Rune Jolara

Not often Rune gets to play dress up.

((Diplomatic suite - Two hours after the briefing)) ::Mirra had gone directly to the diplomatic suite, which consisted of several conference rooms, that happily doubled as dining rooms, and a very large sitting area. The walls were painted in warm, neutral tones. A bit of a change from the stark clinical set ups she was used to. Along with her research into the art of diplomacy, she also found a handy guide to menu suggestions...although the way it was written, she greatly hoped it wasn't outdated. "When hosting a bevy Klingon warriors for dinner, one paramount suggestion is to skip the doilies and fine china, these dainty decorations just won't do for the proud race of ridge heads- oO Wait...By the Gods...this says actually says ridgeheads...who wrote this?! Oo ::Skipping ahead:: "Consider the delectably distinguished dishes of the Gagh variety- "First up, you have the Bithool gagh, which have feet. Pungent and sure to give a kick." oO....There is more than one kind of Gagh...? Gods protect me...Oo "Followed closely by Filden gagh, which is squirmy and savory. Next, Meshta gagh, a grand party pleaser as this variety jumps around, often engaging the entire table to catch the dinner.- oO By the Four...it...jumps?! No. Not that one. Ever. Oo "The more common Torgud gagh variety just offers a pleasant wiggle, less likely to escape, and finally Wistan gagh, which has been marinating and packed in targ blood. oO That's it. I'm going to vomit. And make Theo handle the dinner...Oo. "If Gagh isn't your fancy, consider the savory and delicious Heart of Targ. A simple dish consisting of a fresh Targ heart resting on a bed of wilted greens." oO I can't do this. Oo ::She was moments away from finding the closest lavatory and swearing to never eat anything ever again when the familiar voice of Lt. Commander Shayne came across asking for her presence on the bridge.:: Ezo: ::slightly green:: Oh Shayne I could kiss you right now... ::Mirra set down the PADD, gingerly and backing away slowly if somehow these Klingon dishes would pop out of the screen and chase after her. With a final shudder, she exited the Diplomacy suite with only a small amount of relieved haste.:: ((Bridge - Deck 1 - USS Blackwell)) ((Moments later)) ::Mirra stepped onto the bridge, feeling a little less nauseated, and seemingly just in time.:: Whittaker: Very well then, let's not keep them waiting much longer. ::he moved to the rear of the bridge and stopped just as the turbolift doors opened, admitting Lieutenant Commander Ezo.:: Ah, Mirra- turns out you're going to be needed in the transporter room with me. Commander Shayne: have Counsellor Jolara meet us there- and you have the bridge. ::Shaking off the menu induced horror, she steeled herself and gave a confident nod:: Ezo: Of course Sir. Shayne: Aye, sir- I have the bridge. Whittaker: ::to Shayne again.:: We're about forty minutes from P-409 Sigma if I'm not mistaken. Begin our long range scans. ::to Pandorn.:: Mr. Pandorn- you can assist him but be ready to act in case our friends out there- ::he motioned to the image of the gik'tal on the viewscreen.:: -decide to liven up the party. Shayne: Very good, sir. Pandorn: Will do, sir. ::He starts to tap his console.:: ::Whittaker than refocused.:: Whittaker: Ensign Mandak, find Commander Thoran and see if you can assist with the security arrangements. Mandak: Response ? ::A few moments later, in the corridor, away from the bridge Mirra latched onto Theo's arm and looked at him with horror:: Ezo: We have to have Dr. G'Renn give us something to suppress our gag reflexes or we're going to...::grimacing::...dishonor all over ourselves with this dinner... Whittaker: Response? Ezo: ::fighting a gag at the memory:: I don't care if she thinks less of me. I won't make Theo, I absolutely won't. Otherwise, my first act as a diplomatic officer is going to offend a large group of Klingon officers before the main course. ::her eyes widened:: Is their entire diet based on one elaborate dare?!? Whittaker: Response? Ezo: ::scowling:: This is not funny Theo Whittaker! ::Alright, so it was a little funny. A snicker escaped as she fought for composure:: Whittaker: Response? Ezo: ::smirking:: Hey, you hired me. I'm just trying not to shame you in a public forum. ::the transporter room lay just ahead. The earlier jovial attitude muted as they approached the doors.:: Time to greet our guests. Whittaker/Jolara (if present) : Response? ---------------------------------------------- Lt. Commander Mirra Ezo, MD Diplomatic Officer USS Blackwell C239205ME0

Congratulations Harry! Welcome to the Fleet!

Welcome to the Fleet Ensign Xerix! Welcome back Ben! Happy to see you back with us

Congratulations and welcome to the Fleet!

Thank you for inviting me!

Congratulations and welcome to the Fleet!!

Congratulations and welcome to the Fleet!!

He is the last person on the face of this planet who should direct any Trek movie. He will totally destroy the image of Star Trek and everything it stands for. I certainly will not waste my money seeing anything he directs.

(( USS Blackwell - Deck 4 - Captain's Quarters )) ((Time Index: Shortly after Theo's writes a letter to his mother as seen in 'Letters Home')) ::The Blackwell glided through space at warp, every second bringing it closer it destination: the planet Arndall. What awaited the crew there nobody could know for sure but had Theo been a betting man, he would surely wager nothing good. The Valcarians and the Caraadians' Cold War was in imminent danger of heating up and Starfleet wanted the Andaris Task Force to step in before anything could happen. Had Arndall been located anywhere else, Theo would likely now be deep into negociations- however, this was the Par'tha Expanse and it's "unique properties" meant that navigating was difficult at the best of times.:: ::As he sat watching the stars streak by, he felt his mind wandering. Once more, he found himself wanting to pinch himself. The Blackwell was his ship. What sort of Commanding Officer would he turn out to be? Fair and just? Authouritation? Would he be a father figure to the officers and enlisted personnel he commanded? He knew that his mother would insist that he was born to do this and that he would make a fine CO, but part of him believed that she was expected to say that. Typical mothering behaviour. For the first time in a good while, he turned his thoughts to his father... even now in death, he was likely watching his son with intense disapproval.:: ::Josiah Whittaker had never planned for his only child to enter Starfleet. No, he had been adamant even before Theo had been born that he was to follow him into a life of academia and research on Archer IV, their homeworld. Just as his father had done before. And his before him. And so it went on. Whittaker's were academics and had been for hundreds of years. They revelled in their eloquence and their outdated opinions on class and stature. Theo had never been interested in such a life, driven by an insatiable wanderlust. The galaxy fascinated him, technology had held him in a spell since he was a small child and no amount of lectures and studying enforced by his father could alter that.:: ::The day of their estrangement, when Theo had finally broken free of Josiah's oppressive shackles, was still crystal clear in Theo's memory. He could recall every last detail of that fateful moment. It was the last time he had seen his father.:: (( Archer IV - Whittaker Manor - 12 years previously )) J. Whittaker: You step out of that door and you will never be welcomed here again. ::The crisp morning air held a chill, but not one comparable to the one that had descended up on the entrance hall of their home. Josiah bore down on Theo from the grand stair case with a cold fury in his eyes. Five years of acrimonious words and threats had now come down to this. No longer could Theo deny what he wanted to do. Academia be damned.:: ::The sixteen year old looked up at his father, who had now reached the bottom step of the staircase, looking at him with a deadly honesty. There was no doubt that Josiah Whittaker meant what he had said. Anybody else would have paused for thought, but Theo wasn't anybody. They had similar discussions over their difficult, acrimonious history. And now Theo was weary. He had had enough.:: T. Whittaker: ::he made no effort to hide the weariness from his voice. He wanted his father to know that he had, finally, had enough.:: Goodbye father. ::He turned and reached for the door handle, pulling the massive oak door open with a sharp pull.:: J. Whittaker: Theo! :: Theo hesitated for a moment, thinking that he could detect a rising panic within his father's words. His mind told him not to turn but his heart told him otherwise- and so Theo, always one to lead with his emotions, stopped and looked at his father. Cold fury had been replaced by a look of abject desperation. In that moment, Theo knew that his father understood how perilously close he was coming to losing his only child. It was, in a way, morbidly fascinating to behold. He had never seen this side of his father, who had spent his life being as uptight and reserved as he could. At times, Josiah could put a Vulcan to shame with his laser-precision focus and drive.:: ::And then the moment passed- and the desperation was gone, replaced once more with anger. There was a solemn nod from his father, who looked upon his son with contempt.:: J. Whittaker: Then so be it. I no longer have a son. ::If the words had been design to wound Theo, they failed to do so. So tired of their arguments and the tension between the two of them, the sixteen year old simply shook his head and sighed and walked out in to the crisp morning air. He walked down the gravelled path where the Starfleet Type-8 shuttle waited beyond the pretentious and elaborate gates. His father wanted him to be an academic, like generations had been before him. But Theo, never one to stand on history, had to chart his own path. Even if that cost him a relationship with his father. Starfleet Academy- and the future awaited :: (( USS Blackwell - Deck 4 - Captain's Quarters - Stardate 239412.07)) ::Twelve years had passed since that awful morning and it's after effects still lingered with Theo. Had he been right to chart his own course? Of course- he had no doubt about that. But could he have made more of an effort to reconcile with his father in his last years? The answer was simple: Yes.:: ::Theo had not seen or spoken to his father since that day, even when Josiah had been stricken with the terminal and incurable Meenok's Disease. He had been to the funeral, of course, but his father had chosen not to have an open casket. Neither of them, in his final months- much to the pain of his mother- had been willing to let the barriers down and make amends. It was childish on both of their parts, Theo could see that now.:: ::The guilt of their estrangement had haunted Theo and he believed that it always would. There was no easy answer, no solution. He simply had to live with what he had done... and hope that he had become a better person in the intervening years....:: -- Commander Theo Whittaker Commanding Officer USS Blackwell NCC 58999 Andaris Task Force C239203TW0

Congratulations and welcome to the Fleet! (A few more Al-Leyans and we can have our own Qu'cha team.)

((Ferentis' Quarters)) ::The Pahkwa-thanh slumbered.:: ::His enormous face rested on the reinforced floor of his quarters, a bit of drool escaping the clutches of his massively powerful jaws. Flesh on his midriff heaved in a deliberate, unrushed rhythm; his breathing, at least for the time being, could be as lackadaisical an affair as he liked. Tiny arms gave the occasional gentle flick at invisible phantoms, seen only in the imagination of one drowsy dinosaur.:: ::Ferentis was wiped.:: ::All that work keeping the holodeck operational had certainly drained his faculties, both mental and physical. Running from one irritation to another, while maintaining the decorum pounded into him by both the demands of cultural upbringing and the procedural rigidity of Starfleet had left him utterly drained. But, naturally, the final nail in the coffin was the realization that the thought keeping him going was not what he expected, and was thoroughly underwhelming in its own right. That infernal letter.:: ::So disappointed was he that he’d simply given up for the day. Grunting with the effort, he’d managed to find a suitably warm spot underneath the heating lamp, and in moments, had succumbed to the inky pool of unconsciousness.:: ::Across, the room however, things were not nearly as stagnant.:: ::Ferentis’ efforts, while unsuccessful in revealing the contents of the letter, had triggered something, though, naturally, he had no way of knowing it. His focus had been so undivided, so intent, that when the icon in the corner had finally stopped its infernal flashing, he hadn’t noticed. Scouring the field of dots, he’d likewise utterly failed to take heed when the icon resumed its blinking pattern- this time, in a crimson hue in lieu of the pleasing forest green that had pestered him beforehand. Were Ferentis watching, he would have been extremely puzzled as to why that particular icon was activated- generally, it was reserved for instances in which a message was being transmitted- something Ferentis hadn’t done, nor had had reason to do, in ages. Nevertheless, from his console, and completely without his knowledge, a signal had been released. With precision, it wormed its way into the chat logs, marking itself as personal, waiting for its expulsion into the fluidic fabric of subspace via the Blackwell’s communication array. To any scan or observant eye on the bridge, it would have appeared like any other private communique between a crewmember and family back home. Indeed, it was far more than that. Were this signal, this program, tasked with spying on the chat logs going in and out of the Blackwell, it could have. It possessed the capability to do so, and now that it had infiltrated the machinery, the ease with which the information could be extracted might be considered laughable. However, this electronic worm had no such intentions; for all intents and purposes, it was quite benign. It glanced around at the miasma of impulses and codes, and patiently waited its turn to leave, causing no trouble at all. A fortunate fact for the crew of the Blackwell- the hospital ship had seen more than its share of robot infiltration and attacks via malignant code.:: ::The array gathered the information to transmit, and expelled it. The program found itself dashing through subspace, bounding along the fourth plane, circumventing gullies and sandbars in the pseudo-energy landscape. However, its destination was not the same as the rest of the letters and status updates and other starship minutiae. It diverged after several light years, aiming itself toward its own pre-programmed location. Hours past like the stars as the signal zipped through space.:: ::As Ferentis snored soundly, the signal finally reached its destination. With unceremonious haste, the tiny satellite communication receiver it had smacked into absorbed it. It didn’t take long for the worm to rummage its way into the satellite’s systems, much as it had on the Blackwell. If it could think or speak, its thoughts and words would have been most innocent. “Pardon me- let me just slide into your outgoing traffic. Not here to cause trouble- sorry about the inconvenience. No need to notice me, just let me through. Thanks.”:: ::Soon, it had again moseyed on through the slog of incoming and outgoing messages, and had begun the next leg of its epic voyage…:: PNPC Ensign Ferentis Engineer USS Blackwell NCC 58999 =======as simmed by======= Lieutenant Commander Randal Shayne Helmsman/Ops Officer/Second Officer USS Blackwell NCC 58999 G239202RS0

Congratulations and welcome to the Fleet!

((USS Blackwell, Corridors)) ::The stars rushing by seemed so close, as if she could just reach her hand beyond the transparent aluminum and grab one. It was a testiment to just how humanity had interjected itself into what was once untouchable. Space, the stars, heck, even Earth’s own moon was once out of reach. And then one day, someone dared to change that.:: ::In a single decade, and with a single step, humanity had set foot on another world. Sure, it was ‘just the moon’, but for the people of that time period, it had been impossible up until it suddenly wasn’t.:: ::Not long after, it became apparent that man could reach further. A permanent space station was put into orbit around the planet, and then robots stretched out to Mars. Someone even put what they had known as a car in orbit of the red planet. Why? Because they could, and at that point in Earth’s history, that was a huge statement. Why do anything?:: ::Because you can.:: ::Technology sped up fairly quickly after that, and before too long, humanity had found the key to interstellar travel. Warp capabilities changed the entire fabric of time and suddenly all that had been impossible simply wasn’t anymore. Humanity was no longer alone in the universe and there was more than just solid proof. The beings from those other worlds, previously held only in the dreams of those who did things just because they could, were standing right there.:: ::And so, time marched on, technology advanced, and eventually it all led to this moment. This moment was one eventuality of time and experience, particles coalesced into a being that had taken the form of a misunderstood and lost ambassador with thigh-length raven-black hair, crystalline blue eyes, and an almost porcelain appearance, who found herself simply staring into space.:: ::Literally.:: ::Now aboard the Blackwell, Kali continued to make the role her own. Technically out, but not out, of Starfleet’s command structure, as ‘Ambassador’ she enjoyed freedoms that she exercised if only to maintain some form of control of her world. She wasn’t out there blazing trails anymore, or commanding starships in unimaginable situations. No longer did she fly anything other than a desk, so when she could ‘break’ all the rules of Starfleet, she did.:: ::Hair down? As an Ambassador, certainly, even if it did get in her way. Ambassadorial looks? Pffft. What even was that? The robes and garb of others were reserved for the rare instances where business must be conducted. Any other time she was perfectly content either in uniform, or as she was now, in black marine cargos and an old, well worn Marines t-shirt.:: ::Did it make up for how much her life had changed? Perhaps not, but then again, her life existed mostly in the lost and faded instincts and few memories she had. Slowly, ever so slowly, she was regaining more than what her logs had told her about her life before the Scar, but she still felt somewhat disconnected. :: ::But no one would know it. Not even those closest to her, and here, they were far, far away.:: ::The voices of others in the corridor brought her back to the moment, and before her eyes she could once again see just how close the stars were.:: TBC Fleet Captain Kalianna Nicholotti Ambassador at Large Andaris Task Force As simmed by: Lieutenant Commander Cayden Adyr Chief Intelligence Officer Andaris Task Force R238605KN0

Congratulations and welcome to the Fleet!

Congratulations and welcome to the Fleet!!

You did great... all of you did. It'll get easier, I promise.