Why Rita Hates Transporters

Posted on Wed May 16th, 2018 @ 12:07am by Commander Rita Paris & Lieutenant Commander Sonak
Edited on on Sat Sep 15th, 2018 @ 2:47am

Mission: Curing the Black Blood
Location: Starfleet Colony 12, Ajilon Prime
Timeline: 2266
Tags: timetravel

The earthquakes were tearing the colony apart, and the ionic storms were certainly not helping. The unprecedented solar activity of Ajilon was exacerbating the ion storm, which might have passed through the system without incident; but now it was causing radiation spikes, weather disturbances and gravitational anomalies, just to mention a few delights that the planet was now offering those upon its surface.

The colony on Ajilon Prime was most definitely not doing well, as major portions of it had now been rendered rubble by the increased seismic activity and raging storm systems, and as the stoic Vulcan operated the transporters to beam out the last of the colonists, he flipped open his communicator to call for his subordinate.

“Lieutenant Commander Paris, have you retrieved the core sample yet?”, Sonak asked, suspecting that he already knew the answer. After all, Lieutenant Commander Rita Paris was devoted to duty and would exceed acceptable risk parameters in order to accomplish her mission. But with the colony’s prefabricated facilities coming down in pieces around them, he could no longer afford to wait for her to arrive. But as the seconds ticked by with no response, the doors began slowly opening and a pair of well-manicured nails presented themselves in the opening, as Paris worked to pry open the stuck doors of the transporter room.

Stepping to assist her, the blue-clad Commander Sonak exerted his greater strength, borne of the high-gravity planet of his birth that was no more. The doors opened with relative ease, to reveal the gold-clad second officer panting and sweating, bounteous bosom heaving having arrived with the core sample that she had promised the Ajion Prime scientists that they would not leave behind. Smiling at the Vulcan, she turned to reach for the wheeled cart that she was using to haul the heavy core sample.

“Sure, I get it started and you make it look easy,” she muttered in mock frustration even as she wheeled the heavy sample to the edge of the transporter deck. Stepping up onto the platform, she hugged the heavy core sample to help lend her strength to that of the kolinahr as he bore the brunt of the weight onto the platform. That was when another quake struck, and it was all they could do to stay on their feet and keep the core sample steady. The transporter console sparked a bit, causing the blue-clad science officer to move to investigate it even before the quake had subsided.

“Do we even know what those scientists found that they are so determined not to lose they’d risk our lives for it?” Paris asked even as she maneuvered the sample onto a transporter pad.

“In truth, you volunteered to remain behind to secure the sample, as you ascertained that the science team likely would not willingly depart without it,” Sonak reviewed in his usual solemn tones. “Which meant that I too would remain behind to see you safely off world, as your superior officer. But this is not the time for recriminations- the ion storm is growing worse by the moment, and we must make haste if we are to escape this facility before it is destroyed.”

“That’s my guy, always looking on the bright side," Paris quipped, trying to hide the anxiety she knew he would feel radiating from her anyway. Transporters were far from her favorite mode of travel, after having been trapped for years as a phantom after a transporter accident. And it was a known fact that ionic storms interfered with their successful operation.

Emphasis on 'successful'.

Given the potentially damaged panel, the planet trying to break up beneath them and the hurried nature of the mission, she was just one step shy of panic, but working to keep a lid on it. Because now was not the time when Starfleet officers lost their cool; now was when they pulled together to save the day.

As she watched, Sonak reconfigured the panel, likely running calculations in his head since he didn’t have time to work out the math and instead trusting in his own intellect to manage the variables of transporting the most precious cargo known to him, along with a core sample that seemed to be exhibiting peculiar properties. Unsatisfied, but theorizing that the next quake might just demolish the colony’s transporter, Sonak glanced up, his grey eyes meeting those of his human lover.

“I have calculated that this transport should succeed- once aboard the Exeter it will likely fall to them to beam me out,” he explained, not mentioning that it would likely be because the transporters down here would be dysfunctional, nor that he was placing himself in mortal peril by doing so. She knew, she understood, and she would not argue.

Instead Rita Paris met his eyes with her own baby blues, nodded and said softly, “I trust you- I always have. Get me home safely and if I have to I’ll shuttle back in to get you out of here.” A small smile graced her face, then she stood, proud and tall in the transporter, a minidress-clad golden girl, who faced danger daily because it was her job. Winking at the Vulcan who was the center of her universe in false bravado, she requested, “Energize?”

The steady hand of the Vulcan scientist activated the transporter. That was when things went sideways, and Rita Paris started screaming, though by then she had no mouth. At least, not one made of matter. Not anymore.


For his part, Sonak fought valiantly with the controls as he watched the readings perform perambulations that were beyond imagination. He would write a number of treatise on those readings that would later be of vital use in piercing the dimensional barriers. But in that moment, the charged atmosphere combined with the unique properties of the core sample and the damaged transporter controls left him little to work with as the signal tore open an enormous energy surge that coincided with a high energy output from the ion storm, which caused the beam to fizzle, frazzle then quite literally vanish altogether. The last kolinahr's brows knit together as he scanned for the transport beam, determined not to lose his lover to the storm.

The Exeter had to send down a search party to recover Commander Sonak from the rubble of the colony’s transporter room.

Lieutenant Commander Paris never completed her transport, and was never found. She was listed, at Commander Sonak’s insistence and Captain Stuart's order, not as KIA; but instead, as Missing In Action. It was odd for a Vulcan to hold out hope in the face of all logic, but the Commander insisted that Paris had fought her way back from the impossible too many times to be counted out now.


While he would never see her again in his lifetime, Sonak of Vulcan was not entirely incorrect…



After leaving McKinley station, odd reports began filtering in from across the USS Hera. A flickering visual distortion the size of a humanoid was seen on deck 13 in one of the corridors, where tricorder readings registered a sharp ionization concentration. In the galley on deck nine, a table was suddenly bisected by an ethereal column of some sort that as soon as it had registered on the visual spectrum vanished into thin air. Again, ionization traces were found after the fact, but no conclusive evidence of what caused the phenomenon could be determined.

Then as the mighty starship changed speeds, a ghostly translucent apparition of a human figure clad in an anachronistic minidress uniform appeared to be studying readings from one of the main engineering consoles just off the warp core itself. While there were insufficient details to make a positive identification of any sort, the body language of the intruder seemed to be surprised when confronted by the Engineering team. Then in a static-filled flash, it disappeared as if it had never been.

As the rumors made the rounds, it seemed that as improbable as it seemed, the Hera had somehow picked up a ghost.