a request from a non-commissioned officer. No matter how authoritative the message sounded it was still just a request and the captain didn't have to accept. Jon's closest experience beforehand was as a guard posted outside the company commander's tent during a meeting... or when the platoon lieutenant happened to be in the same foxhole as him when issuing orders on the fly.
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Post by ethanpike on Jan 19, 2012 13:15:52 GMT -5
Jon informed him that it was a distress call, and Ethan's teeth bit down a little harder on his cigar. Distress calls meant delays, and delays meant brass being annoyed that you can't follow simple orders like "show up on this planet on this day", and bullshit like that.
He watched the short message with calm, but impatience. The coordinates showed up, and he moved over a computer display to check the distance. It was long.
Frowning at the computer display for a moment, Ethan ran through his options quickly. Number 1, go get his orders from the Admiral and pass the distress call along to him. Let the brass take care of it. Number 2, say to hell to orders, and go rescue these people.
There was very little doubt in his mind. Turning back to Jon, he gave him a nod. "Change course. Our orders can wait a while."
Using the intercom, Ethan spoke briefly to the crew: "We're changing course and following a distress call. I'm anticipating some danger. It'll be a whiles yet until we get to Haven, but this probably won't be a milk run."
Turning off the intercom, Ethan muttered to himself, forgetting that the pilot was there. "Why the hell are there men on Haven? It's in the middle of nowhere!"
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Post by grabem on Jan 19, 2012 18:12:18 GMT -5
Ethan gave the orders and immediately Jon began to plot them in as the captain spoke over the intercom. Delaying orders in order to answer a distress call on a planet that wasn't Alliance friendly. Sounded like it would be a great time. Miria would be happy at least.
"Well I suppose nobody told those troopers that, sir." he replied to the captain's soliloquy. "Course laid in."
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