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Sal Taybrim

Executive Council member
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Sal Taybrim last won the day on October 19

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About Sal Taybrim

  • Rank
    Full of Wyn!
  • Birthday 04/25/1979

Fleet information

  • Current Vessel
    StarBase 118 Operations
  • Current Post
    Commanding Officer

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  • Location
    Wisconsin USA
  • Gender
    Female
  • Interests
    Trekkie. Writer. Knitter. Cyclist. Theatre technician. Ghetto Foodie.

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  1. ((OCC: This is the start of a mystery. The first 8 posts will set it up. After that, anyone who wants to join in can do so. This is Part 1 of 8 Flashback Scenes)) Alone ((Epsilon Argyros, Scylanthia, Alastriona’s Office – 239606.10 – Four Months Ago)) ::And she finally stopped playing their song when she realized that she was dancing alone. – Anonymous:: ::Like a dying firestorm, the red star Epsilon Argyros began to set below the horizon, bathing the room with fading passion. Alastriona looked up at her long bare legs, which were perched up on top of the glass table of her office, high above her homeworld, Scylanthia. It was summer outside, and she had chosen a pair of jean shorts, a red t-shirt and sandals to wear. Her pale skin warmed up nicely, even though the large glass windows were tinted.:: ::The building hovered over two thousand feet in the air above the city Cleeia. Outside, hundreds of multicolored balloon-like people – Scylanthian’s – drifted about. She could see the beaches far below, near her house. The ocean, tinted with a rainbow of colors cast down from the exotic atmosphere of the planet, turned cherry red as the sun fell into the sea. A scattering of stars came out: Theta Tauri, Gamma Tauri and Delta Tauri were first, followed by Epsilon Tauri and Aldebaran.:: ::Alatriona leaned back in her chair, stretched out her arms, and yawned.:: ::The computer was undeterred by her behavior.:: Computer: The mass segregation of the star cluster is consistent with the observed distribution of stellar types – DeTroyes: Ordinateur, arrêt. :: Another yawn filled her face. ::I’ve studied long enough today, ::she grumbled.:: ::The computer’s refusal was simple.:: Computer: Negative. ::The machine continued to drone on.:: Stellar evaporation occurs in the cluster halo as matter. . . ::Irritated, she dropped into English.:: DeTroyes: Computer, halt! ::In a condescending tone, the computer argued,:: Computer: The study schedule, programmed by YOU, continues for another two hours. DeTroyes: What’s with the attitude? Ten hours is enough for today! ::she complained:: If I can’t pass the science exams when I get to earth, maybe I’ll quit Starfleet altogether! :: She was grumbling, but knew the computer was right, or rather, she was right to have programmed the computer to try to force her to continue on. She was a hundred and twenty years out of date. It had been nearly a year since she’d asked for a leave of absence from Starfleet, so that she could study the current scientific theories. It was so embarrassing to ask people such simple things as how to use a modern tricorder.:: Computer: Starfleet re-certification exams begin in 56 Earth days. Since you’re scheduled to leave on the transport La Fayette in thirty six hours, and it takes 53 days at warp 8 to reach Sol, it is advisable to . . . DeTroyes: I know! ::Exasperated, she reached over to shut the thing off, but she hit the wrong button and it triggered a very old message buried inside the computer. Whispers came out of time, bringing back old memories. It was the voice of her sister, Genevieve.:: Genevieve: Alastriona, I don’t know if you’ll ever hear this message – Starfleet tells us that you’re science station at the edge of the milky way was destroyed, but I had a dream about you. . . . and I know that you’re still alive. . . . ::There was a pause where Alastriona thought she heard her sister crying. Then Genevieve continued,:: Genevieve: I have some terrible news to tell you. Everyone in our family is dead. Both of our parents, our cousins – everyone – are gone. They say that a curse killed them. I’m leaving Scylanthia and moving to a planet called Bijou Bleu, which is in the Gliese 777A star system. Hopefully, I’ll be okay there. I wanted you to know so that you’ll be careful if . . . I mean, *when* you get back. I hope this message really does reach you. I love you. ::Her sister’s words hit her like a thunderbolt. Alastriona felt a cold tingling sensation dribbling over her body. Her parents, Telfour and Chantel were both dead. All the rest of her family were gone too. She knew that they were dead of course, since they lived a hundred years ago, but to hear the news that they had died prematurely, that they had never had a full life, was too terrible to bear. The shock of it filled her with silence.:: ::Occasionally, she had entertained the thought of trying to contact the descendants of her family, but never did so, feeling uncomfortable at the idea of getting to know her great-great-great-grandchildren. But they had never been born. Or had they?:: DeTroyes: Computer, locate the DeTroyes family on Scylanthia. Computer: There is no one with that surname on Scylanthia. ::Alastriona put her feet on the floor and whirled to face the computer monitor, as if it was another person, listening to her shock and grief. She shook her head. :: DeTroyes: Let’s make it simple. Computer, take my Starfleet file and extrapolate all data for my relations and descendants. Locate any of my living relatives in the Federation. Computer: Working. . . :: Alastriona leaned back in her chair, and looked down on the coastline near the city of Cleeia. She had walked those beaches with her sister, so long ago. . . :: Computer: There are no matches to be found anywhere within the worlds of the Federation. :: It felt like someone had punched her hard in the stomach. Alastriona felt dizziness whirling around and around. Getting up, she grabbed the computer and threw it at the window. :: DeTroyes: NO! ::The monitor bounced off the glass, which had been reinforced against the storms of Scylanthia, to keep out the sometimes poisonous gasses that drifted down from the more dangerous bio-zones above.:: DeTroyes: What happened to them? :: But the computer was silent. It lay in ruin on the floor of her office. :: ::Genevieve’s message had been like a death knell. Was it some kind of disease or was it really some kind of curse, laid onto their family by some angry mystic? Alastriona walked over to a white couch and dropped onto it.:: DeTroyes: Superstition and nonsense. ::If it was some kind of familial plague, was she infected? Could she become infected? How long did she have? Shaking her head, Alastriona didn’t really care if she died. She began to cry. All that her family was, all that her family could have been today, all that they might have been, were gone.:: ::Truly, Alastriona was alone.:: ~*~ Ensign Alastriona De Troyes Science Officer Starbase 118 Ops O239609AD0 ((Disclaimer: All wicked, evil, dastardly comments by Alastriona are purely IC.))
  2. I really enjoy the banter between these two!!
  3. ((Secondary Sickbay – USS Narendra)) Malko: First thing's first, we need to find out how much Fairhug knows - and what the situation is on the bridge. For all we know they could be locked in combat with them now. Termine: Malko, Are you thinking what I'm thinking? ((Deck 2, Jefferies tube – USS Narendra)) Termine: Oh quit your whining, neither of us are equipped for a battle and we seem to have good luck in small tubes. Malko: I hope you know where you're going, the last time I followed you into a Jeffries I landed in hazardous material disposal. Prophets - I sound like B character in a fantasy movie. Also, do we need to crawl? Termine: That's true, it does make me feel a bit like a hamster… But it's our best shot at seeing if Fairhug is on the bridge and keeping safe — Ah! Here it is, the ladder to deck one. come on, keep it up doc, Malko: Why don't you let me peek first, you're still wearing a diplomat uniform - they'd take you hostage on sight. Termine: That's not a bad idea - But hold up one second I think we're nearing the bridge! They were thankfully only a few feet from the bottom of the ladder when the explosion pitched the ship sideways and the two slid off the slick aluminum alloy and into the catwalk below. Geysers of steam puffed intermittently as pressurized energy sources were damaged and diverted. Termine: Holy hell!! they're shooting at us. We need to get out of here! Malko: Stay down - and look for an access panel. Almost galloping on all fours, the counsellor scrambled behind Dante as he combed the well of the tube for some blades of light peeking in from the exterior. Dante swivelled and plunged his boots into the screws of a panel - it's bent form gave way and the officer slid out the hatch. Termine: *cough cough* Err…. Lietuenant JG Dante Termine reporting for duty. sir. Malko could hear Dante speaking to someone, but couldn't make out who it was. Fairhug: ? Termine: Well, just trying to play catch up sir - it looks as if you've got everything sorted out here. Sliding face first out of the hatch onto the bridge carpet, Malko did his best to hold his medical gown shut with one hand and salute with the other. If he only had a third to keep a grasp on his composure... Malko: Ha ha! Yes, sir - we came to make sure you're OK. And now that we see all is fine... Termine: Ah! Sorry, Malko is here too. Not exactly the entrance I wanted to make but, I guess the team's all back together again huh? Fairhug: ? Malko: Yes, it had dawned us we had been infiltrated, too. We had some theories about isolating the breach and getting to the bottom of how this all happened. Termine/Fairhug: ? Malko: With some cross-referencing of ship registry timelines pre and post intervention on the cult attack of Gorn, as we as some more detailed information about the status of the Narendra's Sickbay and its patients at the time of the... incident... we believe we can move to a better understanding of todays' events. Termine/Fairhug: ? Malko nodded at Dante, maybe their shore leave wasn't going to be a break from work after all... Malko: Understandable, we are eager to help anytime. Termine/Fairhug: ? Malko: Thank you, sir. We will leave you be... Termine, we can use my office - I need a change of clothes, anyway. Malko half bowed and gestured to the turbolift, backing out of the controlled chaos that was the bridge. Even in the midst of a crisis, the bridge crew volleyed tasks like a professional sports team - beginning to rebuild Malko's sense of safety he hadn't felt since the crash. ((OOC: wrapping up for shore leave, but we can continue this subject later!) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ LTJG Malko Counsellor Starbase 118 Ops A239508M10
  4. (( Sol's quarters - U.S.S. Narendra )) :: Sol closed the message, spinning around in her chair. It looked like she needed to replicate something nice enough for the upcoming party. What she wouldnt give for Georgio to be aboard the Narendra. The hologram was a bit eccentric, but had great fashion sense. She chuckled to herself and stood, walking over to the replicator. She scrolled through the menus, just browsing the list of semi-formal attire she could replicate, finally settling on a nice off the shoulder dress with a corsetted bodice and a pair of heels. She picked up the garment and the shoes and set them on the bed, undoing the jacket of her uniform. :: McLaren: Computer... what is the time in Belfast, Ireland? :: The computer beeped. :: Computer: 17:34 hours. :: Sol grinned, walking over to her terminal tapping in a few commands. The screen changed to a standard subspace communications splash screen as her call was put through. She set her combadge on the desk, and started pulling her pips off, setting them next to it. The screen soon changed to show a quaint Irish cottage, though no one was currently on the screen. Sol's brow furrowed in confusion. :: McLaren: Hello? :: The was a slight crash off screen. :: Vivian McLaren: In ainm Dé! Rose... hang on! :: The face of a woman soon slid into view, a bit dusty, presumably from cleaning the house. Sol laughed. :: McLaren: Hey, Mum. How are you? Vivian: Im fine! Rose... when did you get back? Last we heard you were going away for a while... then nothing. McLaren: I just got to my new posting yesterday. Im back on Starbase 118. Vivian: Is everything ok? :: Sol nodded smiling. :: McLaren: Yea, everything is fine, Mum. I just wanted to call and let you know I was still alive... :: She chuckled. :: By the time I got aboard yesterday it was too late to call. Vivian: Oh you could ahve called... we would have been thrilled. :: Sol nodded. :: McLaren: Yea, perfectly thrilled until the next morning rolled around. :: Vivian laughed. :: Vivian: Maybe so, love... maybe so. What has Starfleet got you doing now? McLaren: Same thing as always Mum. Lots of paperwork... some exploration. oO And going undercover for months at a time... but I cant tell you about that... Oo What about you? Hows the shop? Vivian: A bit slow recently... but it'll pick up. Always does. McLaren: And what about Dad? Wheres he right now? Vivian: Oh he's at the pub, getting ready to open. You just missed him. :: Sol frowned. :: McLaren: Let him know I called? Vivian: :: nodding :: Of course, I'll-- :: There was a bark and the face of a Siberian Husky popped into the frame bringing a wide smile to Sol's face. :: McLaren: Hi Luna! Have you been a good dog? :: Luna licked the screen, barking. Vivian laughed. :: McLaren: Im sure you have Luna... I miss you. :: Sol placed her hand on the screen and Luna licked it again. :: Vvivan: We all miss you too, Rose... :: Sol glacned at the chronometer, sighing. :: McLaren: I have to go Mum, gotta finish getting ready... theres a ceremony soon. Everyone has to be there. :: Vivian nodded. Luna whined, getting a pet from Vivian. :: Vivian: Alright Rose, have a good time. Be safe. McLaren: I will. Is breá liom tú. Vivian: I love you too. :: Sol smiled, waving. Luna barked again, before dropping out of the frame as her mother ended the transmission. Sol sat back and sighed, happy to have gotten a chance to finally call home. She couldnt sit idle for too long , soon getting up to finish getting ready for the award ceremony. :: (( OOC: Just a little bit of Sol with her mother. And her dog. Because I felt like writing. )) ~~~ Lieutenant Solaris McLaren Intelligence Officer Starbase 118 Ops C239210SM0 --
  5. Oh man, I remember that game! I've been playing Trek e-mail games since '97 too! Welcome to SB118, Matthew!
  6. ((Ishnag Education Center – Main Hall)) Maxwell: =/\= Maxwell tae Malko. We've got incoming. You are tae hold your position around the shuttle and remain undetected for now. Tell MacMahon that's an order! =/\= :: The hail from Lieutenant Commander Maxwell was not news to Malko. Only seconds before a Starfleet officer was being carried into the triage area and the whole camp around the shuttle had gone into high alert. The medical team led by Nurse Gau was lining up tables and electron scanners in a fury of medical feng shui. Malko was about to reply when he noticed the injured officer had dropped his tricorder coming through the path behind the landing zone... :: Poq: ? Jesseth: We have 14,678 gornlings on this planet in two areas – this one is the larger with 8000, and then eighteen quadrosecs away there is another building with the remaining younglings. We have put in emergency measures and all our younglings and staff are in shelters, with the majority being in this building. Maxwell: What defensive systems do you have? ::Turning.:: Is there anything you need, Dr? Poq: ? Jesseth: Yes, there is a medical facility on the second level. We also have meteor shields if all evacuated staff and younglings are below ground level. Maxwell: Then I would respectfully suggest you do so, Administrator. Poq: ? Jesseth: Yes I will - ::He cut off as the shield that protected the building sizzled:: A hit on our reflective shields. They have come. Maxwell: Are there any weapons on site? Anything at all? Poq/Jesseth: ? Maxwell: I appreciate that, Administrator, but you must have something? Poq/Jesseth: ? Maxwell: Bows, aye? Poq/Jesseth: ? :: Behind Malko, the Marines were creating a perimeter around the shuttle, weapons raised, ready to protect the injured at any cost. Following Maxwell's orders, they were keeping the landed unit as clandestine as possible. Malko stepped over the thick roots in the swampy brush. If the Klingons heard this pinging Starfleet tricorder that was dropped out here, they would be on their trail. :: Malko: =/\= Malko to Maxwell, MacMahon is behaving. I will keep you updated on our situation. Have you and the Doctor found a... :: Just then Malko realized why the tricorder was pinging... - Lifeform detected - Malko drew his phaser just as a well-worn disruptor poked its way through the foliage. A female Klingon in pastel coloured vestments tilted her head to the side. Both were surprised to see each other. The Klingon stared at Malko down the ironsights of the disruptor as he held the phaser at his hip and stood slowly. He gritted his teeth and hoped she could not see the tremble of his hand. :: Maxwell: ? Poq/Jesseth: ? :: He did not think it would be smart to respond. The Klingon overheard the radio chatter, and knew where they were keeping the Ambassador. Malko was painfully aware he could not let this Klingon leave his sights and share that with the rest of the cult. He was also aware he could not call for the marines and give away the position of the shuttle hidden behind him with all their injured were being treated. A stalemate had been reached. They had a Terran stand-off on their hands. If either of them were going to shoot, they would have done it by now. That meant this Klingon was at least somewhat interested in self-preservation. Good - he could work with that. Malko remembered he had never actually touched his commbadge to close the channel... :: =/\= Malko: ::slowly:: ... My name is Malko... I belong to Starfleet... I am a medical and diplomatic officer, not a soldier. As, I'm sure, you can tell. You are with Molor? What is your name? Klingon: *low grumble* ::looking around:: Malko: I won't call for backup if you don't. It's just me and you. What is your name? Klingon: *lower grumble*... Askade. Malko: Askade. =/\= Maxwell: ? Poq/Jesseth: ? =/\= Malko: Askade, why do you fight for Molor? Askade: Ha. For the pride of our people. For a glorious life. ::she smiled and bared her serrated teeth :: Why do you fight for the Gorn? Malko: Starfleet believes all races are their people. Our houses are not defined by bloodline but by creed. When my people are threatened, I fight to protect my people. Just as I would fight to protect you, Askade, if a threat came to your home and darkened your doorstep. Askade: ...LIES. :: stepping forward into the clearing to close the distance, flexing her vascular musculature. :: Malko: ::sternly:: You are not my enemy, Askade. If we were here to wage war, we would have opened fire without care for either race's casualties. We... No - I am here to protect. I have sworn this as my life's duty, and as a Klingon I'm damn sure you can respect that. ::his eyes watered:: =/\= Maxwell: ? Poq/Jesseth: ?
  7. ((Athens, Greece - 2000 B.C. [Main Engineering])) ::Ah, Athens! Greek's people lucky enough to not be stuck in the middle of nowhere or stranded on an island or in a labyrinth were, for the most part, gathered here in Athena's neck of the woods. Hermes didn't necessarily like Athena, but he didn't hate her either. Though she was technically his sister by patronage, he didn't call on her often. Then again, almost every God in Olympus was related, in some fashion or another. Today he had reason, however. So along the clouds he dashed, gracefully riding the mist of the morning toward the place named for Athena. He grunted irritably as he thought of her. No one ever named a city after him. But he shook his annoyance with Greece off of him like the feather of a bird, and found himself atop Athens’ temple to the namesake Goddess. Unseen by the people milling below, he wandered around the roof, watching the masses.:: Athena: Why are you here? ::A sky grin came across Hermes’ face as the voice sounded from behind him. He knew it wouldn't take long for her to show up.:: Hermes: ‘Thena, how's tricks? Athena: I did not invite you into my city. State your business or I will skin your insides. Hermes: You'd have to catch me first. ::He yawned lazily, and then turned to face her with a half grin hitched on his lips.:: We have a problem. ::Athena was elegant as always in a snow white gown that flowed to the ground, not showing much skin at all, which by Hermes’ standards was blasphemy. He himself wore a subligaria he'd ripped off from the Romans that covered his family jewels, and not much else. Giving Hermes a scowl of loathing, Athena didn't say anything. Instead, she waited for Hermes to explain. He sighed, wishing she'd at least play along, but gave in.:: Hermes: Things have been happening in Olympus. Indeed, all around Greece. I'm sure you've noticed by now. Athena: I've noted odd happenings. I assumed it was you, or Aries, causing mayhem for the amusement. Hermes: I wish I could say that was true, ‘Thena. But ::he sighed:: they are not of Olympian origin. ::Athena studied him with pursed lips and a doubtful gaze.:: Athena: If not from a God, then from where are these machinations appearing? I recently witnessed no less than twelve dragons fighting in my skies. What else but a God has the power to create such things? Hermes: Only one thing Zeus can think of. Athena: ::Her eyes widened, and then her scowl returned with ferocity.:: No. Its secure. Cronus himself knows not its location. Hermes: Well, it's been moved, for our own safety. With so many strange sightings, Zeus has determined that we are under attack by beings from another realm. None can have access to...it. Athena: If it is secure, why do you come here? ::Hermes gave another sly grin.:: Hermes: Well, I need a favor. I have been appointed as the master of defense in this trying time, and I need some...minions...to assist me. Athena: I do not keep monsters in my city. Go find them elsewhere. Hermes: Come on ‘Thena, I know you don't have anything here….but you do know where I can find what I seek. ::Athena gave Hermes a gaze of scrutiny, thinking on his words.:: Athena: Fine. I'll give you the information you seek. ::Hermes grinned broadly. Together, they vanished, in order to prepare the defenses of Olympus.:: ((Timeskip - A Few Hours Later)) ::Everything was in place. Well, at least he thought so. Hermes had finally convinced his new beastie friend to play along, and now it was in place, he needed to search for the source of the intruders. Greece was a large place, and so knowing just where to look was quite difficult. He started in Athens, and then, leaving the city scoured the countryside of Attika, and found nothing. Through Kephallonia and Thermopylai he searched, and found nothing. It wasn't until he decided to search a bit closer to home, and maybe bring Artemis’ lazy ass into the hunt, that something strange finally happened. Three people talking in hushed words caught his eye. This wasn't anything so odd, three people talking was as common as Zeus’ extra-marital escapades. What was really odd was their appearance. One was normal enough. The second was mostly normal, except for a few subtle spots on her head and neck. The last one was monstrous. His skin was ugly and gray, he had weird ridges on his face and the odd look of someone who just fell out of bed.:: Maxwell/Poq/Rohan: ? ::He listened from his hiding spot, not understanding at all what they were talking about. This was annoying. As a God of Olympus, he felt insulted that he couldn't decipher the strange words they used. It wasn't a language barrier, it was their vocabulary. They talked about...holo-somethings, and main enginwhoosits. Gah! Annoying! Deciding it was time to do something, Hermes revealed himself. His barely clothed form sparkled in the marvelous sun, his skin carved from marbles his hair the color of a sea of wheat. His excellence would surely astound these newcomers.:: Hermes: Welcome, friends from afar! Maxwell/Poq/Rohan: ? Hermes: I am Hermes, Messenger of the Gods, God of trade, thieves, travelers, sports, athletes, border crossings, and guide to the Underworld! Who might you be? Maxwell/Poq/Rohan: ? Hermes: Smartass, I see. Well I don't know what you seek. But perhaps I can help you find it. ::He kept his voice benevolent, as if he only wanted to help them. Of course, he'd soon enough get what information he needed, and lead them to his beastie friend...:: Maxwell/Poq/Rohan: ? ~*~ Hermes Messenger of the Gods & Athena Goddess of Wisdom As simmed by ~*~ Ensign Evelyn Rós Science Officer StarBase 118 Ops O239512ER0
  8. ((Hidden Temple of Molor)) ::K’Nubis sat over a dusty tome, running his fingers lightly through the flame of a candle - slowly enough that he could feel the fire bite at him. It flickered weakly in the ancient hall, but held bright illumination against the void of darkness encompassing the room. The words and lore were a constant reminder of his path, his purpose, his calling. He took in the words of Molor and savored them, for they were his truth and he was their voice. The true path of the Klingons had been lost with the traitor Kahless, and had plunged the Klingon Empire into weakness and complacency. He stood slowly, his expression almost vacant as he walked the length of the hall, his robes dragging through the dust of the ruin behind him. Exiting the sacred place, two acolytes took up position behind him as he walked. Not a whisper was spoken. Their armor was accented with a dark maroon cape and was adorned with the symbol of Molor, a ceremonial Mek’Leth strapped to their waists. He entered a similarly dark chapel and walked the central path between a gathering of his followers who dared not speak in his presence. The edges of the room were lined with candelabrum and a small stone alter stained with blood stood at its head. He took his place before it and silently regarded those before him as the two acolytes that had followed him took up positions at opposite sides of the room. K’Nubis: Children of Molor, I stand before you as the humble servant of our great father. ::His voice was calm and soft but almost hollow as though void of any emotion.:: I come to you this day with grave news, for one of our own dear brothers has failed in his duty to our cause. ::He looked out over the assembled. A rag tag group of Klingons and a number of other species - all brought together in search of something greater than themselves. His eyes stopped on a fellow Klingon - one who’s stoicism was betrayed by the sweat upon his brow and the trembling of his hand.:: K’Nubis: I call forward Trok son of Kurod. Present yourself to the judgement of Molor and state your transgression. ::The man stepped forward with a brave face and set his ceremonial Mek’Leth upon the small alter.:: Trok: I present myself to the mercy of Molor that he may allow atonement for my weakness. ::He held his head high, but the faint tremble in his voice betrayed his confidence.:: I sent an encrypted transmission to my sister in the hope of alleviating her concerns for my safety. ::A deafening silence stifled the air as he paused before continuing.:: This was foolish, and forbidden. I seek correction and alignment. K’Nubis: I hear this plea and grant reformation. ::His voice hollow and unwavering.:: May your purification through pain be an enlightenment to us all. ::The man took a knee and braced himself for what may come. Two acolytes approached from the back of the room carrying an urn and placed it on the altar before Trok.:: K’Nubis: We can all count ourselves blessed for this reminder. That those that follow Molor are the only true family worth value. Through our true brothers and sisters we find strength, and in all others we are compelled to actions of selfish compassion and weakness. This is not the true way. ::K’Nubis took the urn and knelt calmly before Trok, offering it out to him. Its contents a swarm of small creatures known far and wide for the ability to cause excruciating agony in all that came in contact with them. Roughly translated from their Lethean homeworld - Hornet Eels. Trok looked to the dark opening - his breathing becoming more rapid until he pulled in all the breath he had and held it, plunging his hand into the urn and all of the anguish that awaited him. There was the slightest moment when all was quiet, but any hope of an aversion to punishment was quickly dismissed when his teeth barred and his body tensed with a heavy groan as he grit his teeth. His pride kept his mouth shut as his warrior spirit compelled him to remain strong - but only for so long. He howled in agony and attempted to pull his hand back but K’Nubis was ready. He grabbed the tortured man's arm firmly and forced it down. His calm expression breaking only with a small curl of his lip - enough to hint at a quiet rage as he asserted his dominance and authority. Finally - Trok collapsed to the ground, his body no longer able to endure the punishment. K’Nubis extracted the damaged hand and set the url calmly back upon the altar and composed himself.:: K’Nubis: Let us all celebrate the blessing that has enlightened us through our brother. Today he has been made stronger, and his faith and duty bolstered. Never again will he commit such a misguided blunder, for he has been purified by pain. It will forever be a reminder of his mistake, and will help guide him on the true path. The path to a stronger Klingon Empire - One that is not weakened by the frailty of personal agendas and the follies of ambition. Unity is the only path to dominance, and self interest is the enemy of unity. ::His sermon was short - his lesson over. The display had sent the intended message. Dismissed, the assembled dispersed. Trok still lay passed out before the altar, sweat pouring down his face and his hand covered in painful welts and discolorations. K’nubis stepped over him as two acolytes once again took their place at his side as he departed the room. It was time to get back to business - there was much to be done, and there was no more room for mistakes.::
  9. Perhaps @Saveron knows someone who would chat with him about this curiously logical new assistant.
  10. As Commander Oddas says, the end of the posts with tags/tbs/NT/end is a ship to ship convention. Why do you not see this in the academy? We try to clean up the formatting of the academy to the most basic formatting possible. This means that cadets can concentrate on narration, tags and getting used to script style. Once you get to a ship, you may find that ships use additional formatting for specific reasons or for tradition or player comfort. Why do some ships use this? Partially it's habit for some players, a good way to end off sims. But some ships put some more meaning behind the endplate. For me, I use the following definitions: tags = there are tags for someone in this sim tbc = There may not be tags for someone in this sim, but there is the invitation to continue the scene if the other player wishes nt = no tags, for whatever reason fao = "for the attention of" - there are no tags for a character in this sim, but I'm calling attention to the fact that action in this sim affects other characters end (I use 'fin' because I'm a dork) = this scene is finished. =========================== IMHO, the difference between tbc and end: If you are writing a scene, there are basically two possibilities for what happens as the scene comes to a close: 1. It could seamlessly move to another scene (this happens frequently in missions. We just fixed the antimatter converter, now we're going to move to main engineering and make sure the warp drive in online in time to make a dramatic escape!) - I, personally, love the tbc end for this to let people know "hey, we're moving onwards!" 2. The scene could end there. It's a wrap. Time to start a completely different scene. - this could use tbc or end. tbc means "well I'm not sure if this scene is done, does anyone have anything else to add?" and end means "Ok, this scene has gone on long enough, time to end." Yes, most frequently 'end' will be used by command characters, or team leaders, but it can be used by players, too. Say you start up a conversation duringt shore leave with another character for a specific reason. Say that reason is "hey will you play the piano at my party?" You might choose to continue the scene after the answer to that question is figured out or you might end the scene because you have that answer. The endplate just tells the other player 'hey, let's continue" or "hey let's end, I'll see you at the party" =========================== That said check with your CO, because he or she might view things differently - your best contact for specific ship formatting questions is your mentor, you CO and your FO Good luck, happy writing and may there be many tbcs in your future!
  11. ((Aitas’ Home - Shi’Kahr District - Starbase 118)) ((OOC - Takes place during shore leave just prior to current mission.)) ::Sakon had been absorbed in his reading on a particular Bajoran predator, nearly extinct in these times, when he heard the doorbell ring. It seemed that Aurelio and Antero Flynn were back from their excursion just a few minutes early. Better that way. Antero had more than enough to make up for already. Sakon opened the door before the bell rang again, and looked down to his grandson with a warm smile.:: Sakon: He looks like he enjoyed the excursion. ::Antero smiled up at the Vulcan and gave Aurelio a gentle graze of the forehead, the child strapped comfortably to his chest in the finest baby carrier he could find. Only the finest Risian material for his son, the older shopkeep had told him it had a silk like quality that was both flexible and durable. Perfect for a warm day at the beach.:: Flynn: I hope so. He really seemed at peace. ::He began to unstrap Aurelio.:: We had a nice time sitting on the beach and letting the waves wash over us, feeling the vitality of the water. Sakon: Do come in, it will be easier for Aurelio if you stay a little while. ::He took his grandson from Antero, gently running a hand across Aurelio’s chin. The Risian smiled, pleased at the somewhat unexpected invitation. Antero always felt like he had formed a bond of sorts with Sakon considering what they had been through together when they met, but as one might expect, it was hard to tell if the sentiment was shared. It turned out Vulcans were hard to read..:: Flynn: Oh, thanks. I would like that. Sakon: I will admit that I’m curious to hear about how you met Aitas. There’s so much of her life I’ve missed out on. ::He adopted a sympathetic smile and set down his bag full of equal parts beach and baby supplies before plopping himself into a chair..:: Flynn: Ah yes, Ensign Aitas. ::He smirked:: She really threw herself at me you know. ::Sakon carefully raised one eyebrow at that.:: Sakon: While my information is somewhat out of date, such behavior does not sound like my daughter. Flynn: ::He laughed softly.:: Your intuition is accurate. Aitas isn’t so easily impressed. ::He sat back, gazing up at the ceiling lazily as he thought back with nostalgia.:: We met upon her assignment to the Starbase, but the spark came during a mission when she was jolted from her seat during a nasty firefight, landing on yours truly. Sakon: That must have been some firefight indeed, unless Starfleet’s standards have degraded much from before. Flynn: ::Nodding:: Her straps failed and she was tossed around on an already busted up rib cage. When the warp core blew and the inertial dampeners failed I had no choice but to..well...take matters into my own hands. Sakon: At which point she became aware of your interest, I presume. Flynn: It wasn’t long after that. ::His head bobbed agreement.:: I found myself compelled to be at her side as she recovered, and our relationship blossomed quickly from there. The mutual interest was made clear early on. Sakon: Ah, so she does take after her mother. Jissela was never shy about asking for what she wanted. ::He smiled slightly, shaking his head.:: Or about disagreeing with her parents. Flynn: She definitely has a knack for getting to the point. Efficiency even in communication. ::He perked up a bit and smiled at Sakon with a touch of mischief in his eyes.:: How about some young Aitas stories? Flynn: Hey little guy. ::He picked him up and gave him a wide smile.:: You want your dad? ::Sakon smiled, the expression brief and fleeting.:: Sakon: Don’t forget that you’ve much to teach him as well. He needs people to talk to him as much as though who understand his feelings, and I’m hardly an expert on Risa. ::Antero found himself somewhat intrigued at the mans openness in regards to teaching Aurelio about Risian culture. He supposed it was all those Vulcan academy teachers he had never meshed well with. The young pilot had a few Risian ways that were NOT well received by his logic and sophistication based superiors. The receptive nature of Sakon was certainly appreciated.:: Flynn: What do you think Aurelio, should I teach you some things about being a Risian? ::He took on a brief look of contemplation toward his son before a thought struck him like a lightning bolt. He looked to the Vulcan with only a hint of mischief in his eyes:: Ooohhh, I could teach him fire dancing! ::That made Sakon lean forward, raising an eyebrow as he looked between Antero and Aurelio.:: Sakon: I will presume that such statements are a form of Risian humor, rather than a threat. ::Okay, so perhaps the Risian was starting off a little strong.:: Flynn: ::Laughing softly.:: Not to worry, he is much too young for fire dancing. ::He looked to Aurelio and placed a finger in his tiny hand.:: We won’t start that until you’re at least five or six years old. Sakon: That sounds like something you should discuss with Aitas. Among...well, I think she had a list. She mentioned surfing lessons? Flynn: Of course. ::Smirking:: Surfing lessons will be another delayed adventure. Better to start with general water acclimation and then swimming. ::He gently tickled Aurelio’s belly with his fingers.:: We can get you some lil’ swimmy trunks, huh? Now just need to decide where to take you. ::That earned another brief smile.:: Sakon: I’m sure you’ll manage to figure it out. I’ve already put together a few recommendations for logic classes. Flynn: Logic classes, of course. ::He looked up with a humored smile that faded as soon as he met a completely serious expression and realized the man wasn’t joking. Right. Vulcan. He supposed an open mind went both ways.:: Where does one go for those sorts of lessons? Sakon: There’s a few schools in this district that would suffice. But, ::He paused, glancing about the room.:: I believe Aitas should be home soon. Perhaps you could stay for dinner? It’d give the both of you more time to discuss matters. Flynn: I would like that, thank you. ::A warm genuine smile:: You know Sakon, if you’re not careful I’m going to start thinking you like having me around. ::That earned noncommittal shrug from Sakon.:: Sakon: Aurelio enjoys your presence. I would not deprive him of that. ::He paused, turning toward the door.:: Ah, it seems that Aitas has returned. We can continue this discussion later. ~Fin~ ---------------------------------------------- Antero Flynn Civilian Pilot Starbase 118 Ops C239205AF0 & Sakon Xenobiologist ~Written by~ Lt. Commander Aitas Chief Intelligence Officer Second Officer Starbase 118 Ops O239307A10
  12. ((StarBase 118 – Deck 1040, section 3, Adler’s Quarters)) :: Adler’s quarters were not far from the Dungeon he was just in, only a few decks up really. He had programmed the computer to play music upon his arrival, so when the doors opened, he was greeted by a waltz, “An Der Schonen, Blauen Donau” by Johan Strauss II. :: :: After his first whiskey down at the Playhouse, Conrad had switched to hot coffees instead, and now he was just about ready to hit the sack. He leered at the mirror on the wall near the door and decided his hair didn’t need refitting before bed. He opened his jacket and unzipped the gold tunic about halfway on his way to the bed chamber. When he got there, he did an about face toward the exit and let himself fall backwards onto the oh-so-comfortable mattress. :: oO Nice quarters they have here. Not at all like on a starship. Unless I was an admiral. That’ll be the day. Oo Adler: Computer, decrease playback volume 50 %. :: The computer obeyed, and the music quieted a little. Conrad let the mixed excitement and frustration of the day escape his lips as he closed his eyes and let the computer waltz him to sleep. :: Computer: Incoming transmission from cargo freighter Tilma. :: Adler’s eyelids slowly reopened themselves. Adler: :: Quietly, to himself. :: What? Computer: Incoming transmission from the cargo freighter ... Adler: Yes, yes, I heard the first time. :: Conrad sat up in bed, sighing. :: Let’s hear it, Computer. Computer: Text only. oO Of course. Oo :: Conrad rubbed his eyes, smacked the back of his head a couple times, lightly, and got up and went to sit down at the computer terminal on the coffee table in the middle of the main room. When he activated the monitor, there were all sorts of promotional messages about station amenities he decided to deal with later. He opened the message from his family’s cargo ship. Essentially it told him that everyone was doing well, except that their space cat, Munkwitz, had passed on. :: oO Oh, that’s a shame. Oo :: It also told him he had a new baby niece and expressed hope he would be able to see her before she graduated college. :: oO We’ll see. Oo :: The letter concluded with well wishes and some kind of allusion to his mother’s most recent success in the freighter’s tiny kitchen, something about making a blood pie that didn’t sicken the crew. :: oO Oh, that’s a plus. Nice work, Mom. Oo :: Adler rose from the couch he’d sat on and stood looking out the window at the stars. An unbeatable view, always similar and dissimilar to other views from space, always home. In the morning, he would report for duty, but for this moment was his to take in as another waltz finished off in the background. :: ((Time Passes, undetermined)) ((Adler’s Quarters)) :: Aboard the freighter Tilma, things were getting hot. Conrad’s parents had been unable to afford the upkeep of their fine vessel’s gold toilet fixtures, so they’d been smuggling various contraband to keep up. Conrad had warned them time and again that Starfleet would eventually take notice and send him out to catch them. So, that must be why he was aboard right the Tilma now. Yes, that must have been it. Now they were under heavy fire from an unidentified pirate ship and had taken damage. His father was yelling something about never giving up. He said He’d blow up his own ship first. Amid Conrad’s pleas that he take no such extreme steps, the com system rang him awake and out of his dream. :: Silveira/or other Senior Officer: =/\=???=/\ oO What? I just went to bed. Oo Adler: What do you want! Crazy! :: Adler opened his eyes. :: Oh, I mean ... =/\= Adler. What can I do for you, sir? =/\= Silveira/or other Senior Officer: =/\=???=/\= :: Adler sighed and looked up at the ceiling. :: Adler: Computer, cancel playback. :: The music stopped. :: =/\= I’m sorry about that, sir. I had just gone to bed. What are your orders, sir? =/\= Silveira/or other Senior Officer: =/\=???=/\= Adler: =/\= Thank you for your concern, sir, but I assure you I am ready for duty. =/\= :: As an afterthought, Conrad double checked the uniform he was still wearing. It seemed okay. :: Silveira/or other Senior Officer: =/\=???=/\= :: As the Chief of Operations filled him in, Conrad got up and walked to the replicator. :: Adler: =/\= I’ll get right on that, Commander. :: Barking at the replicator :: Double espresso, one sugar, hot! =/\= Silveira/or other Senior Officer: =/\=???=/\= Adler: =/\= Sorry, Commander. I was just getting coffee. I’ll get right to work, Sir. =/\= :: Conrad took a sip before the channel closed, then set the cup on the nearby table. :: Silveira/or other Senior Officer: =/\=???=/\= :: Conrad went to the toilet, straightened up, zipped up the tunic and jacket, and rechecked his appearance in the mirror there. Running his fingers through his longish hair and running a hand across his neckline, he decided he could use a trim under the beard but let it pass for now. He had bigger fish to fry. Hopefully no one would put him on report this first time. He went to retrieve his personal tool case from under his bed, left the bed chamber, picked up his coffee, and left his quarters. Ensign Conrad R. Adler Com/Ops Officer StarBase 118 Ops O2395O7CA0
  13. (( USS Nerandra, Sickbay)) ::No plan survives contact with the enemy. At least not in its original form, because there is always that imponderal that reality shoves up on your face. But Vitor was never much fan from Moltke the Elder. In fact he always considered the Prussians generals a little over rated, mostly because he was never a fan of Clausewitz and always thought his book was not the broader military manual most considered. However now was not the time to bring in war theory considerations, it was time to adapt the plan to the detail the Devil has put in front of him. And there were at least 4 or 5 details, in the form of the Romulans that beamed in to Sickbay. In the second he realized it, he went for his phaser and shouted again.:: Silveira: SEAL THE MORGUE. INCOMING… ::Not waiting for the replies from the rest of the team, as the Romulans materialized he fired his phaser up in their general direction and shut the door to the morgue. He jumped for cover. Raising his phaser from behind the biobed he was now kneeling behind he fired again, as disruptor fire blasted around him. He was pinned down and he only hoped the others reacted quickly. In a second he made a decision. In the next he almost changed his mind, when he realized he would never consider this. He was always the first to step in and ready to sacrifice himself. Always ready to make the last stand. Not this time.:: Silveira: I surrender... ::It was time to change the plan. His mind returned to military strategists, and the one, and Vitor didn’t cared about the discussions surrounding the real authorship of the book, he considered the real master of war. The one that put on the principles that were truly “The Art of War”, over 3000 Earth years ago. And as Sun Tzu wrote, “To subdue the enemy without fighting is the acme of skill”.:: Vrerik: Yes, I’m sure you do… ::Vitor threw his phaser over the biobed, before slowly raising behind the biobed with his hands above his head. He avoided looking to the Morgue door and firmly kept his eyes on who appeared to be the leader of the team.:: Silveira: Lieutenant Commander Vitor Stone Silveira, Starfleet number O238907VS0. Vrerik: Well, Lieutenant-Commander Silveira. ::Motioning with his pistol.:: Why don’t you have a seat? ::He walked slowly to the bench the Romulan pointed to him. With relief he saw him motioned for three of the guards to leave and secure the hallway outside. Besides the leader there was just another gard. He hoped the others on the morgue could listen to them and were taking what little time he was buying them.:: Vrerik: I have some questions for you, Commander. ::Stepping closer, the Romulan promptly back-handed Vitor with his pistol.:: How many others have you brought aboard? ::Vitor managed to remain seated as he was struck. It was a good blow and he felt the blood inside his mouth. It hurt, but he had taken worse blows. Vitor raised his head and smirked at his captor, with his best teasing expression, in spite the sore cheek.:: Silveira: Just a few. We don’t need much to take back what is ours. ::Then the alarms sounded around them. Quarantine fields were raised and Vitor smiled realizing the plan was in motion and the others managed to beam out the canisters..:: Vrerik: I asked you ::Another backhand:: how many!? ::Vitor nearly fell off this time and now it really hurt. His left side felt warm and he lost sight for a moment. He felt something else on his brow, but now he couldn’t tell if it was the bruise or a cut. Knowing it was a matter of time he kept the defying expression, forcing himself to a wide smile, and hopping Max could hear him.:: Silveira: Shirley. You can’t expect me to tell you. ::That looked like it worked. He wondered if the Romulan knew that classic humor gag. He pressed his pistol into Vitor’s forehead, with a cruel smile on his face. It wasn’t the first time he was on a hot spot like this one. But there is always something about having a gun in you head, and an enemy ready to use it. Vitor kept his posture, but he couldn’t help it as the thoughts of the two most important persons in his life rose from the back of his head. Jonathan and Fai. And again time, but not really about the form, or the fact it had been just a few seconds that feel like hours. But of future and present. Because that was what Jonathan and Fai meant to him right now, and for them he would risk it all.:: Silveira: Like the klingons say, today is a good day to die. Vrerik: As you wish it, Starfleet. ::The Romulan pressed harder the pistol and Vitor closed his eyes. Perhaps he overplayed his bluff. Could it be that the final moment really come? After all the years on the edge, sometimes ready to leap, was it now? Even closed, his eyes began to burn, as he felt tears forming in them. He was losing the future, Jonathan. Seeing his son grow, proud of his heritage, half Human half Andorian, in a Federation that although it wasn’t perfect it would allow him to live free, and work with others, boldly going where ever he wanted. And the present, with Fai. More than anything else he feared for how she would suffer from his loss. In that second, that relative second that felt like an hour, his thoughts were to them. He barely realized the pressure from the pistol eased, until it was gone, and he only opened his eyes when the Romulan spoke.:: Vrerik: What…. ::A growl.:: Starfleet tricke- tric- ery…. ::His enemy began to collapse, losing his pistol and fighting to keep himself straight. The tears in his eyes fell as he smiled. He felt them burn when they pass by the side of his face that was hurt, but he kept smiling. Forcing himself up he spoke, uncertain if the Romulan could hear him.:: Silveira: We learn it from the Romulans. ::He pushed himself forward and walked to the nearest console, tapping it to open a line to the morgue. To his surprise it was already open, and his smile widen as he spoke.:: Silveira: Sorry about that, Shirley here wanted to spoil our party. Zel,Elspeth,McLaren,EMH,Maxwell: ? ::Vitor nodded even if they couldn’t see him.:: Silveira: It worked, thankfully it worked… Zel,Elspeth,McLaren,EMH,Maxwell: ? ::Vitor’s head began to hurt and he had to lean down.:: Silveira: So… Who is going to give me a hand here? Shirley gave me a couple of slaps with his pop gun and it’s hurting like hell. Zel,Elspeth,McLaren,EMH,Maxwell: ? ::Vitor tried to answer them, but his legs gave in and he stumbled to the ground. He felt dizzy, hurt and couldn’t think straight.:: Silveira: oO Dammit… Don’t let me die on the beach… Oo TAG/TBC Lt. Cmd. Vitor S. Silveira Chief of Operations Starbase 118 Ops O238907VS0 --
  14. ((USS Narendra - Sickbay)) ::She wasn't pleased. That much was evident by the tapping foot and disgruntled expression. But all these were characteristic of the model doctor she was based off of. Protocol and following orders from Starfleet officers were subroutines that were still there. The EMH sighed. No actual air entered her lungs or exited. Just the appearance of it, an aesthetic feature to make patients more comfortable.:: EMH: Then I shall begin immediately. Silveira: Good. Look discreetly through the ships systems, nothing thorough so you won't activate security failsafes the Romulans set up. Just have a general look around for now. ::She tried not to look to annoyed. Instead nodding and moving to one of the consoles. She stood a little further off, mumbling to herself about how foolish this all sounded. But what did she know? In all honesty, she had only been active for a total of 10 hours since the ship was made operational. And it was just to check her systems and now. Which meant she was … 10 hours old! So… what did she know?:: Maxwell: Sickbay is clear. ::To Elspeth.:: Made a wee friend as well, commander. Might be helpful. Silveira: Thank you Doctor ::She nodded from her station. A hand reaching up to push back the red locks that tickled her ear. Well, that would have tickled her ear if she actually felt it. Then turned back to begin looking through the ships computers. She wasn't sure what to look for though. After all, they were vague at best instructions. But she opted to put everything back into her memory bank, ready to retrieve it on command.:: Elspeth/McLaren/: ? Zel: Well, unfortunately I see your good news and raise you the fact that I think our main team was captured by the Romulans… Maxwell: Aye, well it’s a work in progress. ::To Sil.:: Right pal? Silveira: Are you certain. ::It sounded like there was trouble elsewhere on the ship. Not that a ship full of Romulan's wasn't enough. But that doctor in her became concerned, what if there were injured? Would they be brought to Sickbay? Not likely…:: Elspeth/McLaren: ? Maxwell: The Narendra’s emergency doctor. ::He paused, turning.:: Um, what should we call you? Besides doctor….? EMH: ::she eyed the man.:: Doctor is fine. ::no sense in giving them one more thing to remember. Doctor was easy to remember. Plus she didn't have a name per say. Not like they did. Just a title for her particular program associated with this ship.:: Elspeth/McLaren: ? Silveira: Do you have a lock on the Captain’s team? Are you certain Zel? Zel: Again! Home team, captured by Romulans and.. ::He looked back at the console:: Oh shit, they’re on the move. Halvsies – half towards the bridge turbolift and half towards… I dunno, looks like deck 21 which is the… ::A sigh:: The brig. Zel/Elspeth/McLaren/Maxwell: ? Silveira: I am sorry but I don’t buy it. ::Oooo…. there was suddenly tensions rising in the immediate vicinity. The Cardassian/Bajoran hybrid met the one known as Vitor, gaze. The red headed hologram raised an eyebrow in junction with her thoughts.:: Zel: ? Silveira: I am not questioning your interpretation. To all effects they could be captured, but I know the Captain better than any of you here. Zel/Elspeth/McLaren/Maxwell: ? Silveira: I know the Captain the longest. I served with him for years. They are working on their end of the plan. It’s the diplomatic part. ::She canted her head, fingered still sifting through data. Her eyes absorbed every iota of information. While her ears soaked up the itty bitty bit of drama being drawn out in her Sickbay. But of course… she couldn't leave well enough alone. Something that seemed common for computer programs designed to interact with the public.:: Zel/Elspeth/McLaren/Maxwell: ? EMH: A great deal of confidence from someone not presence. ::she now looked over, pausing the computer.:: You know this all, it is fact? Silveira: No, I am not sure about. It’s a hunch. But I don’t think we should steer away from our focus because of their arrival. Specially now we got extra help. ::He smiled at the Doctor and shrugged.:: Our concern is with our end of the mission. At least for now. ::She wondered if there was more then just, ‘I know this person forever’ here. A deeper set emotion and feeling. The defensiveness and assurance could be taken as more for oneself, in order to convince oneself that a loved one was safe. Or a dear one. And this was the crew she was assigned too? Well, it certainly could be a lot, lot worse. Like stuck with Romulans. A group that didn't uphold Starfleet beliefs and protocols and rules and regulations…:: EMH: I fail to see the relevance of speculating one way or another. ::she spoke up. A glance between the two men.:: You should search for facts before jumping to action. Zel/Elspeth/McLaren/Maxwell/Silveira: ? EMH: Perhaps you can tell me what it is you want me to find? ::she looked around.:: I can access a great deal of the ship’s systems unnoticed. But without something more specific it's a pointless exercise. Zel/Elspeth/McLaren/Maxwell/Silveira: ? ::She looked at them, a raised eyebrow and the most obnoxious foot tapping. Then pinched the bridge of her nose. Not in annoyance, but thought. She was thinking. Thinking of what would be more useful, more effective. Everyone had an idea, a task she could easily do. Just not all at once. So…:: EMH: Sickbay can of course be secluded from the standard ventilation systems. There are manual shutoffs that wouldn't be detected by the computers. Zel/Elspeth/McLaren/Maxwell/Silveira: ? EMH: So long as what you distribute is done outside of Sickbay’s vents, it'll distribute throughout quickly and not in here. Zel/Elspeth/McLaren/Maxwell/Silveira: ? ::She nodded in agreeance. They could easily slip up into the vents from Sickbay, and crawl about till the reached the close off valve. Just beyond that and the rest of the ship will be breathing in whatever gas is put into the air. Only drawback, is any kind of detonation in the vents would trigger warnings on the bridge. So they would have to put it in a time release container or send someone one in to manually release. Which meant it was likely they would be affected. Unless you were a hologram…:: EMH: Unfortunately, anywhere else - unless also done manually - would alert the computer. ::deadpan.:: You will have to take the risk of your fellow officer being effected. Zel/Elspeth/McLaren/Maxwell/Silveira: ? EMH: I believe you have a saying, “time is limited’. Zel/Elspeth/McLaren/Maxwell/Silveira: ? TBC/TAGs __________________ EMH USS Nerandra
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