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Trellis Vondaryan

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Posts posted by Trellis Vondaryan

    SB118 Ops: Quotations of the Week!

    in Appreciations

    Posted

    I chuckled at this.

    ::The glare and irritation had returned full force. Mirra looked up to the ceiling to pray to the Four for strength not to strangle her friend, right here, in her bed, with her bare hands over his nonchalant explanation for what was essentially breaking and entering. That….and non consensual spooning.::

    • Like 1

    JP Lieutenant JG Mirra Ezo & Lieutenant JG Antero Flynn - Spooning

    in 2016

    Posted

    ((Starbase 118 - Habitat Section - Deck 818 - Room 224B))

    ::Mirra was a little disoriented. She was wondering what exactly was….off. She was far too warm, and looking down, her arm didn’t seem to want to respond to her brain’s commands. As the fogginess of sleep slowly receded, realization slammed into her like a cargoload of furless tribbles. oO That is NOT my arm….Oo

    Beginning to panic, she mentally retraced her steps from the night before. She knew she had been extremely exhausted, and after finishing up a few patient’s charts, she had left Sickbay to find the person in charge of quarters assignments. Once located, she went directly to her new living space to change, get a light dinner courtesy of the replicator, and a shower before completely passing out...alone. oO No one even knows where my quarters are, well, no one exce-Oo::

    Ezo: ::jolting up:: Flynn! What in the name of the Four are you doing here?!

    ::Mirra was glaring at the disheveled Risian who moments ago, had totally been spooning her. She noticed he was fully clothed oO Thank the Four..Oo in the same garish Hawaiian shirt as the day before, although now inside out, and the collar reflecting three distinctly different shades of lipstick.::

    ::From some far away part of his brain, he heard Mirra’s voice. Unable to register why, he put real effort into forcing open his eyelids.

    Flynn: ::slightly garbled:: Mirra...wha...what are you doing in my quarters…? ::He lifted his head slightly and looked in her direction, his vision still blurry with drowsiness.:: Does Tyler know you’re in my bed….?

    Ezo: ::continuing to glare:: No...these are my quarters. MY bed. And WHY are you in them?? How did you even get in here??

    ::The Risian let out a big yawn and plopped his head back onto the pillow.::

    Flynn: That’s fine, help yourself to the replicators. I’m going back to bed.

    ::Groaning in rudely woken up frustration, Mirra yanked the blanket out from under him angrily, and wrapped it around herself, never losing the constant glare directed at the misplaced Risian.::

    ::Jostled from his comfortable place plastered to the bed, Antero sat up and looked at his friend with a confused expression.::

    Flynn: What gives? ::As the gears slowly started to turn, he tried to understand what was going on.:: Am I late for an appointment or something?

    ::Letting out an exasperated sigh, the irritation was slowly receding as blatant curiosity took its place. Sitting up, Mirra placed her hands on each side of Flynn’s face, forcing him to look at her. She spoke calmly and evenly to try and sink in through whatever haze the Risian was in.::

    Ezo: Flynn...listen to me closely. You are in my quarters, in my bed, where you were NOT when I went to sleep, so, now is when you start to tell me what in the Great Fire happened to you last night.

    ::He scratched his head with a dumbfounded expression and tried to remember the night before. He found his recollection of the evening more than a little hazy::

    Flynn: Well we got off duty, and Bay and I decided to have a drink before we called it…::He smirked in reflection.:: I guess it’s possible we had more than a couple..

    ::He shifted uncomfortably as he became aware of something hard underneath him and shifted to pick it up. Seeing it was his PADD, he handed it over with a groggy swing of his arm.::

    Flynn: I was just going to the assignment listed on here.

    Ezo: ::holding up the PADD:: This message is FROM me. I sent it to you last night when I got my assignment. You were supposed to come and pick me up in- ::glancing at the bedside chronometer:: two hours so we could get breakfast and check out the station.

    Flynn: Ooohhhh that explains why the door wouldn’t open. ::He spread his arms in a casual stretch and yawned.:: I could totally go for some breakfast though, you should hurry and get ready. ::He grinned and gave her a wink.::

    ::The glare and irritation had returned full force. Mirra looked up to the ceiling to pray to the Four for strength not to strangle her friend, right here, in her bed, with her bare hands over his nonchalant explanation for what was essentially breaking and entering. That….and non consensual spooning.::

    Ezo: You…::shoving him fully out of her bed:: Out! Replicate yourself a new shirt while you’re out there or so help me I will gleefully beat you for breaking and entering.

    Flynn: ::Chuckling as he pulled himself to his feet.:: That sounds adorable. ::He shrugged.:: Anyway, it was only entering. ::He paused at a brief memory.:: Er...Unless you count what happened to that potted plant...

    Ezo: What did you...never mind. I don’t want to know. Now get out and let me get dressed before you become a swatted Flyboy ::tossing a pillow directly at his face:: might want to check for tattoos while you’re changing. ::smirking::

    Flynn: ::His eyes went wide as he caught the pillow..::Oh crap! ::He tore off his shirt and spun in a circle.:: Anything?

    Ezo: ::rolling her eyes:: Just the same obnoxious one as before…

    ::Before he could finish undressing, as was his way with the complete lack of modesty, Mirra climbed out of bed and forcibly shoved him into the living area so she could get dressed in peace. Once alone, she changed from her pajamas into a simple cotton sundress. Doubting Flynn would stop pestering her long enough for a shower, she brushed and pinned up the mass of red away from her face. Stifling a yawn, she rejoined Flynn in the main sitting area. Grimacing in the direction of the potted plant by her door.::

    Ezo: Do...you need to apologize to it now or can we just go…?

    Flynn: ::grimacing in the direction of the plant. I’ll, Uh...buy you a new one.

    ::He slid his hands into his pockets and tilted his head in curiosity at the odd texture he found inside. Pulling out the item, his eyes went wide with excitement.::

    Flynn: Toast! ::He took a large enthusiastic bite.::

    Ezo: ::eyes widening in horror:: Did you just…? ::stepping in front of him she quickly batted the buttered bread out of his hands:: Don’t eat pocket toast!!

    Flynn: ::Crestfallen:: My toast…::He looked her in the eye with a frown:: You ruined it.

    Ezo: It was already ruined!!! It was buttered toast...from who knows where or when...in your pocket!

    Flynn: Well maybe drunk Flynn cares more about me having a nice treat when I wake up.

    Ezo: ::staring dumbfound:: Are you trying to convince me “Drunk Flynn” knows best?

    Flynn: ::Shifting awkwardly at the question.:: Maybe we should just go to breakfast.

    Ezo: ::shaking her head in mild disbelief:: Yeah...good idea.

    ::Moving towards the door, Mirra stopped and looked at a shriveled, sad looking little plant by the door::

    Ezo: You know you’re handling the disposal of that, right?

    ((Starbase 118 - Main Promenade))

    ::Causally walking arm in arm, the two friends had finally made it to the main Promenade. With several establishments to choose from, they took their time as they strolled and made casual conversation. Enjoying each others company as they explored their new home.::

    Flynn: Dude, my pocket is gross.

    Ezo: ::laughing, she squeezed his arm affectionately:: You’re an idiot.

    ::Antero just smiled, unable to dispute the accusation when a Terran man in civilian clothes approached from the opposite direction. The man seemed to brighten at the site of the pair. A big smile crossing his lips.::

    Terran: ::Raising a hand for a high five.:: All Hail the Pineapple King!!

    ::After connecting firmly, Antero offered a graceful bow and the man continued on his way. Mirra looked between Antero and the man now behind them in confusion.::

    Ezo: ::brows furrowed:: What was that all about…?

    Flynn: Hmm? ::He looked at Mirra and just shrugged.:: No idea.

    Ezo: This happens to you a lot...doesn’t it?

    Flynn: ::Smiling:: I like Pineapple King, has a nice ring to it.

    Ezo: Whatever you say, ::sarcastically:: My liege.

    ::Mirra gave an exaggerated curtsy and the two laughed as they made their way into a nearby restaurant, spending the rest of the morning attempting to piece together the events of the night before. Coming up with nothing more than a brief reign over tropical fruit and the dire foe of potted plants everywhere.::

    --

    Lt. JG Antero Flynn

    Helm/Ops Officer

    Starbase 118

    C239205AF0

    &

    Lieutenant JG Mirra Ezo, MD

    Medical Officer

    Starbase 118 Ops

    C239205ME0

    JP Dr. Liani & PNPC Probationary Ensign Zel Rohan, Sticks and Ston

    in 2016

    Posted · Edited by Trellis Vondaryan

    ((The backwater reaches of the badlands - planet Alcarin III - alleyways))
    (Flashback - nearly 20 years ago)

    ::Rohan Marco had never liked doctors. Routine checkups on Bajor were a endurance tour of thinly veiled racist remarks whenever his hybrid physiology was concerned. Like a child could help how they were born and what genes carried their breath into this world. It instilled in him a wariness about doctors that was never shaken through all the physicals in Starfleet academy.

    Still, he was generally a healthy person. For all the frustrations and unpleasant situations his half Cardassian, half Bajoran countenance gave him, at least it had also ensure him a general vigor that bested both species. Still, that was a thin prize - like an assurance that a sturdy physiology would only ensure a longer lifetime of hatred and derision.

    Though it might not be a very long life if he didn't keep moving.

    His feet pounded a steady drumbeat of panic as he moved through the broken alleyway. The lights of the main city were few and far between in the slums, and the feeble tendrils of visibility only stretched along the main path. Deviate from the main path and one treaded into a slime of depredation, fear and death.

    And yet those darkened alleys held a tenuous thread of hope - they were the only places that the Narcene Guard feared to tread. The Guard were personal soldiers of the local Mayor - a self styled colonial lord that divided the population of Alcarin into the haves and the have nots. It was the sort of oppressive, fascist government that wouldn't fly in a more civilized location - but who cared about civilization on the back end of the badlands. All the shiny entities like Starfleet and the Federation could give a hang how many wicked colonial leaders carried out wholesale purges of populations they didn't like - native or otherwise - so long as nobody heard about it.

    He had to find Zexx. The Pakled engineer had the parts to fix the shuttle that was their only ticket off this planet. Unfortunately Zexx had been shot in the leg while running away from the supply warehouse where he had stolen said parts. Their local guide, a Nacene named Gren Thoval said there was a doctor in the Alsace slums that might help. The doctor was a shady looking Zibalian named Enjo, who promised to get Zexx fixed up in no time. He assured Rohan that he could head out and get the rest of the parts he needed. Zexx should be recuperated in two days.

    Which was all well and good, had anything gone right over those next two days. A rebel faction attacked the colonial capitol and the whole place was turned into a demilitarized zone. Zel had barely escaped with his life, let alone the missing parts, gained by a combination of canny bargaining and good old fashioned thievery. He had come too close to being shot a few too many times and the rebels were moving in to the position where their shuttle was hidden. It was clear Zexx and Rohan needed to leave Alcarin immediately.

    He made the turn down the crumbling brick walkway that smelled of fecal matter and rotting rodent corpses, willing himself not to look down and identify what any particular 'crunch' under his boots was. He slipped down the crumbling brick wall, and to the basement landing where Doctor Enjo did his work. When a knock on the door prompted nothing, Zel pulled a spanner from his pocket and tested the strength of the old fashioned lock.

    As the door clicked open, he was hit by the stench of sterilizing chemicals covering up the scent of blood and rotten flesh. It was more pungent than the last time, and Zel could only hope that was due to casualties coming in from the fighting. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the harsh yellow sodium light and realized he was standing in a pool of blood.

    He clenched his teeth, fighting the squeamish urge to scream and dropped down immediately behind the main table. The room was empty - at least of living people. There was a few pieces laying on the floor big enough to be recognizable as to where they went before the people that went with them expired. Fortunately none of them appeared to be Zexx - yet. Zel plastered himself up against the operating table, listening for signs of life. When he was rewarded by silence he snuck carefully forward, covering at each corner and looking down each hall in a paranoid fashion.

    The recovery rooms were filled with bodies. Mutiliated bodies. Bodies missing arms, eyes, big portions of their chest cavities scooped out and missing. It might have been written off as war, but a closer look told Zel that these weren't rebels or soldiers. They were the homeless in the slums, the drifters and the orphans. They weren't here because they came to die.

    They were gathered up for harvest.

    His heart rate spiked, frantically searching for Zexx, fearing he was dead. What he found was much worse. The Pakled was belted to a recovery bed, crudely stitched wounds showed where kidneys, spleen and other vital organs had been removed - but unlike the others Zexx was hooked up to a monitor, and there was a thin but thready pulse.

    Zel: Zexx... ::He called in a thin, raspy voice::

    Zexx: Rohan... is that you? ::His eyelids fluttered open and his attention riveted on Zel showing off open, bloody sockets where his eyes used to be.:: Get out of here, Rohan! Enjo's not a doctor... he's a organ seller!

    Zel: ::Frantically scrambling to unbelt Zexx:: I'm getting you out of here!

    Zexx: You can't... ::he coughed:: I'm missing too much. The only reason I'm still alive is that he can distill antibodies from my blood... I'll never live off life support.

    ::Zel bit his lower lip. This wasn't death. It was worse than death. He closed his eyes and made a decision.::

    Zel: I'm sorry, Zexx. I should have never brought you here. ::He moved to one side, grabbing a hypospray and filling it with enough sedative to put an Antarean whale to sleep.::

    Zexx: Not your fault. ::he coughed lightly:: I would have died one way or the other.

    Zel: I'm so sorry... ::he repeated, pressing the hypospray into Zexx's arm::

    ::The monitors screeched a thin alarm as Zexx's heart rate and breathing slowed to a bare minimum, and Zel grabbed his disruptor pistol, darting to one side to hide behind a mangy surgical curtain, listening for the inevitable beat of footfalls.::

    Enjo: ::His voice was one of shock and dismay:: no, no no! I had everything properly calibrated! This wasn't supposed to happen! ::he dashed forward checking Zexx's body, and adjusting the life support system he was hooked to:: I need you alive! I have seventeen buyers for the blood you can provide!

    Zel: Seveteen buyers who can go to hell. ::His voice was thin and dark, disruptor at the ready hidden at his side.::

    Enjo: ::His head snapped up and he immediately grabbed a scalpel as a weapon:: Oh, the hybrid. I was hoping you would come back. but I see you broke in rather than coming through reception. ::He narrowed his eyes:: I assume you did this?

    Zel: Seemed the only decent thing to do.

    Enjo: ::Advancing:: Well, I hope for you sake you're worth at least as much as he was - or I promise you that I will prolong your life only for the sheer pleasure of causing you pain.

    ::Zel had heard enough. Enjo launched himself at the little Cardassian, but Zel's itchy trigger finger was faster. The blast caught the Zibalian in the chest, pushing him against the back wall. He crumpled and twitched. Zel shot him a second time for good measure.

    He rushed back to Zexx's side, murmuring a heartfelt apology. It shouldn't have ended like this. Zexx and Zel were running Romulan Ale, trying to make enough money to buy Zexx's sister out of indentured servitude from an Orion slavelord. It had been a series of misfortunes that had scaled far out of proportion for the sin of carrying some blue beer.::

    Zel: I'm so sorry, Zexx. I promise, if I finish this job, I'll buy Mila her freedom. ::He thumbed his disruptor to the highest setting - the fastest, cleanest kill, aimed at Zexx and vaporized his partner from the pain::

    ::Stuffing his pockets full of shuttle parts, he ran. He regretted never looking for other survivors - or if Enjo had accomplices. He just ran, like a stupid coward, into the night. When he stopped by the edge of the woods he vomited up what little he had eaten over the last two days, before heading to their hidden shuttle to struggle through the repairs himself.

    Seven months later when Mila joyously returned home, Zel couldn't look the teenage girl in the face. How could he tell her that her brother hadn't heroically died saving her from the Orion Syndicate? That he had shot him while he was strapped to a bed in a room of medical horrors?

    Mila has hugged him and called him a hero. Zel had struggled with his own mind, trying to figure out whether he was a hero who made tough choices - or a monster?

    What he did know, was that it started off a long and paranoid terror of doctors...::

    ((SB 118, Main Sickbay ))

    ::Zel Rohan stood at the threshold of sickbay staring at it as if it was the maw of hell itself.

    He was a rather short, somewhat mangy thing. Even with two months of nutritious food and decent sleep, he still had a too-lean appearance with dark circles under his half-Cardassian eyesockets. His faintly greying hair was carefully brushed back, but refused to stay fully put in one place, and his duty uniform was stiff, a little too new and a little too starched.

    But the stories were in the details. The scar that ran down his left eyeridge, the crimp in the bony ridge that ran down his right shoulder. The way he stood on the balls of his heels, tense and ready to sprint at any given second, and the wary look about him. When one of the nurses queried, he relented and walked in with a curiously cautious gait. He never turned his back to anyone for too long, and clearly scoped out the entire layout memorizing exits, exhaust vents and anything else where someone could attack from, or escape to.

    Mazha, the medical secretary on duty gently queried his name and reason for coming.

    Zel: Zel Rohan, new officer. ::Pause:: Here to see Dr. Liani. ::He gritted his teeth:: Might be under Rohan Marco.

    ::His "real" name. The one he hated. It was a little too pastoral, a little too Bajoran and and a lot not him.::

    Mazha: I'll get her, please have a seat.

    Zel: I'd rather not.

    ::Instead he stood, warily in a defensible location as if sickbay was a war zone, watching the ebb and flow of medical officers through the area.

    Meanwhile Mazha approached the Andorian doctor, and offered out a PADD::

    Mazha: Doctor Liani? There's a new ensign here, with orders to be medically approved for duty.

    Liani: That’s pretty standard fare isn’t it? :: Liani looked up from her terminal at Mazha- as she powered down her console screen. Charlie looked up from his clear box, a half eaten terran cricket hanging haphazardly from his mouth, like a wriggling black cigar. ::

    Mazha: Well... ::She paused for a moment. :: I gather he is a unique case...

    Liani: Why would you say that? :: Liani stood up and accepted the PADD and ran through its contents. ::

    Mazha: Well... it's on the PADD...

    ::The records on the PADD spanned decades, starting with an Academy entrance physical (nothing unusual about that), and hopping to routine academy check ups, and a release physical to the USS Yourke. That's where things got strange. The next time his medical records showed up it was a Federation penal colony exam, noting a variety of injuries. Then a report from Gateway Station 2, with a laundry list of issues after treating an unconscious Zel who helped them uncover a slaving operation. He refused treatment of most of it. There were a smattering of other records, spotty at best, and the most recent one: treated for dehydration, malnutrition, plasma burns, broken ribs, concussion and disruptor shots to non vital areas after smuggling himself onto SB118 in a silk crate.

    It also, incidentally listed a whole host of interesting factoids, such as a smashed neck ridge indicative of Bajoran torture techniques, a mishealed broken leg making his left leg 1.2 cm shorter than his right one, several masses of scar tissue, a steel slug that was never removed, a missing earlobe, and a few more random untended injuries.::

    :: Liani read through the PADD at first giving everything a cursory glance, and then re-read it to make sure she had read it right the first time- finally a third pass through had confirmed that the first two tries through the errata proved that she was reading something along the lines of ‘Confessions of a Survivor’- it had an almost surreal quality to it- like someone who fancied holovids and old time noire had given some poor character life and slipped them into a Starfleet uniform to see what would happen. All that was missing were low lights and the hint of soft jazz in the background. She looked up from the PADD and glanced at Mazha, her antena bending down in a quizzical sort of way. ::

    Liani: Where is this, :: a pause ::, Zel Rohan?

    Mazha: Over there. ::She pointed out the wary little hybrid, who looked like he was debating just making a run for it.::

    :: Liani nodded and gave Charlie the simple signal that had him scurrying up her arm and resting on her shoulder- the cricket still sitting disjointed from his mouth. Liani fancied Charlie as quite the partner in crime in most ways- but wished that’d he’d not be so keen on playing with his food. ::

    Liani: Thank you Mazha- I’ll take care of it. :: With PADD in hand Liani made her way to her to the funny little man- so keen on running but stuck with her. She decided to play it carefully as she approached. ::

    Zel: You must be Dr. Liani.

    Liani: And you must be Ensign Zel? :: She gave the man a polite nod, her antenna following suit. ::

    Zel: Yeah, I'm Zel. ::He waited. Her move.::

    Liani: It’s not too late to run you know- though that does mean I’d have to shoot you with a tranquilizer and drag you into the back rooms. Or you can follow me now and save us both the headache- which would you prefer?

    Charlie :Chr. :: Charlie gave Zel a sage nod of his head while swallowing the rest of his cricket in one go. One stray leg hanging from his teeth like an obscene toothpick.

    ::Zel flinched, the sort of choppy movement one makes when they’re ready to pull a weapon and stop just before doing so. Not because there was a lack of a weapon around - Zel could and would find a way to make anything he got his hands on into a weapon for self defense - but because he forced himself not to. Eyes narrowing at the doctor, he sized her and her demonic creature up.::

    Zel: I doubt you have better aim than an Alcarian assassin. ::Jaw set, as if to say ‘your joke was not funny’ without actually being a spoilsport about it.:: Where are you… we… going?

    ::Because escape routes were important.::

    Liani: Not very far actually- one room over. :: She gestured with her head for him to follow and lead the way through and open corridor to Sickbay 1a, gesturing to the biobed closest to the exit and the best view of the room and outer area of the main sickbay- good clean views all around:: Take a seat if you like and we’ll get started.

    ::He followed in his calculated walk, gazing at the doctors, the nurses, the other patients. It was bright in here. Bright and sterile and Starfleet. That should have made him feel better.

    But they didn’t call irrational fears irrational for no reason. Especially when they were rooted in very rational and valid reasons.::

    Zel: I’d rather stand. ::But he followed. That was a near miracle prompted by two months of food, sleep and not being shot at. A decided improvement from the screaming, hitting people with med tray antics of his last visit with a doctor in a Starfleet uniform:: What’s next?

    Liani: Well, I’d ask if you need a drink- and then we can get down to the business at hand in getting you cleared for duty. :: A pause:: So, do you need a drink? :: She asked in her soft Andorian voice. ::

    Zel: I don’t drink before doing anything stupid, dangerous or debilitating. I prefer to save that for afterwards.

    Liani: Well then, after we handle this potentially stupid, dangerous and debilitating affair, you’ll join me for a drink?

    Zel: ::He eyed her. Did a doctor just ask him for a drink?:: Are you serious?

    Liani: Always- but I’ll let you think about it. :: She studied the PADD again and set it down on a tray. :: I’m going to need to run a series of scans using a medical tricorder, nothing invasive- may I? :: She asked one hand resting on the tricorder but not picking it up. ::

    ::He gave a wary pause, considering::

    Zel: No sedatives, no tranquilizers, no… well, things that probably aren’t legal in Starfleet. ::Pause, he realized he hadn’t answered the question:: Yes, tricorders are ok.

    :: Liani nodded and picked up the medical tricorder in a smooth, practiced motion. She considered the readout screen for a moment, before making adjustments to the sensor’s frequency- adjusting the device to allow for a bit more distance than was standard practice. It would have been easier to leave it as it was- but she felt if distance and clear motion were the better choice in this situation. With the scanner ready she began the readings- keeping herself and the reader roughly three feet from the new ensign. ::

    Liani: Are any of your old injuries causing you physical discomfort? :: She asked in a casual voice as she ran the scans. ::

    ::That was a very good question, one that prompted Zel to lift his gaze up slightly. He had an admittedly high pain threshold, tuned by years of ignoring discomfort to focus on what was actually going to kill him.

    But the truth was many things bothered him - in the way that he had started to notice them once the basic needs of life were answered.::

    Zel: Maybe. ::It was hard to tell if he was being evasive or honest::

    Liani: Could you clarify, please? :: She asked eyes only barely looking up from the tricorder’s readout. ::

    Zel: :: He was, in fact, the sort that if continually - and gently - pressed would volunteer some information it seemed:: Ok, I admit, I’d like it if my shoulder didn’t hurt.

    Liani: Could you describe the pain your shoulder gives you? Maybe when and how do you feel it most? :: She moved the scanners direction from roughly his head to the chest area- the narrow beam forced by the distance made for slower scanning- but it was still effective for her purpose. ::

    Zel: Hm. ::He said as if thinking it through, even though he wasn’t:: Sharp radiating pain from where the ridge is cracked. Usually when reaching or carrying something heavier than a Moban watersack.

    Liani: When you were first admitted into this facility did the doctor or doctors who saw you offer you any treatment alternatives? :: She let the scanner point towards the cracked ridge and follow along the course of his shoulder. ::

    Zel: The demon? No. I sort of insinuated I might dropkick him and he ran away… ::cough:: besides, I was sort of in jail.

    Liani: I see… :: a small pause:: Well, it can be repaired- along with several other issues- such as the metal slug you’ve gotten blessed with. :: another small pause:: nothing that I’ve seen would require anything like invasive surgery- your organs are all fit, if that was a concern- :: a mildly distracted moment as she considers the screen, and then she looks up:: Would you like details, or would you prefer the devil you know to the one you don’t?

    Zel:I like to know all the stipulations of my contract before I sign it. ::something he had learned along a long and winding road.::

    Liani: Understandable, and smart. :: She closed the tricorder after transmitting the data collected to the PADD. :: Well let’s take small steps then. :: She leaned against the biobed and gestures towards the old injury. :: The crack is actually showing signs of growing worse judging from the readings taken two months ago to the information I have now. It will, in time impact your ability to use that arm at all- along with potentially aggravating damage sustained by your neck bones rendering you unable to have full motion of your neck and head.. :: A small pause to let the information sink in and then Liani continues. :: The surgery to repair the damage is not complicated- and the description and mental image is worse than the actuality of it. If you chose to go forward with the surgery, I could use neural blockers which would allow you to remain fully awake and aware during the procedure- yet would be sufficient to keep you from feeling the pain that would accompany my rebreaking the ridge- after which I would use a standard regenerator to bring your shoulder and neck into full health- almost as if you never bore the scars of that event

    :: Liani talks quickly, but smoothly- her hands gesturing in quick but smooth motions as she explains each step of the procedure to Zel. ::

    Zel: ::He took a step back, considering it. That was his right arm, his phase pistol arm, the one that let him fly a suicide run at top speed and shoot a charging Vanna beast between the eyes mid-lope. He hated doctors, but he needed that arm to function properly, and a bunch of maquis reborn had tried their best to take it from him. He tightened his lower jaw:: I need to be able to move. ::truth. One didn’t survive as long as Zel had without being able to move. He had adapted to most every injury -adapted or healed. But this simply hadn’t gone away.::

    Liani: Very true- but I can’t, nor would I, force you to undergo the surgery needed to repair it. That decision firmly rests on you. :: Liani said the words clearly, her voice had a soft, almost kind edge to it as she spoke- and her face remained true to it’s Andorian roots- and was a neutral mask. ::

    Zel: ::Zel frowned. She had offered a solution that fit his idiosyncrasies. And he needed it done. He didn’t like it - maybe he didn’t have to like it.:: I don’t like it… but it needs to be done.

    Liani: :: Nodding her head. :: Okay then, I wasn’t lying when I said it would be a simple procedure- but I’ll need you lying down on that biobed. :: A small pause :: I’ll walk you through each of the steps before I perform them, and then it’ll be done and we can sign you off as ready, well mostly ready- to go to your duty post.

    Zel: Yippee ::Said in the least overjoyed voice possible. It wasn’t sarcastic, more the tone of someone who was walking on an electrified tightrope and wasn’t very happy about it. Then again he kept reminding himself that Starfleet had creature comforts and the freedom of the open skies afforded very little of that. He leapt up to the biobed height in a startlingly fast movement:: Do it now before I change my mind.

    Liani: Understood- Charlie- go back to your nest. :: Charlie let out a small chr sound and scampered from Liani’s shoulder to her desk in the other room. Liani meanwhile set about setting up the tools she’d need for this procedure- when the tray was complete she moved it towards Zel’s biobed and showed the man the small metal disk she held in her hand.:: I am going to attach this to the left side of your neck, just below your ear- it will in simple terms, render you numb to any discomfort while providing readings to the computer. May I place it now?

    Zel: ::Tension flooded his limbs:: Yeah

    Liani::: Nodding, she placed the device and powered it on- slow currents ran through Zel’s body- at that point she could have cut off one of his fingers and he’d never have known unless he looked down, or wondered at the maniacal laughter coming from her lips- but that didn’t happen- instead Liani moved to the biobeds computer terminal and said in her same soft voice. :: Next, I’m going to need to render a limited forcefield over your right shoulder and arm- I have to do this to keep them perfectly still for the procedure- may I do this please. :: She asked in her calm voice. ::

    Zel: ::His heart rate spiked for a few seconds, indicating a strong awareness of everything that could go wrong with something like this in the wrong hands:: … ::swallow:: … ::pause:: … ::stall:: … yes.

    Liani:Thank you, Zel. :: A few taps on the screen and a force field formed around Zel’s upper shoulder and right arm, effectively pinning him to the table. Liani took a moment to monitor the screen’s information output before picking up the small black box on the stand, she held it clearly in Zel’s view for him to see. :: This is the tool that will reopen the break in your bone- and allow me to knit it back together properly- restoring full use. It emits a limited tractor beam- it will sound horrible- and for that I appologize- may I go forward with the procedure?

    ::The little hybrid’s eyes widened. It already sounded horrible. What the crimelords of Miranda VII could do with that thing he didn’t even want to contemplate.::

    Zel: ::he closed his lips and made a vaguely strangled sound accompanied by a nod that was the clearest form of yes he could manage. Twenty years of paranoid fought against the simple fact that Starfleet didn’t torture its own people in the broad light of day surrounded by a whole bunch of other Starfleet:: Mmhmm--- ::He wanted to screw his eyes closed. It would have been the sane thing to do. But a drifter didn’t live for as long as he had by not watching what was going on around him. He had trained himself to look, forced himself to look in some cases, until it was programmed into him.::

    Liani: Thank you, Zel- this will be over very quickly. :: Setting the box in position, Liani carefully put the controlled beams to use- the sound of the bone breaking was clearly audible in the sickbay- Liani leaned over the prone Zel, her eyes making contact with his for a moment- :: That’s done- it all gets a lot easier on you now. :: She looked into his eyes to make sure he was still with her and not somewhere else::

    ::And this was why stabilizer fields were made. His heart rate spiked to the top of the charts when the first break was made, muscles twitch and pulling at the restrained. The rational part of his brain said this was a good thing because it was preventing further damage from an already damaged area.

    The lizard part of his brain was going through a series of PTSD flashbacks. Sickbay? Or the cells on Moserin IV? Or the back alleys of Lavenza where the gangs played ‘break ball’ a game where civilians were the targets and smashing them to bits was the goal.

    The rational part of his brain kindly reminded him that this was exactly why he had accepted his unusual commission. To get out of places like that.::

    Zel: ::Green eyes slowly focused on the Doctor. He never once closed them longer than a blink, but at times they were clouded. He was vaguely impressed that she waited until he was in recognition that yes, they were still in Starfleet before finishing the bone breaking procedure. If he had been feeling pain he would have felt that was unusually cruel. But the whole thing was curiously pain free, meaning it was a psychological run around. When the crushing came to a stop, he asked in the most cautious of voices:: Is that over?

    Liani: Right now I’m using a regenerator on the bone- we’re almost there Zel- almost- :: She looked at the screen as she worked :: And done- I’m going to lower the forcefield now, and remove the device from your neck. Please don’t rip it off Zel- it needs to be done correctly- or there could be complications. :: That part had not been true per se, but she was hoping his survival instincts would keep him from doing anything rash now that he was no longer pinned down. She carefully removed the disk from his neck and showed it to him and set it down on the tray.:: I’d be very appreciative if you could just stay lying down for a moment while I run a quick scan- plus if you stood up now you’d just fall over, so why risk it? :: That was mostly true- Zel’s legs probably felt like so much mud. ::

    ::It was a good point to make, since Zel’s usual reaction to freedom was to bolt as far away from whatever restrained him as possible. Instead he gripped the edges of the biobed and forced himself to stay still. It was like a test of courage, one of those things that Starfleet makes you go through to ensure you can toe the line - or at least do things the way they want you to do them. The irony of ‘this was a good thing’ was not lost on him. He was trying very hard to get used to good things rather than being wholly paranoid every time the replicator materialized a meal for him.::

    Zel: I see. ::He could come up with a whole bunch of colorful answers to ‘why risk it?’ but that would be better talked about over drinks.::

    :: Liani ran the scans, looking over the freshly regenerated bones and tendons connecting the hybrid’s neck. She gave a firm nod. ::

    Liani: Well whatever [...] did that to you- his work’s been undone. Can I help you sit up, Zel? :: She offered the Ensign her arm to brace himself on. ::

    Zel: ::He eyed her cautiously. Help was one of those curious concepts that was not foreign to him, but also wasn’t frequent. Then again she did offer to go out for drinks and that was street speak for ‘I’m not going to kill you (or at least not yet).’:: Sure ::It might have been the wariest sure possible, but it was an offer nonetheless.::

    :: Liani picked up the original PADD and updated Zel’s notes, putting down her signature approving him for active duty. ::

    Liani: You’re approved for active duty, Ensign Zel. Thank you for allowing me to help you.

    Zel: ::He [...]ed his head a little bit, watching her every movement keenly:: I thought the thanks were supposed to go the other way around. ::Pause. He admitted she wasn’t the first decent doctor he had met - just one of a tiny handful in comparison to bad experiences.:: Anyways… ::It was like ‘thanks’ but muted.::

    Liani: You’ve experienced several injuries, and while none are currently as debilitating as your shoulder was- they could, if left untreated, lead to complications further down the line. :: She held up a hand as if to calm any protests. :: None of them need immediate attention- but I would like you to consider the option of receiving proper medical attention. I won’t force you to- but I would be appreciative if you allowed me to help you- always at your discretion.

    Zel: ::He shrugged:: Some of those I’ve had for decades. ::Were they longtime friends or neverending enemies? Or just reminders of a life gone by?:: I’ll… think on it. ::pause:: Is there more?

    Liani: No, that was it Ensign Zel- you have about a half hour to think about my original offer though.

    Zel: Half an hour? ::he perked the unscarred brow ridge:: What blows up then?

    Liani- That’s when I’m off duty, Ensign Zel- I’ll be at the Garden, a little Terran bar, if you care to join me there. Otherwise, good luck in your duties on this Starbase.

    ::Zel nodded slowly. He knew it. Then again, with the decreased restrictions of movement he had made an effort to explore and memorize every square inch of the station. Old habits died hard, and that was one habit that he found useful no matter what the situation or the job was.::

    :: Liani gave the older man a small smile and tilt of her antenna and made her way back to her desk to work on the problem of weaponized tribbles- someone had meant to cause more than a bit of mischief with them and she hoped to find their signature in the tangled weave of their genetic coding. ::

    ---

    PNPC Probationary Ensign Zel Rohan

    Yet to be assigned

    StarBase 118 Ops

    Simmed by: Sal Taybrim

    &

    Dr. Liani h'Rhendria lyr'Theel'zhiin

    Medical Offer

    Starbase 118-OPS

    A239201L1

    The Awesome Title Thread

    in Appreciations

    Posted

    Our next tittle should really be Les Tribblés, with our Marines breaking out into a musical number. We could tell the story of a lone tribblé trying to feed his family and the cruel Marine trying to see him brought to justice.

    Raisillius doesn't dance. He might sing, but he wouldn't do any of the dancing. He'd be just as likely to chuck a grenade at the tribbles as his fellow marines at that point... :)

    • Like 2

    Lieutenant Theo Whittaker: The Eureka! Moment

    in 2016

    Posted · Edited by Trellis Vondaryan

    (( Bridge | USS Albion ))

    Tatash: Well, eliminating the obvious, there are no planet’s nearby within transporter range, and locking through an asteroid field would be challenging from the outside. There’s no bases in the field, nothing but mines and dangerous gasses that wouldn’t be conductive to operations. We’ve also got the fact that the Stormcrow was destroyed by a weapon that wasn’t our own, seemingly by an invisible force. So… ::he glanced at Theo and nodded:: Yeah, you can see where I’m going.

    ::Theo felt a pall of dread run through him. As a child he had heard stories of how James T. Kirk defeated a Klingon Bird-of-Prey that could fire through a cloaking device. Although that ship had been a prototype that was swiftly outlawed in the first amendment to the 1st Khitomer Accords, the idea that the technology was possible gave him nightmares for months as a child. Nightmares of invisible enemies stalking through Whittaker Manor and striking him down. It was only after his mother had taken him to see her chief medical officer, who was an expert in sleep disorders that the nightmares had ceased.

    They returned several years later, however, after he read reports of how Captain Jean-Luc Picard had defeated a similarly equipped Reman predator in the Bassen Rift. After another course of treatment, Theo decided that he wanted to join Starfleet to help battle anyone who possessed the technology. He had already become fascinated with machinery- and the upswing of applying for the academy at the age of 16 was that he could anger his father. But that was another story. He knew that when he fell asleep that night- the nightmare would return.

    But for now, those vivid, terrifying nightmares could wait. He had a job to do. Grateful that the academy had drilled the concept of ‘honour and duty’ into him harder than a Klingon initiate, he found the courage to put his fears to one side and look at Tatash ::

    Whittaker: A ship that can fire while cloaked.

    Tatash: It wouldn’t be the first time Starfleet’s seen a ship that fire while cloaked, let alone transport. Theoretically the latter should be easy if they haven’t got shields raised. The former worries me, it worries me a lot. Especially with the firepower they are packing.

    ::That, Theo decided, was putting it mildly. A cloaked Romulan vessel, capable of what it was capable of with murky intentions at best. If they had fired on one Starfleet vessel, what was to say they wouldn’t fire on another- especially one that was such an easy target as the crippled Albion presented. Theo felt the invisible figure getting ready to haunt his dreams.::

    Whittaker: oO Not. Now! Oo

    Falcon: ::Sighs.:: Why don’t we ever get to use the cool toys?

    Tatash: I don’t doubt that if whatever is out there wanted us out of the picture we’d be a wreck by now. The Albion’s wounded and wouldn’t stand toe to toe against whatever is out there. Their attack on Stormcrow seems more of an assassination than a sortie, very quick and precise and at just the right moment to make us second guess ourselves.

    ::Theo stepped closer to Taybrim and dropped his voice into a whisper, as another frightening prospect occurred to him. He might not have been executive officer, but he was the second senior-most officer on the bridge and it was, apparently, his job to offer another opinion. This one, however, nobody but the CO should hear.::

    Whittaker: Sir, we have Arrihman on board right now. What is to stop the Romulans from assassinating him by destroying us as well?

    Taybrim: Very little. ::he paused, brows forming a dark straight line:: Unless they actually cannot fire while cloaked - they may be hiding and waiting for the right opportunity when our back is turned. ::He paused, looking towards the engineer for answers:: Can we get any sort of tracking on them in that asteroid field?

    Tatash: That I don’t know. :: he motioned towards Nira :: Any ideas on how we can tag it? I’d strongly urge if we can act as passive as possible, if they get wind we can track them… well let’s keep our distance, but don’t look like we’re trying to keep our distance.

    Falcon: And how, pray tell, would you suggest accomplishing that?

    Tatash: I don’t know, fly casual?

    Falcon: Ah. ::Smiles.:: How appropriately vague. I think I can manage that.

    Whittaker: There may be another solution.

    ::He wished he had not spoken because the plan was only just beginning to form in his mind. Once again, every set of eyes on the bridge seemed to be directly staring at him with great expectations.::

    Taybrim: What's your idea?

    Whittaker: We don’t necessarily have to be able to track her, :: he motioned to Nira :: Although if we can that would be an absolute advantage. :: beat, looking at Taybrim :: We just have to look like we. :: beat :: I may have only been in Starfleet for nine months as an officer, but I’ve grown to learn that Romulans are extremely cautious unless they have to be. The cloaking device is their greatest advantage because it allows them to silently analyse and strategize before taking definitive action. :: beat, he looked at Taybrim :: I say we call their bluff. That way we’ll avoid a confrontation with them and it’ll give the diplomatic team more time with whatever they need to do.

    Taybrim: I say that's pretty solid plan. ::He turned towards those on the bridge:: The question is how do we startle them without spooking them into another dogfight?

    Tatash: Anyone ever play battleships? ::he muttered, before turning to look at some of the others on the bridge giving him a curious look:: It's a game, you have a grid, each player takes a turn firing a shot into a grid not knowing where the enemy ships are, you aim towards the place most likely to have a concentration of ships in. It's guesswork, but you can at least feign a look of confidence if you're methodical.

    Vondaryan: ::[...]ing his head, smiling:: Sounds... tactical. I shall look forward to playing that back on the base. ::beat:: This Romulan ship, if it does exist, must be somewhere in this minefield, then.

    Falcon: Certainly not wrong. Given the make-up of this field, the mines floating around, there’s only so many places they could hide. Especially if they had the power to punch through Stormcrow’s shields and cripple them; you’d need a decent sized cruiser, at least. If we make some educated guesses, we could probably pull something like that off.

    Taybrim: Well, we did plan a whole bunch of countermeasures to deal with the Stormcrow - can we turn any of those into a way to flush Romulans from a bush. Asteroid field. You know. ::hand wave::

    Falcon: Don’t worry about where the ship needs to be. You tell me a place, I can put her there. Impulse drive is still ready, and the thrusters are hot.

    TBC

    • Like 2

    SB118 Ops: Quotations of the Week!

    in Appreciations

    Posted

    ::They had been waiting, ready to catch the Albion in the most limited position possible. Mines to the left of her, jokers to the right... stuck in the middle was not a good position.::

    Via Sal Taybrim

    That was the exact quote I was going to post, when I had a chance. You beat me to it. :)

    • Like 1

    Everyday Speech

    in Poll of the Month

    Posted

    Like Shakespeare (perhaps even in the original Klingon), Trek has given us more than its fair share of sayings. All of the above are fantastic (and I'd forgotten that revenge is a dish best served cold came from Trek, that's how ingrained it is), I went with 'Other'.

    I think 'I'm a doctor, not a [insert profession here]' is still wildly popular, and one of my favourites.

    TNG Academic Anthology

    in Trek Discussion

    Posted

    I got this in one of my school emails. Any academics out there might find this interesting:

    Type:
    Call for Papers
    Date:
    November 30, 2015
    Subject Fields:
    American History / Studies, Cultural History / Studies, Film and Film History, Popular Culture Studies, Social History / Studies

    Star Trek: The Next Generation was far more than a simple reboot of Gene Roddenberry’s original sixties television program. A decade after counterculture’s end, the Watergate scandal and American “malaise,” and now in the waning days of the Reagan Administration, the crew of theEnterprise 1701-D addressed the “next generation” of social, political, and cultural shifts in American society. The television show’s phenomenal success not only spawned four feature films and several television spin-offs, but also changed the face of science-fiction in the twenty-first century. Without Star Trek: The Next Generation, the millennial reboot of Star Trek would have looked vastly different, if it occurred at all.

    From the moment Captain Jean-Luc Picard walked out of the shadows in “Encounter at Farpoint,” Star Trek: The Next Generation has expanded into the cultural consciousness beyond the confines of television screens. Comic book adaptations, video games, and an “expanded universe” in novels, comic books, and video games have extended Gene Roddenberry’s and his successor’s visions of the future. Terms such as “replicators,” “holodecks,” and “resistance is futile” have entered the public lexicon alongside the old terms “warp drive,” “phasers,” and “beam me up.”

    This anthology is the first book-length study to consider Star Trek: The Next Generation as an exclusive whole, including the television show, movies, non-continuity extensions, and fandom. (The characters from The Next Generation have appeared in other Star Trek spin-offs, and while those appearances can be addressed, the focus should remain on The Next Generation).The show’s rapid ascent from 1987 to its mixed ending in 2002 offers multiple rich readings about its historical and cultural contexts. The anthology will concentrate less of the filmic plots and life in the twenty-fourth century and more on how these various factors reflect the cultural milieus of their origins.

    Potential topics include but are no means limited to:

    • The Masterpiece Society: Creating the Twenty-Fourth Century in a Revitalized Cold War
    • Holodecks: Recreating Narratives in Science-Fiction Fantasy
    • Picard: Defining Leadership in Reagan’s Cowboy Diplomacy
    • Q v. Guinan: Questioning Mysticism and Godliness in the Age of Technobabble
    • Dropouts: Childhood Expectations from Alexander to Wesley
    • Crusher, Rozhenko, and Single Parents: The Collapse of the Nuclear Family on the Enterprise
    • Imzadi?: Defining Monogamy in the Future
    • Assimilating Outcasts: Starfleet-izing Ro, Barclay, Pulaski, and Nonconformists
    • Troi: Expressing Individuality in a Uniformed Crew
    • Greed is Good: The Ferengi as Failed Villains
    • The Short-lived Miniskirt and Veiled Queer Culture
    • Crusher: The Cure-All Hypospray and Medical Humanities
    • Why LaForge Can’t Keep a Beard: The (sight) Sensitive Masculine Model
    • Undiscovered Countries: The Klingon Civil War, “Unification,” and the end of the Cold War
    • Measuring Life: Sons of Soong and the Human Question Mark
    • Yar’s Fate: Assertive Women in the “Backlash” Era
    • The High Ground: Militarism in a Mission of Exploration
    • Worf: Ways of a Warrior in a Pacifist Society
    • Resistance: The Borg, Transhumanism, and Individualism
    • Nexus of Possibilities: Why Couldn’t Kirk Survive in the 24th Century?
    • A Real Nemesis: The End of Utopianism in a post-9/11 Context

    Abstracts should run about 250 words and are due by November 30, 2015. All submissions will be acknowledged. Final papers will run approximately 20-25 pages, reflecting Star Trek’s broad audience of fans and academics alike.

    Contributors’ first drafts will be due by mid-June 2016 and final drafts by September 1, 2016 with a 2017 publication date.

    Thank you for your attention. Please feel free to contact me if you have any questions or concerns.

    Contact Info:

    Peter W. Lee

    Drew University

    plee1@drew.edu

    • Like 1

    Foreign Exchange Officers

    in Poll of the Month

    Posted

    From an OOC perspective, I would take Cardassian. The mix of military, paranoia and work dedication is unlike anything I've ever experienced. I'm intrigued by the Obsidian Order. And there might be an opportunity to meet Garak. Though I definitely wouldn't appreciate the heat and humidity.

    From an IC perspective, Trellis would definitely take the Romulans, though. Any chance he could get to study them up close he would find fascinating. There's so much history he would love to learn, as well as culture, society, politics and technology.

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