Idril Mar

That is madness... madness I tell you!!

I was wondering, heh.

Ok, who voted for Scotty?

I find it interesting that no one has said they'll go begging to Paramount...

Bump.

Bump and go!

Ok... so sitting there and watching Vulcan implode wasn't epic?

Bump and go, sorry for the delay today.

Here's the new poll of the week! Get to discussing!

I enjoyed Undiscovered Country too!

My sincere apologies. Our internet crashed at work so I haven't been able to move this until I got home. Here ya go!

Yes, but epic means something else in the context of this poll.

good point... didn't even think of that one!

Basically the Klingons got hit with a genetic disease that almost wiped them all out after injecting themselves with the same DNA that Khan and the supermen had, but Phlox managed to save them. As a sideeffect of his treatment, they all got smooth heads . The foreheads gradually came back after centuries of work.

Bump and go.

Funny, yes. Epic, no.

Grats to all.

Recast, exclude Riker.

In keeping with the season, my gift to you all is a double poll for the week! This week's poll deals with the mythical joviality of our favorite Christmas present deliverer, Saint Nicholas. Legend has it that the jolly old saint lives at or near the North Poll, er, Pole, where he runs a workshop that turns out massive amounts of toys to deliver all over the world to good little girls and boys. Which of the cast members, and I mean all of the series and movies, would make the best Santa Claus? Who has the looks, the attitude and the patience to deal with the little kiddies pulling on the beard all the time? Helping Santa in the workshop is a veritable army of slave labor, er, elves who joyfully construct the toys for the children with love. Of the cast members, who would be the best to be the head elf in Santa Claus' workshop? Who has the looks, the nature and the organization acumen to run the sweat shop, er, factory of happiness? Here's my candidates! If you think I've got it wrong, come suggest your own!

We are all Star Trek fans; that goes without saying. However, imagine yourself in a world where, due to some unknown heinous offense, you were shunned by all things Star Trek. Imagine that you receive a perpetual cease and desist order from Paramount's lawyers, barring you from anything to do with Star Trek. Send back your uniform, sell your videos, renounce your membership in the fan club: we don't want you. Your poster is up at all the conventions with a big "Not Welcome" label. Toy stores don't allow you to buy the action figures. You're not even allowed to utter such famous phrases as "Make it so" or "Live long and prosper." You are truely and utterly OUT. This week's poll is a discussion of this nightmare scenario. How would you react? Where would you turn to get your science fiction fix? What would you turn your fandom towards? Here are some of the options I thought of. If your's didn't make the list, please share!

Yes, Vulcans plus frivolity is always funny, but not generally epic in quite the intended way here.

There's always a rush at the end.

My apologies for this not getting moved correctly. Go!

Being an engineer and warp field specialist by training, I find myself needing to know why and how things happen. That is why ghost stories, especially ones that can't be logically explained, are what send shivers up my spine. There is a legend among my husband's countrymen, those humans that come from the little island that calls itself England, of their island's patron saint, St. George the Dragonslayer, and how he, in his benevolence, comes to the aid of brave bands of true Englishmen when in battle against overwhelming odds and facing certain death. I'm not so sure about this legend myself but I have heard a story that sometimes makes me wonder, when I think about it, if St. George really doesn't protect people from the little island of England. Across it when I was wandering through old intel files of a little-known battle on the edge of nowhere during the Dominion War. It was really a meaningless battle far from any lines that mattered in the true heart of the war, completely unremarkable except for one small fact: there was a battalion of Starfleet Infantry that hailed almost exclusively from a small island in the northern hemisphere of Earth. The battle was for listening station on the planet Archos VII. A small infantry battalion had been assigned to hold a mountain pass that was the main approach to the post. The battalion, a thousand strong and each with a small Union Jack on their shoulder, traced its lineage proudly back to His Majesty's Blues and Royals, in the days before Earth was united by a single government. This battle was one of inches, fought with the modern equivalent of sticks and stones. The Archosian atmosphere had been so saturated with energy disrupting aerosols that old fashioned firearms and rail-gun artillery had been resurrected to battle across the rocky terrain. The listening post in question had been obsolete for nearly a decade and neglected for longer than that but, as many times happens in war and peace both, people misplace significance onto objects and places that someone else shows a desire for, even when they themselves know their worthlessness. It was into this meaningless battle for a meaningless piece of technology on a meaningless rock that the infantry was dropped. A thousand strong, they dug trenches, built strong walls and had made themselves a fortress the envy of any castle of old. This was fortunate, as unknown to them, the Dominion had secretly dropped nearly 100,000 Jem'Hadar warriors nearby with orders to destroy the listening post. Their first notice of their new guests was when the artillery smashed into their newly finished salient. For two days and nights without stop, the thump-whistle-crash of the shells targeting them drained them somewhat of their usual upbeat cheeriness, tearing stone from stone... limb from limb. After the days of punishment, only half the original number remained. That is when the ground assault started. The sight of the wave upon wave of grey clad Jem'Hadar bearing down on them made even the bravest of those left realize that this was their time, their place and likely the end of their story. Among them was a young lieutenant, one who had graduated college only a few months before as a scholar of ancient languages. As he and his platoon opened fire in what they all knew was likely a vain effort, he began muttering an old Latin invocation: Adsit Anglis Sanctus Georgius - May St. George be a present help to the English. Over and over he said it as he fired his rifle into advancing grey horde. The Jem'Hadar were nothing if they were not loyal and determined. Up the hill they ran towards the Federation lines and by the hundreds the infantry cut them down. By the thousands, though, they kept coming, slowly gaining. There was no hope in the defenders, but they would do their duty as well. Suddenly, the young lieutenant heard a voice above and behind him, loud and sharp as a peal of thunder: "Array, array, array!" Over the din of the battle, he began to hear other voices calling from behind the lines. "Saint George! Saint George!" He rolled over to look behind his men. With what seemed like a soft white glow, he began to see shapes of men, standing behind the Federation trenches, indistinct, but he could see them wearing what seemed to be ancient armor and clothes. "Sweet saint preserve us!" "Heaven's knight, come to our aid!" The voices were deeply English, but no one else seemed to hear them or see the shadowy shapes arrayed behind their lines. As he watched, they drew their shadowy bows and with a shout there was a deep hum, as if by a thousand violin strings. The sky filled for a moment with pale arrows, then they smashed into the Dominion lines and the Jem'Hadar began falling by the thousands. "England! England and St. George!" The men of the infantry kept firing, dutiful though all their hope was gone. "St. George, succour us!" "Holy chevalier, defend us!" The arrows came so fast and in such numbers that the light from the dim star above darkened and the alien horde melted before them, finally breaking and leaving tens of thousands of dead on the field. The Vorta wrote the failure and losses down that the Federation had managed somehow to overcome the impediments to the use of technology. Most of the men of the infantry assumed that Starfleet had managed to get air support into place. Only that young lieutenant knew the truth: St. George had once more brought the bowmen of Agincourt to the aid of the English.

Ive got one done, but can't get the iPad to connect here. Argh... I'll have it up tonight hopefully.