NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is a continuation of an event in Wall of Stars (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=91047)

Meanwhile, in the space near Yalta an exit point opens. A single massive ship of ultarian grey exits. It bears the insignia of House Alderman, and a painted design of the flag of the Empire. The ship looks grim, and old. It is a dungeon ship, designed during the Outer Dominion Wars to hold prisoners captured in the battles on Proxima III. The ship glides into orbit, slowly, like an undertaker.
It awaits the personnel captured when Yalta was seized. Ready to stash them away inside its massive hull and bide its time. The moving Alcatraz is staffed by Sardaukar and ESS personnel. And the shuttles begin to ascend from the planet, and deliver the Verniian prisoners of war.

Colonel Anderson, former CO of the Yaltan garrison, swallowed nervously as the dungeon ship grew in the shuttles viewport. He turned to his subordinate officers and tried to smile, "Relax a bit, I'm sure they follow the Geneva Convention, after all, no barbarian nation could achieve FTL travel."

<Mark, post tomorrow>

*jumps barbed wire fence on a stolen motorcycle, TAGging the thread*

The Sardaukar lieutenant in command of the shuttle snorts derisively.
"Geneva Convention? We've never bothered to sign those, and with our United Nations membership being under serious review your treatment depends on two things. For starters, the personal decisions of Colonel Delacourt and secondly the actions of your own government during this war."
A grim smile crosses the lieutenants face.
"Beginning docking procedures," says the pilot. "Dorvin is sending drones to help Platoons 16, 20, and 21 oversee the prisoner transfer."
"Good," the lieutenant signals his second, a sergeant major.
"Ready the prisoners."
"Yes, sir."

Several of his officers paled, and this time Anderson couldn't think of anything to say. Instead he just leaned back in his seat and quietly watched the DS-2 grow in the shuttles viewport.

Several minutes later the shuttles carrying the officers and the larger transports carrying the rest of the prisoners glide into DS-2's hanger bay. The iris on the hanger bay, and unusual feature but the Sardaukar wanted no large openings on one of their ships, closes behind the small convoy.
The prisoners are herded out, all of the former Verniian troopers have been stripped of armor, weapons, and even their clothing. Utilitarian jumpsuits were issued before the prisoners left Yalta.
The first thing noticeable about DS-2 is its temperature, in particular its chill. The majority of the ship is kept at a cool 15 degrees Celsius. The assembly of Verniians are carefully watched by three platoons of Sardaukar, all in full danger suits and armed with Impalers. Above on the main catawalk of the spartan hanger bay stands a man in a full Sardaukar colonel uniform. A jagged scar puckers the left side of his face, running through his left eye, and although both eyes are a brown the left one seems slightly darker than the other. At the colonel's right stands a tall, wiry man and in his face is the look of a caged animal, he is dressed in the black on grey uniform of the ESS Nightwatch. On the colonel's right stands a Catholic priest, an old man who looks tired and haggered.
But the most unnerving thing are the security drones scrambling over the hanger. Metal insects with burning red "eyes" that roam across the hangers walls, floor, and catawalks. There metal legs and appendages making echoing clicks and metallic noises.
At this time, Anderson notices a smaller shuttle next to his own. And being escorted by eight Sardaukar is a single man, in a torn and disarrayed uniform of a Takan commodore.
The colonel speaks, and it echoes through the hanger, "Platoon 18, 10, 14, 15, and 7 advance and break down prisoners into four partisan formation. Distribute them to cell blocks one, two, three and four. Captain Seredrin," the Colonel turns to the ESS man, "Ikari is yours."
The ESS man nods with a smile that threatens to send chills down any man's spine, and the priest pulls at his collar.
The colonel turns to a Sardaukar sergeant, "Tell Captain Regis to prepare his teams, I want the prisoners given a full 'debriefing' before the day is out."
The heavy doors to the hanger open and additional Sardaukar appear, rapidly leading the Verniian POWs to the cell blocks. All four of them are the same, long cold blocks of cells. The cells themselves are small, each enough for one man and one man only. Thick neo-titanium bars and a security field ring projector form the entrance way. Inside a sleeping bag affair is affixed to one wall, a toilet and what appears to be a sink modifed for zero gee stand in a corner. Along with a small table and a chair, but what is eerie is that both are made into the floor. The cells were obviously made for zero gee, even though they now have gravity.
And throughout it all the clicking and metallic noises continue as drones of various sizes carefully watch the prisoners and their Sardaukar jailors.

"You can't do this to me!" Ikari bellowed, being bodily dragged down the hall. "I am a Takian officer!!! My country will make you pay dearly for what you've done! This is impossible, TRAITORS!!! I'LL HAVE YOU ALL COURT MARSHALED AND EXECUTE YOU MYSELF!!" his outraged screams died down slowly as he is dragged down the hallway.

The Verniian personnel silently watch Ikari's outburst before being led to their cells. Anderson laid down on his bunk, then looked at his cellmate, Lt. Colonel Henry Mayer, "Well Henry, this sucks." Mayers sullenly replied,
"Yep. I hope it doesn't last too long."

Seredrin follows the Sardaukar that drag Ikari away to one of DS-2's interrogation rooms. The Sardaukar restrain Ikari on a platform that leaves his limbs splayed in a five-pointed star when you consider his head, then leave. The man seems deaf to the Takan officer's frothing madness. A few minutes later another ESS Nightwatch interrogator enters.
Seredrin turns, "The Keratol if you please."
The other man nods and hands Seredrin a syringe filled with a pale golden orange liquid.
"Bless our friends from the Scorpion clan," mummers Seredrin. Then he jabs the syringe into a vein in Ikari's arm and injects the liquid. He hands the syringe to the other man, and glances at his watch. He withdraws a slender remote and opens the heavy blast door, the lights go out.
Five minutes later the feeling of being burned from the inside out starts in Ikari's arm and begins to work its way from it through the rest of his body.

*****************

In the cell time seems to not even exist. Then a Sardaukar lieutenant approaches, flanked by a pair of privates. He opens Anderson's cell.
"Colonel Delacourt wishes to see you," the lieutenant says to Anderson as he is escorted out of his cell.
Anderson notices that several of his other officers are being escorted out by the Sardaukar, for awhile they are all together, each under the watchful eye of a Sardaukar escort. They are lead down a corridor and to a series of lifts. Here they are divided up. And Anderson is left with Mayers and a major. The lift stops and they are in another corridor, bearing no markings or symbols. Each is led to a seperate room.
Anderson is guided through a door by his escort. Inside the room there are metal chairs and a metal table. On the table is a holographic chessboard, and two snifters of dark brandy. On the side of the table away from the door, sits the colonel from earlier.
"Ah, Mr. Anderson," he says as he sits his snifter down. "Tell me, do you play?"

OCC: Since I was involved with Wall of Stars earlier, can I get in on this. Also, Vernii, there are quite a few of your personell imprisoned aboard LRR ships, although in far cushier conditions. They will be held until the end of the conflict.

OOC: LRR, ask Vernii. This is more just like the prisoners taken to DS-2. Because their situation is going to go straight for the tubes once the Valinor find out what they did on Earth, and go down farther still when we withdraw from the UN.

OOC: Yeah, I assumed half of the 1000 man garrison ended up on LRR ships, and the other 500 on the DS-2. LRR, if have an idea on how you could involve yourself, telegram me.

IC: Anderson is slightly surprised, he had been expecting an interrogation. "Um, well yes, I'm average at the game I suppose." He then sits down opposite of the colonel.

Ikari fought the pain, using ever ounce of his training to remain stoicly silent though his body burned intencely. His eyes locked with the ESS interagator and smirked. He steeled himself before speaking "What do you hope to accomplish this way? Let me free and I'll show you the true meaning of pain."

OOC: Yeah, I assumed half of the 1000 man garrison ended up on LRR ships, and the other 500 on the DS-2. LRR, if have an idea on how you could involve yourself, telegram me.

IC: Anderson is slightly surprised, he had been expecting an interrogation. "Um, well yes, I'm average at the game I suppose." He then sits down opposite of the colonel.

OCC: There could be an LRR envoy on the prision ship.

OOC: Sorry LRR, that wouldn't happen. The Valinor don't even allow other PCDI member envoys aboard dungeon ships....unless they are in Ikari's position.

Delacourt nods, "Well that's better than most of my officer core at least. I have inherited a rather large group of poker players from Colonel Valders, a game that I will admit to knowing almost nothing about. Please have a seat, Mr. Anderson."
He waits for Anderson to take his seats, "I suppose by your face that you were expecting more of a formal interrogation session. But my orders from Admiral Forrest says that unless the situation changes you are to be treated with the respect and deference due to your rank."
He hits an inset button on the boards "onyx" side that clears the holographic pieces and resets the board. Black faces Delacourt, white Anderson.
"Still there are a few questions I must ask," says Delacourt. "For starters, what exactly is it that your government hoped to accomplish by seizing Yalta and Madras. But, if you please, make the first move."

***************

Seredrin looks up at Ikari, a vague smile.
"What I desire to accomplish is immaterial. As for the true meaning of pain....we haven't even started."
"For the record," says Seredrin turning to his assistant, "the subject shows a high mental capacity to restrain physical expression of pain to Keratol. Mark it down as additional information on Takan training methods."
The other man nods.
Seredrin then starts to set up machinery around Ikari. Attaching fingertip sized pads to his temples and pulse points.
"Set the charge at 4 to being with. Increment the pulses to very from three to five seconds. With the charge to increase every three minutes until it reaches level 11. We wouldn't want to touch lethal dose quite yet."
Seredrin turns on one heel, and leaves once again. Even as the Keratol continues to burn the orderly pulses of electricity begins....and grows in intesity as the minutes pass.

Anderson selects the fourth pawn from his right, and moves it forward two spaces. "Well, I'm not exactly privy to that sort of information. But I imagine that whatever value the systems had has been offset by our losses so far. I figure that the government is staying in the war as a matter of pride now. The entire operation was supposed to be a quick smash and grab, but as you can obviously see, that didn't work out so well."

Ikari fought the pain, clearing his mind as his Zen teachings allowed. He slowly distanced himself from his body, the pain coursing through it. It was futile to fight the movments, and his breath came in gasps as each electrical wave caused him to spasm, but he refused to scream. Between shocks, he locks eyes with the ESS man, watching him with neither fear, hatred, or anger. . . a blank stare, an apathetic gaze over his tormentor, broken only as his body convulsed with the regular shocks, further increacing his pain through the flaming serum.

Seredrin watches with a bemused expression.
"My, my, it appears that our reports on officer training were somewhat in error."
He turns to his assistant, "SD-37 please."
Seredrin is handed what appears to be a minaturized aresol can. He approaches Ikari quickly and sprays into the pupils of both his eyes. At first there seems to be no reaction, except the annoying sting of the chemical.
Seredrin turns, seeming not to care or not to know that his chemical had no effect.
"The Amplifier if you please," his assistant hands him a long cylinder device studded with controls and with input pads.
"Hold the pulse," says Seredrin as he attaches new pads to Ikari's temples and at the base of his skull. He steps away and appears to activate the device referred to as the Amplifier.
"Reset the charge to 10, constant 2 second pulses," he says, and dials a control up on the Amplifier.
"I am not ignorant of Zen training, 'Commodore'," says Seredrin with a smile. "And I know that eventually it has its limits."
Suddenly an onslaught hits Ikari. His vision is eaten away, blinding him as a fire even more painful than that of the Keratol burns at them. The pulses return to life and then his mind starts to conjuror up horrors and nightmarish images as the Amplifier searches his subconscious and the deepest corners of his mind for all that Ikari fears.
Seredrin smiles, "Come, I believe I shall have my dinner early."

***************

Delacourt selects his King pawn and moves it forward.
"I expected as much," he says. "Very well then, since the objective in a short, victorious war has been ruined and since your government has been forced back to Acler and Gregor itself, it would be a matter of pride and dignity rather than pure strategic focus. Tell me, Mr. Anderson, how effective was the invasion of Yalta in your professional evaluation?"

"Well, the invasion itself was pulled off well. All resistance was quickly crushed by Rollin's battlecruisers, and then any thought of further resistance by the populace was stalled by the landing of my marines. We could've held it too, if your fleets hadn't shown up. I don't blame Ganote for retreating, if he'd delayed to evacuate the garrison he risked the destruction of the entire fleet." Anderson then moves the 5th pawn from the right up next to his first.

"Ah, what we mere ground-pounders sacrifice for our navy counterparts," says Delacourt half jokingly. Although his eyes quirk at Anderson's move, he advances his queen pawn, granting him at least basic control of the so-called "sweet center" of the board.
"Alright then, Mr. Anderson, this is more for my own personal benefit than anyone else. Tell me more of Vernii, the intelligence briefs I have seen so far are somewhat....sparse. Although the commanders of His Majesty's dungeon ships are not considered high priorities on the ESS, Sardaukar, and Armada intelligence agencies. Most of what I know stems from Captain Seredrin, and as you no doubt could tell he is a somewhat mixed bag when it comes to being reliable. And the ESS is often known for saying both yes and no."

"Vernii isn't really all that nice of a world. It has a slightly larger orbital radius than Earth, but its revolution is faster, so it has a 360 day year. Climate is mostly temperate, not many deserts, but not many tropical areas either. Most of it's population is concentrated on two of its five continents, and a lot of that is in urban areas. I am from Cardona, the capital. It has a population of about 32 million, mostly living in giant residential skyscrapers."

OOC: I'll edit in his chess move tomorrow.

"Skyscrapers you say?" says Delacourt with interest. "Those are somewhat unusual on Proxima. Pholus has them as does Nessus Prime, but by a counter-gravity society's standards our buildings are somewhat short."
"But I suppose the weather dictates as well. Proxima experiences some seasonal extremes the winters are cold and the summers can get hot, not quite as bad in Valinon as in Ortaga or some of the other nations closer to the equator, but still we even get some rather warm spells in the northern latitudes."
Delacourt takes another drink, "It seems like our nations may have more in common than our governments are willing to admit, Mr. Anderson. It seems like Vernii is a younger Valinon in a way."

"So which world are you from Colonel Delacourt? Proxima seems like a very interesting place." Anderson takes a sip of his brandy, and moved his left side rook from B1 to C3.

"I was born in Durandel, the capital of the Turan province, in southern Valinon on Proxima Centauri. As I have said, Proxima proximity to Alpha Centauri A and its slightly radical axile title give its climte a true bite. Our winters are cold, and Syberia, the northernmost province of Valinon, spends most of its time wrapped in winter. But Turan, Valpreiza, and Amazonia along with a few others are the 'green belt' of Valinon. They are the sourthern most provinces besides the Isle. It's a far more simple life you could say than in the northern or eastern portions of Valinon, but I wouldn't trade it for the world. I only wish I could visit the Fatherland more often than I do."

OOC: Edit the chess move in later. I have it setup on a board back at the loft, but I don't have that with me right now.

OOC: Forgot this thread existed. I'm embarassed.

"So Colonel, is this ship going to be staying in-system, or will we be travelling around the galaxy? I think it might be rather interesting to see Proxima Centauri. I wish I'd have thought to bring along a camera." Anderson smiles sarcastically, and then takes a sip of his brandy.

Delacourt gives a bitter smile, "If only we had met under different times, and if only-," the harsh door alert sounds.
"Enter," Delacourt says. A young Sardaukar enters, his eyes wide with what appears to be a mixture of fury and disbelief. He salutes Delacourt but his eyes move to Anderson, and a deep fury rages forth from the Sardaukar. Delacourt looks quizzical and gestures for the man to come closer. He takes the comp-pad the young trooper offers, and activates it. The screen activates, but Anderson cannot see it. What sounds like news footage plays for a few moments, then the eruptions of life fade. Delacourt's eyes move rapidly, obviously reading something.
His head snaps up to Anderson, a cold look permeates his expression, and he turns back. The comp-pad goes clattering to the table as he hurls it before himself as he stands.
"Return him to his cell! Along with the others!" Delacourt replaces his peaked cap. He storms out of the interrogation room, Anderson meanwhile is lifted bodily from his chair and drug until he regains his balance. He is escorted by an entire squad to his cell, and soon followed by his other officers.

Anderson and his cellmate, Lt. Colonel Mayers both looked rather bewildered as they were thrown back into their cells. Anderson sat down on his bed and looked at Mayer. "I wonder what that was about?"
"Probably the whole good cop/bad cop routine sir, to keep us on edge," Mayer replied, "See, they get us to trust them at first, then slap us in the face."

"Maybe, but Delacourt did seem like a pretty nice guy, and the look that Sardaukar gave me could strip paint off a bulkhead. Something must have happened."

Anderson and his cellmate, Lt. Colonel Mayers both looked rather bewildered as they were thrown back into their cells. Anderson sat down on his bed and looked at Mayer. "I wonder what that was about?"
"Probably the whole good cop/bad cop routine sir, to keep us on edge," Mayer replied, "See, they get us to trust them at first, then slap us in the face."

"Maybe, but Delacourt did seem like a pretty nice guy, and the look that Sardaukar gave me could strip paint off a bulkhead. Something must have happened."

It seemed like it had only been a few hours, but in the unchanging cell blocks of the dungeon ship it was impossible to tell. The Sardaukar grips his rifle, fury writhing off him as well.
"You two, assembly deck, now!" he barks. Several minutes later, Anderson and Mayer find themselves in a vast expanse where it seems all the ships prisoners have been taken to. And even then it remains cavernous, and omnious hint of just how many souls these ships were intended to house.
Delacourt appears on the central catawalk overhead, followed by Sturmbannfuehrer Seredrin. The ESS man looks like the proverbial cat that swallowed the cannary. Delacourt hops his way to the center of the catawalk. And grips it. The below standard gravity does not hide his jerky and obviously partially rage driven movements.
"Prisoners!" he barks, and the echo carries. "Throught the thousand years of our history the Valinor have never raised weapons against a civilian target. In return, we expect the same courtesy from our enemies if they consider themselves to be worthy of their own lives and of our honor. Only two times in our history has this trust been breached, and two times it has been punished with the full means at our disposal," Delacourt brings forth a small remote and suddenly a massive vid fills the air. It splits showing two cities, Valinor by their architecture, a single sun glares overhead, all seems tranquil. But then something happens, tachyon fields roar into place, and then the barrage starts. Fire touches one city for a moment, but the other seems unscathed. The footage rolls on, accelerated as it's timer shows. A few hours later, the shields of one city shrink and the barrage hits the city's outer section. Explosions rip across the island, entire blocks disappear.
Delacourt's expression is grim, cold, and merciless as he shuts off the vid.
"That was the treaty port of Armandur on Earth," he says. "Home to 43,000 Valinor and 7,800 other foreign nationals. At the time of the report delivered to me, 1,007 have been confirmed dead with 1,200 missing. Of these how many where of the 1,600 Sardaukar garrisoned at Armandur? None!" Delacourt's knuckles are white as he grips the railing, his rage spilling down on the prisoners, and echoed by surrounding Sardaukar, and even by the more malovent looking security drones.
"My orders are clear at this point. You are all to be given into the custody of the Ministry of External State Security," Seredrin leers nearby Delacourt. "And you are to be taken to a holding facility appropriate to the situation."
Delacourt backs away from the railing, "God help you all find repentance for this....this monstrosity!"
He turns and leaves the catawalk, pushing off toward the entry hatch. A Hauptmann steps forward.
"Disperse the prisoners! Priveleges are to be revoked outside of meal times. All active blocks are to be governed under lock down procedure 111-03, by the authority of Oberst Delacourt and Sturmbannfuehrer Seredrin!"

After being shoved back into their cells, Mayer and Anderson were speechless for a moment. Anderson recovered from his stupor first, "There has to be some sort of mistake, I can't imagine NavCommand deciding to hit civies like that. It must have been a political decision, I can't imagine anyone in the navy being that damn stupid and sadistic. What do you think?"

Mayer thought for a moment before replying, "I think it doesn't matter whoever decided to pull the trigger and hit those cities. What does matter is we're in the shitter now with these guy, and they are pissed. And I'm starting to think I'd rather tempt that Sarduakar into gunning me down then to meet that ESS guy in person."

Over a week later, the prisoners are ushered in once again to the assembly hall. This time Delacourt is not present, even Seredrin is gone. Instead only Sardaukar squads and security drones watch over the assembly, none speak. But the vids spark to life. A ship and sun logo with the letters UVNN and underneath News Dispatches, spirals into view.
What transpires before the prisoners eyes is the trial of the captured personnel from the Q-ships that bombarded Earth. The trial and the following execution are shown in its entirety, and the Sardaukar merely stare on through it.
At the end the prisoners are returned to their cells, and life on the dungeon ship returns to what "normal" has become.

**********

Night is the worse, always. Ever since Delacourt announced they were in ESS hands now. The AI now wonders the ship, or so the word has spread among the non-coms. In the larger cell blocks the AI, dubbed the Priest, wanders the blocks terrorizing the prisoners. Apparently Valinor AIs are not immune to human emotions, and it seems this ships AI is bitter, very bitter.
But so far the officers' block has been safe, but then a noise comes at night. The unmistakeable sound of metal on metal, echoing from everywhere. A glowing figure erupts into being in the block. And the eerie scittering metal sound of security drones fills the air. Burning red optical sensors fill the floor, swirling around the Priest's feet. He stops down the block from Anderson's cell, drones swirling around him like a hive of bees to its queen. He looks until the cell, tapping the "cane" against the bars, and the tapping noise erupts again.
He smirks, "Is it time to repent now?"
The voice is cold, and sadistic. And suddenly security drones spiral inward to the cell, a chorus of screams erupts from the cell, it lasts for minutes on end, the screams become more and more hoarse. And then the Priest raises a hand, and the drones recede. He moves on down the block, coming to Anderson and Mayer's cell.
He turns on one heel, and removes a watch from inside his cleric.
"Soon, soon, it will come your time as well. Think carefully on your sins," the Priest says. Drones scurry on the bars of the cell, the security field is dead for the moment.
"Yes, yes soon enough," and then the AI vanishes, and the drones disperse.

**********

Three weeks later the dungeon ship arrives at its destination. One of the wastelands of the galaxy, so appropriate for the facility of the ESS. The star is called Sun-Yat a fiery white thing burning in the heart of the solar system. The world is nameless.
The prisoners are loaded carefully into shuttles, always under guard. But the shuttles are not crewed by Sardaukar, the shuttles aren't even the ones from the dungeon ship. These are sleek affairs, obviously newer models and branded with the stylized insignia eye of the ESS Nightwatch in gold on their matte black hulls. And onboard wait men in the black uniforms of the ESS. Anderson and his officers are seperated from their men once again and taken to a small shuttle. They are strapped into seats and then secured by ESS men. They hear measured steps on the gangway behind them and the six Sturmann come to attention and salute.
"Well, well," says a chilling voice behind them, and Sturmbannfuehrer Seredrin steps into view and takes a seat in the row opposite Anderson and Mayers. He smiles, perhaps the most unpleasant thing that could be seen on that face. "Welcome to your new home, gentlemen, I hope you find it to your liking."
He smiles even wider at his own joke, Anderson feels the shuttle lift off.

The shuttle touches down on the surface of the nameless planet orbiting Sun-Yat. Anderson, Mayers, and the other officers are escorted to the rear of the shuttle by Seredrin and the six Sturmann. The hatch descends and the group is greeted by a hot, thick, and humid air recognizable as a jungle atmosphere.
Seredrin nods to the Sturmann and they descend from the shuttle. Larger transports are unloading other Verniians as well, all though it is clear that not all the prisoners from Yalta have found their way to this particular place.
As for the place itself, well it looks like hell. Prefab structures litter a rough circle cut from the surrounding terrain and bordered along one stretch by a strange green, gray ocean. There appears to be some sort of inspection going on, as more Nightwatch personnel are overseeing what appears to be a massive gathering of other prisoners. Most of them have strange electric blue tatooes depicting dragons or strange creatures not recognized by Anderson. A man in a simple uniform patterned off a safari outfit from Earth marches before them selecting from the pool at random. He turns away as the Verniian POWs are marshalled up in the shadow of the shuttles and transports, mummers to an adjutant and begins to approach the Verniians.
He comes before them, and all the Nightwatchmen draw to attention, even Seredrin manages a passable salute. And once the man gets closer, Anderson can see why.
He looks like a reanimated skeleton, his face gaunt and insanely gleaming eyes move rapidly across the POWs from recessed sockets. They settle for a moment on a few men at random it seems. The man clears his throat.
"I am Brigadefuehrer Stuttgart," he says, his voice cold as steel and as sharp as a scapel. "From now on you live at my sufferage, always. For here, I and I alone am god. Remember this well, citizens of Camp 34-7 Alpha. And also, it is time to contributed to the continued....good will of your administrators. Sturmbannfuehrer!"
"Yes, Brigadefuehrer!" Seredrin says.
"Select eight from this crop, I want two officers, nothing above a captain or equivalent rank and the rest can be drawn from whatever you like. Remember, I want a good bit of sport and exercise before it is all said and done."
"Yes, Bridagefuehrer!" Seredrin begins to move among the Verniians selecting the required personnel.

OOC: Vernii...you can get a reaction in, but what I want particularly is names. And you want to bear in mind they need to be disposable.

Officers: Lts. Colomb and Turner
Enlisted: PO Mahan; Ensigns Berten, Adler and Pestrano; Crewmen Percy and Simmons