"Mr. Sulu, bank to starboard and put us in between the transports and the pirate vessels. Engineering, divert power to the phaser banks, that oughta scare 'em off."

The aye ayes come in unison and the viewscreen flares red as the Enterprise opens up on the cluster of smaller assault cruisers. The two forces exchange fire for some minutes, but the pirate detachment soon realise they are outgunned and break off their attack.

"Mr. Scott reports crew and passengers of the transport fleet have been beamed aboard and escorted to sick bay, captain," Chekov reports inexplicably and coherently in the Queen's English, "Shields are at eighty nine percent, hull is undamaged and primary systems are fully funtional."

Uhura swivels in her chair to ask, "Permission to speak freely, captain?"

"Permission granted."

"Might I say how devastatingly handsome you are today?"

"You may, but let's save it for a more convenient time," Jim replies smugly, "Dr. Chapel, what's say you finish this up and attend to those refugees?"

Chapel, diligently kneading those pockets of tension out of the captain's shoulders, replies, "Reports received suggest only minor injuries sustained, and nurse McCoy is perfectly capable."

"Oh, if you insist. A little to the left..."

The chimp at the science officer's console with the blue shirt and the 'kick me' sign taped to his back scratches his head and says, "Ook ook!"

Kirk, jostled slightly by the massage, nods and replies, "Excellent. I don't know what I'd do without your insight, Mr. Spock."

Starfleet so needs the schematics for one of these sensorium things...

Stacy's voice speaks over the whole of the ship. What she has to say has become very familiar over the the podlings have spent here.

||Pod Release Protocols Initiating,|| she says. ||Please proceed to the Observation Deck to meet your new crew mates.||

Those crew members that don't head to the Obs Deck on their own are hurried there via gentle but insistent tentacles. A few people stop by Engineering to help bring and pass out omnicoms and comm rings to the new crew members as well.

[ooc: Only new characters and Command Staff can start new threads for introductions, to limit the number of threads. Everyone else, just tag in and have your guys greet the newbies.]

Uhura was decidedly new at Sensorium control, but at this particular moment, standing in the blank white of the room, it didn't matter.  As always, she had a crisp, clear vision of what she wanted.  It was the gymnasium at Starfleet Academy and she wanted a proper workout.  Something that would help ease some of the frustration of being bottled up without much to do.  At some point, she resolved to talk to the Captain Kirk currently aboard the ship, but she wasn't sure she was...ready.  There was something decidedly odd about knowing your captain (from an alternate future that was the real one) was aboard.

She was avoiding the confrontation.

And it annoyed her.

It annoyed her about as much as the thought that their universe had been destroyed again, even after they had dispatched Nero, even after all they had gone though to do that.  Uhura frowned at the punching bag in front of her before beginning her stretching routine.  She taped her hands carefully, the noise reassuring, as she wound it around her fingers, around her hands.  It was an old technique and she didn't care.

Her fist met the bag hard and she scowled.  This wasn't going to be challenging.  It was just a bag.  She took a few more measured swings, scored several hits, and wanted something to hit back.  This had to be some sort of cosmic joke.

( Not Quite A Dream. )
Uhura lie curled up on Spock's bed, her fingers buried against the blanket she held clenched in a fist, her knees drawn to her chest.  Sleep had been long in coming, longer than she might have liked, and she knew she'd dream.  It was not exactly a dream.  It had happened.  Somehow, she'd survive it.  She had to survive it.  Still asleep, Uhura curled in on herself tightly, and her brow furrowed.  Her fingers twitched as a shudder ran down her spine.  Uhura had nightmares every once and awhile about the Farragut, about being assigned there, about dying there.  About floating in space with the dead Nero had left behind, but this was not that.  This had happened and she knew, even asleep, that she was trying to process it.

And doing a piss-poor job of it.

Time passed in the strangest way on this ship, as if it had slipped her mind that she ought to be moving.  It seemed that she had slept a very long time, but she had risen, had what food there was to be had (and truthfully, it tasted as good as it looked), and then she had found her way back to the possessions storage room.  Retrieving the Vulcan lute was the best sort of goal she had in mind and it was to the Observation Deck she went.

It was, for all intents and purposes, fairly clear of people.

If she was prone to meditation at all, it was music that soothed her the best.  Nothing could have prepared her for this place--nor the strangeness of the people within it.  She couldn't fault them as they were just as displaced as she was.  It took her a moment to tune the instrument and she played around with a few runs before settling into a quiet Yiddish Turkish song, though it was done in the Ladino style with a mix of Yiddish and Spanish--heavier on the Spanish.  She'd heard it sung a few times growing up from the woman who lived a few doors down from her.  It was simple and haunting all at once, especially when she wove harmony into it with her lute.  Her voice was steady and she she found her back easing as she leaned into a meatlike couch.  Sitting on the floor was comfortable and the sounds around her blurred and faded just enough.

Music had always made her feel better and it did once again.

Characters: Samuel Henderson, OPEN
Location: Corridor outside the Obs Deck, a bit out of the way
Time: Immediately following the explanation of the current state of affairs re: the Ohm, worlds, and whatnot.
Summary: Sam loses it. And nearly himself in the process.
Warnings: Definite blood warning, and anyone that tags may be attacked. Poke me on AIM (girlnamedlance) or via OOC comment if you want to work out something specific. Generally, I'm open to anything, I just don't want any kind of long lasting damage. And I'd like a little chaos to ensue before Spike, Leon, or anyone subdues him. And if he ends up in the brig awhile, I totally understand. Lastly, multiple threads are a-okay. 8D

( It would be easier to let go. )

The best place Spock could think of which would allow Lieutenant Uhura some measure of privacy and the ability to rest, was his own room.

Even on the Enterprise, his quarters had been spartan. Here, there was even less. But it was quiet, and private. It would serve.

"I have been here approximately one month," he explained simply. "I am still growing accustomed to the ship and her environs."

*Ragel-tor = a chance meeting; to be present at someone's arrival.

The rest of the crew assembled on the Observation Deck to meet the latest editions to their numbers. After the revelation that their worlds are gone, many of them are even more eager to see people they knew from home.

Several people are set up near the doors to provide the new people with omnicoms and comm rings. New crew-mates might see a green-skinned alien and snake girl among their number. There are also several authoritative-looking figures ready to introduce themselves.

There's a lot to tell the new people. It's going to be a lot to take in.

[ooc: Only new characters and Command Staff can start new threads for introductions, to limit the number of threads. Everyone else, just tag in and have your guys greet the newbies.]