USS Potemkin NCC-76927-C
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Teaser: Between Ebb and Flow

Posted on Wed Feb 17th, 2021 @ 4:41pm by Doctor Teagan Ceja

Mission: Sim Logs
Location: Galen IV
Timeline: Stardate: 73973.5

Plot: Between Ebb and Flow.

Stardate: 73973.5 (Sunday, December 22, 2396 at 0701 hours)


When they called me broken, I knew.
When they called me evil, I knew.
When they called me Ruin, I knew.
I would always find my way to you.

“You must send for help,” the man in the long, monk like robes urged. “This is beyond all of our capabilities to cure. Send to the Federation. Lord DeWolff, The People are in trouble.”

Outside the heavy stone walls of the Keep, the skies danced with the energy of a sun singing to the atmosphere. But beneath the aurora, which was harmless, a more dangerous energy was brewing. Galen IV was under attack, but none could work out who, or what, was the source. The people cried, clutching their heads, for mercy. Only those who could access the solo-tubes had any respite from the never ending sound that was rippling through their brains. The solo-tubes were a form of sensory deprivation. The demand on them was so huge, that The People could only have a mere hour at a time, then must beg for another time to sink into the blissful silence they gave.

“Lord Councillor, it shall be so. May we beg of you that you bring the might of the mages to our aid?”

The Lord Councillor made an impatient gesture with his hand. Long fingers, tipped in silver, fluttered in the air, and energy shone where they moved. He bowed.

“I shall convey your words to them, and we will see if they will be kind. Though, I fear that their own energy is spread thin across the world this night. This last month has called upon the very depths of our power to stave off the worst of the sound.” Another bow, and with a sweeping motion that pulled the hood of his robe up over his shaven head, spun him on his heels, and generally allowed the sort of exit that made people pay attention, he left.

Lord DeWolff, a smaller man dressed in rich fabrics that denoted far too much self importance, glanced down at the piece of paper in his hand. He adjusted the circlet that held back his hair, sighed, scratched his knee where mahogany coloured velvet was irritating his skin. He thought for a while about what to say when he fired up the communications device.

They might look medieval, but his people travelled the worlds and had a thriving trade in their system. Warp capable ships had allowed them to find a way out to another system, and then another. But not now, not when this illness caused so much pain. He chewed on a fingernail for a moment, wondering if they would ever be able to spin out across the worlds orbiting their sun again. He hoped so. He had a love on one of the other worlds.

He read the name on the piece of paper again. The Lord Councillor of the Mages had been most insistent that he ask for this ship in particular.

The USS Potemkin. Whoever they were, he hoped they would answer his call.

It could feel like falling in love
It could feel so bad
It could feel so good
It could sing you to sleep


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