Hutch

Huge congrats to all, especially to Quinn for the Great Bird Award!

((Jefferies Tube Junction 1, Deck 9, USS Gorkon)) ((Timestamp: Some days before the Cyrithra Forest Party)) Murphy called them crawlways—Doz called them tubes. Can you walk through them? He’d said. Well no you obviously can’t, she’d retorted, eyes rolling back with propeller-speed. Then it’s a crawlway, isn’t it, he’d laughed. You call it a crawlway, Murph–said Doz–and I’ll call it as I see it: a tube! The truth was that both of those words were correct and it really didn’t matter, but taunting each other was part of their routine. Part of the covenant of their friendship. Murphy had to prod her a few times, and she had to prod back, and through the exchange, miracles happened; relays found themselves repaired, pipes reconfigured, conduits realigned. Murphy was excellent with fiddly engineering. He had the eyes for it, which made up for his shoddy hearing. All it had taken for his eardrums to kick the bucket was ten minutes next to a warp core testing site at the Utopia Planitia Shipyards; like many young and arrogant men, in an attempt to seem indestructible, he thought he was too good for his ear plugs and soon found himself in a Martian Medical Centre, ears bleeding like two faulty taps. A docking of academy points later–as if that bothered him–and a redo of the standard operating procedures class, and both he and his hearing were as right as rain, or so he made out. But Doz begged to differ. She wasn’t sure if it was simply part of his act–a smallprint in their covenant–or if his ears genuinely were never the same. Either way his what? and say that again? was always expertly timed whenever he didn’t want to hear something, and often came laced with a cheeky grin. Finch shook herself out of reminiscing with a lilted chortle and finalised her work on a conduit replacement; a simple bit of maintenance that she could do in her sleep—or in her few and far between naps, anyway. Sleep was a foreign concept in her world that not even an electric shock could subdue her into, as her colleagues Gnaxac and Vylaa had already seen. Mundane work–like a conduit replacement–felt bittersweet. The right amount of it allowed her time to think of improvements, and to consider other tasks on her usually self-inflicted long list of things to do. But too much of the same encouraged complacency, eliciting a syndrome of flashbacks. Memories within which past versions of herself frolicked freely, without the knowledge of what was coming. Younger Doreen’s, all strong in their beliefs that their current selves had seen and heard it all—and how wrong they were. Finch: There we are. Nice and sturdy. ::she squeezed the cover holding the conduit relay firmly, and nodded knowingly:: That should do it for a good while. Her knobbly knees pressed awkwardly against the cold floor of the jefferies tube, and she reattached her patchy hyperspanner to her belt, propped her PADD into her mouth, then shuffled her way through it with tiny scritch-scratch movements. Her white speckled hair jittered in tow, along with her little breaths, as if she were a mole digging herself a finicky but fine new home. Few noises and smells tickled the pinprick hairs of her nose to begin with, other than that which was typical. The occasional scent of warm circuits, woollying the narrow space around her, and that all too familiar humming sound, creating its classical metallic hymn. Though eventually she began to smell the creamy musk of coffee, hearing the distant witter of voices along with it, which wasn’t impossible—It was deck nine, so the Brew Continuum lingered somewhere below. Or was it in front of her? Or to the side of her? And if so, what side? Her teeth unclamped the PADD, and within seconds, a schematic of the jefferies tubes was illuminated in front of her, her brown eyes squinted hard at it. Onward she wriggled till she eventually came to a junction, which was all she needed right now. At every angle stood entryways to different tubes; vertically, horizontally, north, east, west, south. Just her bloody luck. Her beady eyes honed in on her PADD, which started to resemble more of a parallelogram, than the neatly organised tubes that stood before her. Her face grimaced as she peered over the edge of the junction, trying to decipher the downwards direction and where it would lead. Knowing her luck, it would be straight into a depressurized airlock. Her lips thinned. It was a funny thought, but she wouldn't give in to it. Not right now. Not here. No; it wouldn't do, to laugh. Finch: Computer, love, where am I? Computer: You are on deck nine. Finch: Yes, yes, I know that, but where exactly am I? Computer: On the USS Gorkon that is currently in orbit of the planet Palanon. Finch: You think you’re funny, don’t you? Computer: Specify? Finch: I said, you think you’re fun-forget it! ::she inhaled sharply through her nose:: Computer. What jefferies tube is this precisely? Computer: This is tube junction one, deck nine. Finch: And how do I get out of it? You know, how do I leave it? Computer: Tube junction one serves as an interconnected point to tubes five, six and seven, with access routes to decks eight and ten. Finch: That’s all well and good, love, but it doesn’t really answer my question on how to actually get out of it, now, does it? Computer: Specify? Finch: I’ll specify you in a minute! Computer: That procedure is not recommended. Finch harrumphed loudly, then deflated like an exhausted balloon—a state few had the luxury of seeing her in. She took a moment to consider her options. Before her were five different jefferies tubes, six if she included the path behind her, which must have led back the way she came. But the fact that she had gotten lost in there at all was nothing short of ridiculous; it was obvious that she had somehow wound up inside a nightmarish holonovel in which entrances and exits criss-crossed. The Kobayashi Maru of jefferies tubes. The thanks she got for doing her job, and doing it well. Certain death in a hodgepodge maze; here lies Doz. Bones and all. She reached inside a small pocket and pulled out a tiny and shiny container within which a set of dainty ocular enhancers dwelled, almost translucent if not for the sliver of circular mechanics outlining the edges. She lifted each one precariously onto the surface of her eyes, causing them to ruffle over for a moment, before resting on the colour grey. And through them, things immediately in front of her appeared slightly bigger. A gift from him—from her Murph. Part of why he was such an expert at those finicky bits of engineering; a master of anything small and electric. She only wished that she had returned the favour, and built him something for his ears. Here you go, Murph, hearing aids. You know, on account of your ears being all mushy on the inside. He’d have said something about her not speaking loud enough, being as quiet as a mouse, as if that were even possible. Then he would have laughed out loud, and she would have too, and the both of them would have swigged their tea together, steeped in the raillery. One last look at the schematics and there it was, plain as day. A quick turn around, scooting ten minutes in a backwards direction, and she’d find the latch she had originally climbed through. And all it took was to see it through his eyes. oO God, you're a nuisance, Murph. Even now. Oo The corners of her lips turned upwards, and moments later, the latch was opened, Doz's body clambering gratefully through it. -- Ensign Doz Finch Engineering Officer USS Gorkon C239809SH3

A phenomenal, and emotional, plot twist; ((Caves in the Forests, Rogue World)) Taking the device out of the tree, one of the Seconds held it aloft, shaking the sample it had extracted around in the vial. Incandescent fluid moved, shone brightly, and without a second thought, the soldier replaced the cartridge on their ketracel unit with the vial. Bear watched, blue eyes growing wider, as the same fluid from the tree coursed through the intricate intravenous system. Kelley: They thought the beacons were still operational when someone came years ago and tried to, ::her voice quietened again as a Jem'Hadar stalked forward, walking right between her and Lena,:: dig them up. Alieth: It was around the time your father disappeared—::her eyes drifted to the diamond dust that still adorned the young woman's hands::—for the first time? An answer didn't come from the young woman, who only looked down at her hands as if they held the answer to it all, dusted as they were in the blue diamond scrapings. Bear felt the frown pull at his features; the forceful tug of muscles sensing a change in the wind without a breeze to accompany it. Gut feelings churn in the middle. Alieth: I suggest that the tree took in Kelley's father not just because it needed him, but because it was wounded to such a depth that it needed him, not just to survive, but to defend itself. It was not just a node in the system, but a defence mechanism of the system. ::She tilted her head over her shoulder, her eyes drifting towards the Jem’Hadar.:: What I wonder is why it has attacked us now and why it is showing us this? Bear glanced across to Lena as a frown accompanied her bronze eyes, the vacant hollow in the centre of the tree occupying their gaze. Josett: I’d bet my last bottle of rum that the missing Vorta was in there when they were harvesting. Stopping it from fighting back. Fortune: It would be fascinating if it wasn’t so…disturbing. Alieth: Is that... a Changeling? The disbelief colouring her voice struck like a torpedo against a shield wall, the red alert flashing mere seconds after. Slanted eyebrows climbed on her features, and Bear followed her eyes to the formless species striding to the forefront of the Jem'Hadar, those features melding and moulding until they became recognisable. A trusted voice in the unfamiliar terriority. Someone who had asked them to trust her and not cared whether or not they did. Had asked them to follow her, into the unknown. All eyes swung toward their young guide and companion, standing behind Lena, Bear's stomach painfully twisting in fear that the move had now been anything other than out of fear. Lena shoved Kelley aside and the young woman shied away from the inevitable blow she expected. Though it didn't come. Josett: What the f— Fortune:…::she slowly looked over at Ark’Va with wide eyes, letting out a sharp breath.:: You were with them. It wasn't a question; they were far too far gone for that now. In the hallowed halls of the tree, they knew exactly what they were dealing with. Remnants of a generation before. Old enemies given a fresh new look. Solidifying the notion that they were never gone, only from sight. Alieth: You misled us Meanwhile, Lena's entire body jolted, her hand flying towards her phaser, her body taut and stance embedded in well-founded suspicion. Josett: I can appreciate a good con. What was the point? No immediate response came from the young woman, who merely stood back as she watched the events unfold as if both memory and vision had taken her back in time. In the flurry of a moment, the scene continued in front of them, this time of the young woman in the form they knew her, grabbing the sides of a Second's neck and twisting it with a crunch, contorting at the perfect deadly angle. The soldier crumpled to the floor and the rest of the carnage began. Each Jem'Hadar slain one after the other in merciless succession until there she stood, alone and breathing hard, surrounded by the bodies of the party she had entered with. Josett: You... stopped them? Fortune: She got stuck here, too. ::she looked at Kelley, biting her lip.:: You got stuck here, in the middle of a war, didn’t you? Alieth: But you wanted to protect this place, above even your own people, and to live amongst those who were your enemies. You love this world. The statement was a question, a matter of fact still not completely understood by the intelligent Vulcan. As the reality of her situation drew like a knife over her throat, Kelley stood tall, her shoulders back, her spine straightened, but only by as much as her current form would allow her to. She retained the visage of the young Kelley and retained some of the inherent characteristics that made her who she was. Kelley: It has come to mean a great deal to me, over the years we've been here. They didn't listen to me when I said the sap would not be a suitable replacement for their ketracel. ::She looked at the bodies on the floor, as the apparition did. Not with the cold eyes of a Changeling, but with eyes brimming in emotion.:: This was the kindest end for them. Josett: Response Behind them, the apparition of memory slowed and faded in time, as the Changeling knelt by the trunk of the tree in the same manner Alieth had. Her head raised as she looked up into the branches and boughs, before the scene disappeared altogether, leaving a scattering of diamond dust on the floor and the vacant trunk. Fortune: If…you knew this tree was here, you had to know what it wanted, right? What you were leading us towards? Alieth: For their father. Or the one who was the father of the real Ark'Va if she ever existed. :: Alieth's gaze wandered over the dust that had been the man and her heart shrank a little:: Was he really a Starfleet officer or was he just another one like you? Kelley: Verne was a kind man, a gentle man, and that was how he would want to be remembered. ::She looked to Bear and then to the dust scattered, before continuing with solemnity clouding her voice.:: Starfleet is a calling for some but when he arrived here, he devoted his life to trying to find a way to get them home. I… took another form to remain among the people in the village. In time, we had a daughter together. O. Marshall: Ark'va. The single word was enough to lift the woman's gaze from the diamond scattering of Verne from the floor and she took in a small breath through her nose as if the fraught pace from the beginning of their arrival had jolted her out of memory and into fight or flight. Heartbreak he recognised, and in that expression on her features, heartbreak was remembered. Kelley: Complications of her hybrid biology became too much for her body to handle, and Verne, ::she swallowed and moved toward the tree, touching the inner trunk where he had been,:: I told him of this place, and gave himself to the tree. He had this vain hope to get back to a Federation world, close enough to get her the help she needed. It was, ::she smiled sadly and dropped her hand,:: too late. He never stopped searching. Josett: Response A scene unfolded in front of them, the memories of the tree mingling with that of the Changeling, discovering the body of Verne twinned in the trunk and the Changeling there at his feet. Around them, the bones of the Jem'Hadar glowed in the dark, the long-term effects of ketracel mingling with the bioluminescent sap, lending an eerie illumination. Alieth: Our objective remains the same: this planet is on a collision course with our home. We will do whatever is necessary to save it. :: She looked at her teammates before focusing again in Kelley:: Even assist you if it is necessary. As the small Vulcan spoke, the tree groaned gently, a sorrowful cry of a wounded and dying living creature. Kelley, as they knew her, bowed her head as her palm touched the bark of the tree once more. The cries abated into a gentle thrum, the illuminated lights and energy of the sap running through the tree sparkling with her touch, as if her partner recognised her and was still in there, drawing her home. O. Marshall: So many lives are at stake here, not just here on the planet, but the whole Tyrellian system. It won't survive the cataclysm that will come, ::he looked around at the bodies underfoot, buried in the grasses and roots over time, and gestured to them,:: this planet has seen enough suffering. Josett/Fortune: Response Alieth: Just something. The colony, those who came here and those who were born here. They should have the opportunity to return to their former homes if they wish to do so. Kelley: I'm afraid that will be your responsibility, Lieutenant. Not mine. I wish them a good life and, as you would say, prosperity. Josett/Fortune: Response Stepping up toward the tree, Kelley let her form change once more from the young features of the hybrid girl to the middle-aged features of a Klingon woman. The tired Starfleet jacket remained, however, underneath a thick braid of dark hair. Features Ark'va had partially adapted as her own, between those of her mother and those of her father. She stepped into the trunk, into the vacant space Verne had left, and paused momentarily. Kelley: Verne fought against the tree, against the planet, to bring it to a Federation world, to get the help he needed. With your memories, ::she glanced briefly to Alieth, then back to the tree,:: I shall be able to move us onward again. Somewhere else. Somewhere safer. Josett/Fortune/Alieth: Response The trunk began to wind around her, each movement of the bark fusing into her skin and pulsing with the same momentum of energy as the sap had through the boughs. Groans of pain ceased as a gentle hum overtook it, welcoming home the Changeling with a gentle enfolding into the being of the tree, rather than the harsh rejection Alieth had experienced. Bear took a step back as a large root lifted from the ground, pulling itself free from the earth with a resounding noise and generous rumble through the rocks under their feet. It began to snake around the middle of the tree, sealing the Changeling inside inch by inch as it moved. Kelley: You need to go. I will do what I can to hold the planet back and reverse what has already been done. Josett/Fortune/Alieth: Response – Lt. Commander Orson Marshall Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0

"So sharp.... You won't feel a thing."

((Outside the office of Lieutenant Fortune, Deck 7, USS Gorkon)) The day had been a disaster so far, pretty high on Shah's screw-o-meter scale, not so much on the scare-oh-by-my-grandmother's-beards-someone-amputated-some-of-my-limbs scale, but pretty high on the tired-and-abashed-enough-to-wish-that-a-mudwhale-would-devour-me-to-end-my-agony-pleasethankyouverymuch scale. An 8 out of 11, if you were a Vulcan and you asked him for figures, how those prick-eared green goblins use to fancy. Anyway, anyway, he was still sore, exhausted and had slept less than a cardassian vole trying to get to the bottom of a bottle of kanar, and on top of that he was sitting tight next to the guy he'd intended to stab the day before but, anyway, things seemed to be going... halfway right. Okay-ish. Tentatively. Who would have thought that apologising would do any good. But whatever it was, he had just been given the news that the brilliant but crazy engineer who had cut off his arm would not be able to be there to give him a new one (as she owed him). Something that slightly annoyed the hirsute chap, but which he somehow understood was due to force majeure. After all, a chief engineer doesn't leave the boat they're repairing in dry dock, with repairs half done, unless they have a fire up their arse or something similar. He just hoped that, wherever she went, that crazy Ferengi would do well. After all, she had shown more nerve and resolve than the overwhelming majority of engineers. Though, she had very shaky hands as a surgeon. A pity, certainly, but surely he needed an arm. And a GOOD one, if he wanted to keep rocking his career in an Admiral Ship. No matter how. Luckily, Starfleet Engineering School churned out a good handful of them every season, though there were VERY, VERY few in which Shah was willing to put himself in their hands. Even fewer than medics, by the way. So, after he scratched his shaggy chin for a moment with his right hand, Shah pointed to one he could actually trust. Tzim-Shah: How about dragging Commander Reynolds into this? Shah almost, almost, laughed when he saw Doctor Baby-Face's lost, blank look on his face. The bloody cub had only been on board for two and a half moons, of course. He stifled a chuckle with a sigh and proceeded to provide the quack with an explanation. Tzim-Shah: I mean Erin Reynolds, not Quinn Reynolds. The one of the plants, not the skipper. After all, she's an engineer too... like the Admiral, but we don't bother the Admiral with little things, do we? The comment made the kid smirk. Tagren-Quinn: No, but… The Tellarite just stared at the physician's pondering. By his grandmother's beard he could almost see the gears of his brain working,, shifting on one foot and then the other while looking at the floor plates as if they knew the answer to the question of the meaning of the universe, of life and of all things. A beat passed before he glanced back up to Shah, who waited expectantly. Tagren-Quinn: …I’ve not met the Commander yet but it’s definitely worth exploring, asking. The security guard on sick leave patted his knee with his good hand and let out a satisfied and undoubtedly porcine grunt. Tzim-Shah: Perfect, let's get to it:: He paused for a moment, not wanting to spoil the good prospects he had by skipping the doctor's insufferable eagerness to map out everything down to the last detail:: Oh well, we have a plan. The beginning of a plan. A planned detail. Tagren-Quinn: Yes, let’s plan on it. We’ll get the surgery checked off the list first and I’ll then see if I can track down Commander Reynolds. This time, he let out a resounding belly laugh. Tzim-Shah: That's the best answer I' ve gotten from you since the day we met, Baby-Face. A device onthe doctor’s wrist dinged and he raised his arm to check it. Tagren-Quinn: Ah, yes. Right, so I should get on to Sickbay and get things prepped. Tzim-Shah: It's all right, kid. See you in a bit. And hey...thanks. Tagren-Quinn: Response Tzim-Shah: I know, but it is important to me. I have my life here. Tagren-Quinn: Response Tzim-Shah: Yeah, yeah. See you later Doc. Tagren-Quinn: Response At that moment, as if he had invoked her, the Counselor's door opened, and a tall, stern-faced Vulcan (a standard Vulcan if ever there was one) stepped out. Behind him, Shah could see the cheerful face of the Counsellor paired with an extremely PINK hair. The Tellarite flashed a smile to himself briefly before he put on his best sulky face. Tzim-Shah: If that beak-eared goblin has eaten all the brittle, I will not be held accountable for my actions! Fortune's reply could not be heard, for the door hissed shut behind Shah. Ensign Tzim-Shah Security Officer on Sick Leave USS Gorkon NCC-82293 simmed by Alieth E239702A10

Huge congratulations to all award winner, everyone nominated for an award and, especially, to everyone who took the time to nominate their fellow writers!

Huge congratulations to everyone who took part, and even huger congratulations to the winners! And a big thanks to the judges, too!

Loxley is wearing exactly the same as last year. Because it was a lot of effort to get an actual suit made, so he has been (and will continue) to wear it for EVERY formal event until it falls apart. Weddings, funerals, awards ceremonies, fancy birthday meals - this suit. He has considered changing the tie, just to mix it up a little.

Not funny, but quite beautiful from Tahna Meru; "One by one, people began releasing their lamps. Soon, the evening sky was filled with artificial constellations, miniature red and gold and yellow and orange stars filled with hopes, dreams, blessings, fears, regrets. Purple fireflies still lurked around their feet, adding to the breathtaking scene painted from light."

The Fabric of Memory "There is, in truth, no past, only a memory of the past. Blink your eyes, and the world you see next did not exist when you closed them." – Terry Pratchett “Energise!” Blue, shimmering light filled the transporter room of the USS Wells as three figures slowly coalesced. The away team stepped off the transporter pad, their vintage clothing incongruous against the advanced technological surroundings. “That was close.” Larrimer sighed with relief as he joined the others by the door. “Too close.” Murphy agreed. “Another minute and I think the temporal Prime Directive would have been shredded!" Commander Shanwea tapped the device on her arm before replying, the holographic shroud which had been disguising her for the mission fading away until her familiar Saurian features returned. “And that is why we don’t mess around when time travelling, people. We all need to stick to the plan, no matter what happens. Actions have consequences after all.” She turned her large eyes to the officer behind the transporter console. “Speaking of which, what’s the damage, Lieutenant?” “History is back to how it should be, Ma’am. Everything looks fine.” “Any issues due to our little mishap back there?” “I’m not sure, maybe a couple of very minor alterations, but I don’t think it’s anything anyone would notice.” Shanwea sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s not our call to make, Lieutenant. Sounds like we’re going to have to wait on Temporal Investigations to take a look before we can all relax.” Unhappy grumbles greeted her comments as the officers filed out of the room and into the ship corridors, off to brief the Captain on their successful mission. *** Carice sat staring at the wall. It was an off-white colour. She wasn’t sure if it had been painted that shade or if it had once been pure white and had just changed over time. She planned to test that theory by staring at the wall every day for the rest of her life to see if it became any more discoloured. She had the time, after all, as it had been made clear to her that she wouldn’t be leaving here until she was ‘well’. But that wasn’t going to happen, because as far as Carice was concerned, she wasn’t ‘unwell’. Time was pretty abstract in this room. Hours, days, weeks, months had no meaning but they had come in and told her that it was her birthday a little while ago, which meant she’d been here almost a year. A year since she’d last seen him, last heard him talk, last felt his hand in hers. Her brother had been her best friend ever since she’d been born, someone she looked up to and respected and who protected her from so many hardships. He was also the reason she was here – because nobody except for Carice remembered him. Clement. That was his name. She had been with him when it had happened, walking in the park by the pond so they could feed the ducks like they did most weeks. He’d just told her a terrible joke and she’d laughed, raising an arm and shoving him away in reproach for his awful humour. Her hand had brushed against the soft, smooth silk fabric of his shirt as she closed her eyes for a second and grimaced in mock pain. And then, when she’d opened them again, Clem was gone. The ducks which had been clamouring around their feet for crusts of bread were all suddenly out on the surface of the pond and the crumbs Clem had been throwing to them had vanished, too. The change had been so sudden, so absolute, it had taken Carice a moment before she started calling out for him, assuming it was just another bad joke. A few minutes more and she started asking people nearby. The elderly couple on the bench looked at her confused when she asked if they’d seen where Clem had gone, telling her that she’d been alone since she’d come into the park, watching the ducks. Carice accused them of lying which is when they’d called the police. The officers had been more inclined to believe her at least. That was until they took her home and the real horror had begun. They’d taken her address from her ID card but house they drove her to wasn’t the house she’d left that morning with Clem. Instead, it was one street further down the hill and smaller. Her parents had been there but they’d looked confused when she’d told them Clem was missing. Confused, then concerned and then scared the more Carice talked and the more she refused to believe them when they said she didn’t have a brother, had never had one. They told her that this was the house Carice had grown up in, but how could that be? Her head was full of the memories of childhood – smells, textures, the pain of a grazed knee, the emotion of a rare fight with Clem, the vision of summer sunlight shining through the long lounge windows on one of those hot, empty afternoons that always seemed to stretch on forever. Carice had run out of that alien house, her parents calling after her in desperation, and up the hill to the home she knew, forcing her way inside past a startled young man when he’d opened the door to her furious knocking. But it was when she’d run upstairs to Clem’s bedroom only to find it was now a nursery that she finally lost control completely. The world had changed and had taken her brother with it and now it was taking her sanity, too. Someone, somewhere must know what had happened, where Clem was and how she could get him back, how she could make everything right again. How she could make everyone remember. It was, Carice considered, probably the uncontrollable screaming which had finally resulted in her being admitted to this room rather than to a police cell. Carice looked back to the wall. Was it perhaps a tiny shade more beige than it had been when she first came here? Unclear. The trouble was, Carice only had her memory to compare it to and she couldn’t reply on that anymore. Her memories of Clem were fading quickly, like someone was leeching them away. His voice, his smile, they were all being stolen from her. Carice closed her eyes tightly and tried to think of something she could hold onto, something tangible. And then she had it – when she’d pushed him, that last physical contact they’d shared, the feeling of the fabric of his shirt under her palm, that was something she could still remember, that was the one thing she swore she would never forget. Carice opened her eyes and looked down at her hand lying open on her knee, nodding to herself. “I will remember you Clem, even if no-one else does. And as long as I remember, then you still exist. You’re still real.” She closed her hand tight, clenching it into a fist, holding on to that one felling, that one tactile sensation. *** Temporal Investigator First Class Figgins placed the PADD carefully on his desktop. It contained a detailed analysis of all the alterations to the timeline following the actions of the USS Wells and her crew and was the last piece of information Figgins had been waiting on before they could write their report. “Computer, begin recording.” Figgins waited for the affirmative chirp before clearing their throat and dictating. “Our investigation concludes that there was, at most, two or three very minor discrepancies. One less birth here, two extra trees there and some unseasonal rain leading to a small mudslide that resulted in the premature death of a rodent. Please see appendix H for more details. The timeline will correct itself to compensate and nobody should recall anything different after a while. It is regrettable, of course, but maintaining our timeline is simply more important than any... collateral damage. Now, onto the details of the case…” *** Another birthday came around, the third one she’d had in this place, but this time it came with a visit to her consultant. That sat looking at each other across his wooden desk in the tidy, well-lit office. The walls, she noted, were bright white. “How are you feeling today, Carice?” “Good, thank you Doctor.” She smiled and nodded. “Have you given any more thought to what we spoke about last time? About going home?” “I have, Doctor, and I would like that very much. Honestly, I don’t really know why I’m here, I’m sure you have plenty of patients who are actually sick and need your help much more than I do.” “That’s good to hear. And you were sick, too, Carice, when you first came here. But you seem much better now. I think you just needed time to rest and let your mind sort itself out.” Carice merely nodded again. The exact reason for her arrival was still a little muddled in her head. The doctor continued. “Your parents are very much looking forward to having you back home. You’re their only child after all and they’ve been very worried about you.” Something in the way the doctor phrased the comment seemed odd to Carice. She frowned. “I know, doctor, and I’m excited to see them. Excited, but nervous, too. It’s been a while.” She paused. “Was there something else you were going to say?” The doctor smiled and made a note on the file in front of him before replying. “No, nothing important.” Carice absently rubbed her hand against her top. It was a habit she’d developed at some point during her time in the institution which helped to calm her nerves. The feeling of the smooth fabric against her open palm always felt comforting to her, reassuring somehow. It made her feel safe. But she couldn’t remember why.

Cardassians for me, as a species. I actually rate Saru highest but that's largely Doug Jones's doing. Other Kelpiens are impressive, but they're not Saru, so I have to put Cardassians over Kelpiens.

((Some minutes ago, Deck 8, USS Gorkon)) Red light bathed every nook and cranny of the corridors but, mercifully, the alarm horn no longer blared, thundering like a Tellaritian mudwhale that had been beached for two hours in Tellar Prime's worst fishing harbour. Of course, Shah knew exactly what that sounded like, having been there with his uncle, his father, and his three aunts as they all tried to use a poorly designed crane to return the stupid animal to its rightful place. That day, he had decided that he would never, ever work, not even if his right hand, his favourite fang (or some part of his anatomy that he loved to mention stressing each and every syllable of the name if he wanted to ruffle some feathers) were at the stake, that he would never, ever be an engineer. And if possible, he would never work around engineers either. What the hell, he wouldn't get within an arm's length of one if he has the chance. But that same day, when the giant, obese, mud-slinging critter had died partway through its terminal lack of common sense and partway through the inbred inability to come to agreements of engineers, Shah had also discovered something else. That if there was one thing that got on his nerves more than engineers, it was scientists. Of course, absolutely, because fate hated him and the bosswoman was out, and he'd got the short straw in the task breakdown of that particular crisis, he'd had to deal with exactly them today. And here he was, trotting inelegantly through the corridors of deck eight, going from one lab to another just to check that none of those eggheads were too deep in whatever it was they were doing, something stupid like, who knows, counting stars or polishing crystals or looking very thoroughly and very scowlingly at a handful of dirt, to remind them that if what they were doing wasn't vital they should get their pimply backsides off that deck and head for their quarters like the good little lambs they were. By her grandmother's beard, how many times had he had had to repeat the same thing? How had they got their heads so far up their own backsides that they hadn't heard they were in the middle of a frigging energy crisis? His booted hooves stopped in front of one of the labs, though the security ensign didn't stop to glance over to see just which one it was. Surely something ending in -gy, or -my, or, no doubt, -y, something super important and super complicated that would surely make his brain itch. Panting profusely, he pulled the padd out of his pocket and checked the manifest. Two brainiacs had been scheduled to use the lab for the last three hours, with prospects of using it for another couple of hours more. Swinish eyes flicked across the screen to check the status of the project they were involved in. Non-essential. Great, go in, check they weren't there, repeat the general orders, kick them out of the room if they didn't listen to the explanations by the third time and next lab. That would leave him with only two laboratories to wipe, one of them with the Asst. Chief Science Officer, which was going to be a different kind of battle for the Tellarite. Not because he disliked the woman, after all she was one of the few who was up to the task of debating with him in a way that made him proud, but quite by the opposite. In any case, two more, and he would be all done. Sah could go back to the security centre either to sit for a while and have a drink or, more likely, to be sent to another end of the ship to do something tremendously important that was going to make him sweat a lot more. Some days, he just hated his job. The stocky Tellarite pressed the door buzzer and waited a moment before he insisted again. That second time, a voice on the other side rang out. He let out a frustrated grunt, yeah yeah they were working in a very important stuff, something about not to contaminate the sample, yadda yadda yadda. He knew the drill. Likewise, he had listened to enough permutations of the same words to have them drilled in his brain. So, he proceeded to do the same as always, override the opening of the doors, put on his serious face, the one that made most of those who knew him just maginally know that that day, at that moment, he was not there to debate and he was, of course, there to shout very, very loudly and in that language that was so much his own, which consisted 90% of swear words. The door opened and, before his dark eyes even fell on the scientists .... Tzim-Shah was flying away. It was a strange sensation, as if his body was not his own, and, on top of that, in slow motion. What a cheap way to introduce drama, isn't it? But it gave time to see the pieces of shrapnel flying past him in a spectacular dance of glitter and shimmering sparks and black stuff and plasma smoke and something that was almost certainly scorched Tellarite hair and bits of a gold uniform. Slowly, in that sort of tremendously coruscating and coregraphiated ballet of a deliberate shockwave, Shah's body spun in the air, only to see a HUGE chunk of the deck break off and begin to whiz off the core or the ship, just to scatter into smaller and smaller bits into the space. Then, of course, he realized he was going the same damn way. Oh no, hell no. Oh, how he hated his job. He tried to stretch out a hand, but it didn't respond, because of course, there's nothing like being left-handed to have a sudden explosion decide that that's the hand that's going to screw you. Oh well, he' d use that useless right hand instead. Naturally, the slowed down time proved that it had just been gathering momentum and that this was the perfect time to speed up and start going at full throttle. Just perfect to recover the time lost, of course, and to ruin any chances the Tellarite might have of not venting himself out of the ship and meeting a mercifully quick death in that hopeless hole in space so that no one would ever find him, a Tellarite-shaped block of space ice spinning forever in the darkness among the stars. By his grandmother's beard, he really HATED HIS JOB that day. Then there was a flicker of lights, the blue-green force field sprang up to cover the gap in space, the artificial gravity returned in full force and Tzim-Shah found himself in freefall under a pile of floating debris in a race to kiss the floorplates. The good thing was that he was the winner. The bad thing was that all the debris fell on top of him. Worst of all, a piece of twisted duranium pierced a part of his anatomy that he didn't want to be pierced, not because he was particularly fond of it, but because it lodged a few bunch of vital organs. Organs that he was fond of and want to kept working, thankyouverymuch. Then came the pain. Luckily it didn't last too long because another piece of twisted metal hit him in the head, sending him to the painless realm of unconsciousness. He really hated his job that day. Ensign Tzim-Shah Security Officer USS Gorkon NCC-82293 simmed by Lt. Alieth Chief Science Officer randgri...@gmail.com USS Gorkon NCC-82293 E239702A10 Image Collective Facilitator /Art Director

Ah, Voyager. So much potential, so much waste... Caretaker was a great set up with Starfleet and Marquis at odds and forced to live and work together.

((Corliss and Loxley's Quarters, USS Gorkon, Before the Ceremony)) C. Fortune: And that is why I have Granny Josie's Cure and Tonic for Healthy Hair wrapped in foil around my head. She said this as solemnly as possible, said hair wet and clinging as it was wrapped up tight. It was then covered in a towel in a braid. Smog was laid out over her shoulders, curious over this new development considering the whole place was now, instead of smelling of garbage, was more of an uttaberry scent. Her brother took this in great stride. B. Fortune: This is fantastic, please tell me you haven't told anyone else so I can pass along photos. His grin took up the entirety of his face, a stark difference from the usual grumpy exterior he portrayed. His face was turning brighter and brighter the longer she stared back at him with a flat look, his shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles. C. Fortune: Don't. You. Dare. B. Fortune: Hey, only I am allowed to make your life misery and woe by tormenting you over your hair, 'Lissy. She felt like putting her head in her hands, but could not, as the tonic had turned her fingers bright red. This was payback for something she could not remember doing. C. Fortune: Look, I've already had a thing with mother- B. Fortune: Like a big thing? C. Fortune: Like she went off gallivanting with Loxley's mother and I've not heard hide nor hair of them! There was a hidden snort and 'hair' from the background behind her brother that they both ignored. She had flung her hands around as she spoke, returning them to her lap with a sigh before jerking them back up. She'd have to soak them. C. Fortune: Knowing them, they're trading childhood videos! B. Fortune: Oh dang, should've been more well-behaved. Oh well, too bad. Tell me more about this puppy though. She let out a slow sigh, a smile trying to pull at her lips. Her brother was the same as ever, thankfully. Still, she would put money on it; he'd torment Loxley somehow upon meeting the said doctor. Her scalp tingled and she reached up to start removing the towel. Smog chirped, before sliding around her shoulders and down into her lap as she talked. C. Fortune: Big ol' puppy. Very huge. Could eat your hand if you gave it. B. Fortune: If I gave it. I need my hands, 'Lissy. For, you know, hand...things. C. Fortune: ::she blinked.:: ...that was very convincing, I don't see how anyone could not believe that. He ignored her as she took off the foil slowly, dropping it in a bag to throw away. Her blonde hair was ragged, and scalp red and tingly, but she no longer smelled of garbage! She took up a comb to pull off most of the mixture, the wig next to her also tied up the same way. That would be her next victim. He kept looking down at one hand, eyebrows furrowing as cogs started turning before he held up his left hand. B. Fortune: This one. C. Fortune: Hm? B. Fortune: If I had a choice. I'd offer this hand. I think. That way I can give a 'mean right hook'. C. Fortune: Don't think it matters what hook you give them. B. Fortune: It matters! ::he turned, his current roommate relaxing on a nearby bed, reading a PADD.:: Hey, Lomski, it matters what hand for a mean right hook, right? Lomski: Only if you've got more than one right arm. B. Fortune: That's a disappointment, you know. I've only got the one since birth. Lomski: I don't make the rules, sir. She tuned them out for a moment, humming as she cleaned off the wig in front of her. The pink hair was darkened by the stain of the mixture, and she could see where it lightened up in places. Bother, she hoped that wouldn't happen to her real hair. For now she took up a spritz bottle and cranked on the hair dryer, startling Smog who squirmed around before peeking over the edge of the table, watching intently. Hmm. Could she make a dragon-sized wig? It wouldn't be impossible, they made doll hair all the time...yes...a dragon wig... She noticed her brother waving at her, so she turned off the hair dryer, waving it to cool off the end. C. Fortune: Did you figure out if you could gain another arm? B. Fortune: Too little too late, my skeleton wouldn't have it. ::he sighed sadly, shaking his head.:: Ah well, what can you do? C. Fortune: Purchase another? Here, Smog, ::she cooed, scooping the chirping dragon up from her lap and settling her on the now dry wig.:: You protect this one while I get dressed. B. Fortune: Oh yeah, shore leave gathering? C. Fortune: Mmhmm, and we were asked to wear our dress whites. So! Time to dig those out and make sure they too don't...smell. ::she made a face as he laughed, shaking his head.:: B. Fortune: Well, you go on and have fun. Don't die of hypothermia. I'd hate to have to interrupt Mom and her gallivanting about Earth. Corliss rolled her eyes, shaking her head in amusement as she stood up. Their mother could be as flighty as herself should something catch her eye, one of many traits they shared. All the same, she made a note to call their father. It had been a while since they last talked, but she remembered he'd been grumbling about the passing of the seasons and how the frost made everything less green and happy. She gave a small wave with a laugh. C. Fortune: We're headed to Luna this time, so no promises on not freezing! Hope to see you sometime. B. Fortune: You too, Liss. Hey, don't forget, the older folks are trying to get everyone together for the anniversary. She couldn't help the wince that happened. It had been nigh on 25 years, if a little less, since all of...that...happened. It was hard to do their normal funeral rites, not that Corliss or even Brommel would have remembered. They were barely school age at the time, the year feeling as watery as a painting. Still, the family had had a lot of deaths, none more so than the head of them all. Granny Josie. It was almost time for the gathering, and she and her brother had often been dragged along to it. It definitely wasn't the fact that she always felt judged by older aunts and uncles that she hated going. Not at all. Not one single bit. Well, it was only once every so often, right? Maybe she could duck out after an hour. She groaned, a hand slipping into her hair with a sigh. C. Fortune: I never did like going. B. Fortune: Could always plead out. Pattan does. C. Fortune: Pattan was born after she died. ::she pointed out, shaking her head.:: No, it's fine. If it happens during a mission, they'll understand. If it's during shore leave, I'll...just vid in, like usual. It's fine. Brommel merely shrugged. They had to be an 'example' of course, but the family understood their busy schedules at least. That wouldn't be for a little while longer, at least, so she had time. For now, she tutted, wagging a finger at him. C. Fortune: Anyway, I'm off! First a party, then a date, and then I'm back on shift! B. Fortune: You guys know what your mission is yet? C. Fortune: Yes, we're going to the planet made of nothing but uttaberries and rain water. I'm very excited. He let out a very put-upon sigh as she laughed, picking up Smog to let her wind around her neck again, chirping with her laugh. B. Fortune: I mean, I bet it would be delicious. C. Fortune: The residents would have you condemned for eating their prized berries. See you again, Boss man. B. Fortune: See you, weirdo. She had half a mind to throw something at the vid, but then that would knock off her wig so she just gave a 'harrumph' and flounced away, cooing at Smog who was absolutely thrilled with trying to bury herself in Corliss' hair. Now to get ready for tonight... Lieutenant Corliss Fortune Highest Quality Counsellor Brain USS Gorkon G239510CF0

Okay, less of a funny quote but, damn!, that's so evocative from Alieth: One more day stolen from death. One more life saved. A pile of misery and suffering and small miracles stored in a room that stretched as long as the night.

(( Corridors, USS Gorkon)) Cheesecake was a very very hungry dog. So hungry that she had done THINGS which had earned her the label of bad dog according to the voice on the walls. But she was not THAT. She was a very good girl, and that's what she was proving, more or less, with this new biped she'd met. One that had SOMETHING. Something that emanated a WONDERFUL smell. Other than the smell of kitchen. Cheesecake had learned early on that the smell of a kitchen was one of the best in the world and that, by extension, bipeds who spent a lot of time there tended to be some of her best friends. After all, many times a biped cooking would drop things on the floor, a circumstance that forced any canid present to perform one of the professions and duties that dogs had most zealously and professionally maintained for the longest time: being a quadrupedal hoover. So there she was, all puppy eyes and wagging tail, and that expression with a raised eyebrow that said she was understanding him but not quite. Watanabe: Woofuwoof! The biped seemed delighted! And he crouched down beside her and scratched her head, right there, right there where it made her hind leg move with a life of its own and scratch the air as she let her weight rest against that hand. But the high-performance scanner on the tip of her nose detected something more important. Meat, but better than that: CHEESE. Right there, on the edge of her muzzle, on the knee of the light-coated biped. Oh, but that tickled! Tan: Aww, I feel better already. And there wasn't even anything wrong! Just, you know, something about you just really calms the nerves, you know? He definitely liked this human, he knew how to scratch and had a pleasant voice. The kind that said nice things and cute nicknames. But food! But tickles! Ah! Let him keep scratching there, right in that spot where she couldn't manage to scratch herself. No! She had to focus! A new friend. A more very best friend, but food. And yet her tail wagged on its own and her paw kept scratching at the air, and the corners of her mouth pulled back into a comfortable, relaxed doggy smile with a tongue on one side. Watanabe: ::Absently:: arf! Another scrub, and a soft pat between the ears. Oh good, that biped was a keeper. The biped let out a sound, one that its handler never made, but that Cheesecake knew humans and other bipeds did. An animated, upbeat sound that she liked. Then he shifted position, and he unwrapped... THAT. The treasure. The best thing in the world. The object of his desire and hers. Food. And instinct won the day. Watanabe: CHOMP Hand, bread, vegetables, chicken, salami and cheese and everything else inverted between drooling canine jaws. Tan: Response Cheesecake blinked, almost as bewildered. She hadn't expected that, but there they were. There was nothing left to do but to go on to the end. Watanabe: grrrrrlll It wasn't even a very serious grunt. Not that deep sound that echoed deep in her chest and stomach, that ruffled her hair and pulled back her lips. No no, none of that, it was something lighter, a "come on mate, you know it' s mine, loosen up and let's be friends, after lunch I'll show you the big hole I've made in the arboretum". A friendly grunt. She even wagged her tail to let him know she was in a good mood. Tan: Response It looked like it wasn't going to work out that way, so Cheesecake pulled and pushed, and huffed and puffed... and the trill didn't let it go. So she began to pull and tug and pull and stretch and push and shove and drool until there was the pitiful sound of food breaking apart...... and a little tongue thrust sent the piece of sandwich into her stomach..... But the biped still had the rest. Watanabe: BORK! Tan: Response ================================= Crewman, 1st Class Cheesecake Watanabe A very good girl USS Gorkon NCC-82293 E239702A10 ================================= Reply all Reply to author Forward

“I know what you’re thinking, ’cause right now I’m thinking the same thing. Actually, I’ve been thinking it ever since I got here: Why oh why didn’t I take the blue pill?” - Cypher, ‘The Matrix'

((Hidden City, Darime IV)) There was a faint whirring sound as the light drew closer, a distinctly mechanical sound. As it got even closer Solomon was forced to close his eyes, it was simply to bright. Then the sound ceased, and a moment later the light vanished. Cautiously Solomon lowered his hands and opened his eyes. It was a sphere, roughly the size of his head, and glowing with a much softer light now. It was hovering a few meters in front of them, perfectly still and featureless, yet Solomon had the distinct feeling it was watching him somehow. Gilbert: ::Very quietly:: What’s it doing? Isaacs: ::Low,:: Nothing. It scanned you and then... stopped. Ico: Don't move Sol, it will eventually move away. He didn’t, and neither did the sphere, it simply floated, buzzing quietly and glowing faintly. Isaacs: Maybe we should try to communicate with it. We could use Ico’s tricorder to transmit the standard greetings? Ressan: ::Whispering,:: Good idea. Ico: ::nodding:: I-I, I can try. ::She looked up from the tricorder and looked at Sol's face and tried to pull together a reassuring smile.:: Maybe if I can find a band where it broadcasts more stable patterns then.... As she spoke, the buzz changed pitch, rising into a low growl. It was a rather irritating noise, one which found its way into the ear and shook everything loose. Solomon raised a hand to his ear, trying to work the sound out of his head. As she did so, a section of the sphere irised open. There was a flash, then it irised closed again and vanished. An intense feeling of cold radiated out of Solomon’s chest. Looking down he saw a curl of blue smoke rising from a hole in his chest, carrying with it the smell of melted fabric and charred flesh...his flesh. He heard a distant scream as he fell to his knees. Before he could topple over backward he felt hands grabbing him, easing him down as he struggled to breathe. He could taste blood on his tongue...his blood Isaacs: Hey, hey, you’re okay. We’ve got you. Gilbert: D...don’t...don’t lie to me...I’m n...not okay...there...is a hole...in my...chest. He coughed, blood leaking from his mouth, talking was hard when you were missing half your chest. With a long groan he craned his head around to find the other cadets. Ena was on her knees, openly weeping, Jack was standing, trying to act stoic and strong, but there were tears in his eyes too. Ressan: We feed the plants, the plants feeds us. Death's kiss is merely a change of state. Nothing taken, nothing lost. We shall see you soon, Cadet Solomon. Ico: Raka-ja ut shala morala... ema bo roo kana... uranak... ralanon Solomon... propeh va nara ehsuk shala-kan vunek... Their voices were faint, as though they were speaking to him from miles away. He smiled and extended a shaky hand toward them. They were praying for him. That was sweet. Nobody had ever been that sweet to him before. Gilbert: Don’t weep...Jack...keep them out of danger...Ena...keep them safe...Ryan...get them out of here...d...don’t weep...I...I think...I will sleep...see you on th...th...the oth...oth...other...ssssside… With a final rattling breath his outstretched hand fell to the ground and his eyes glazed over. And that was the end of Solomon Gilbert. END ----- Cadet Solomon Gilbert 4th Year Cadet Starfleet Academy Simmed by Lieutenant Piravao sh’Qynallahr Security Officer USS Gorkon G239311TM0

That is just a bit epic! Thank you to anyone who had a hand in creating this.

Congratulations, guys!

Loxley is breaking the theme by putting emphasis on the “casual” of “smart casual”

Congratulations @Wes Greaves And huge thanks to everyone who wrote, judged, and read all the entries!

Telstrus 3 had been home. It had also been hell, a prison, a betrayal. What it was now, Zill Tomox wondered, was an unknown. Her azure skin glowed as the sun sank lower in the sky, bathing the vast grass plains of Telstrus in golden light. Zill followed the old path, the steps familiar even after all this time, as it wound up the hill. Zill had been just twenty years old when she’d left Bolus in order to become a colonist. The thought of expanding the borders of the Federation, building a new world from the ground up, sowing the first seeds of something that would one day, far in the future long after she was gone, be a planet of billions taking its place in the UFoP – it was exciting. And they’d done so much. The planet had been home for ten years. The work had been hard but fulfilling. And when war had broken out between the Federation and Cardassion Union they’d not been important enough to be worried about it. But when the war ended the peace that followed destroyed everything. Zill reached the hilltop and sat on the bare rock, finding her old comfortable spot and gazing out at the view. The plains stretched for as far as she could see in every direction. She knew it went on for hundreds of miles, an unchanging sea of grass, gently undulating in the ever-present breeze. Waves forming, flowing, breaking. That constantly moving air was a feature of Telstrus 3, more so than on any other planet she’d visited. It was so prevalent, blowing across the vast open plains, it factored into every aspect of daily life here. The colonists had used it to help with their terraforming work and harnessed it for both power and play. But it had always seemed to have a mind of its own – usually playful, often stubborn, sometimes malevolent. She gave a little shiver and pulled her jacket a little tighter at that though. The wind. The traitor. “Why did you do it, Zill?” The voice came from behind her and she gave a sad smile, speaking without turning. “Aaron. I knew you’d be here. Nothing ever happened in this place without your knowledge. And I did it because I had to, you know that.” “Yes, but I want to hear you say it.” Zill sighed and nodded. Behind her there was the scrape of metal and the sound of a spark. A moment later and the familiar floral scent of Aaron’s cigarette drifted past her on the breeze. She could imagine the wind tousling his untidy blond hair and she smiled. “You see out there?” Zill pointed at some brightly-coloured specks in the distance. “Sail carts. Remember racing them?” “I remember you nearly killing us both.” His deep voice carried a sense of mirth. “Me?!” Zill laughed. “That was your fault and you know it. You’re the one who turned in front of me, there was no way I could avoid you!” “It wasn’t my fault, Zill, there was a sudden gust. You know what’s it’s like out there, how quickly the wind can change.” Zill nodded silently. Ah yes, the wind. Always the wind. She watched the sail carts for a while, watching them tacking across the plains for all the worlds like sailboats on a sea. And those winds! Sometimes they would play along, filling you with joy, almost taking your breath away with the intense speed, racing across the open, grassy oceans until all she could do was laugh at the sheer exhilaration. And other times the wind was sullen, needing to be coaxed to help, but that was better than the times it turned on you suddenly, that sudden burst of adrenaline as you had to fight it. Still, racing those sail carts had been part of Zill’s life here and she’d loved it as much as she’d loved Aaron. Sometimes the wind that filled their sails had left her as breathless as he had done on many a night. “I missed the wind, you know.” She was speaking to herself now. “It was one of the things that brought me back here, why I joined the Marquis. When the Cardassians came and took our colony, our homes, it was the wind that I missed the most. It has always made this place feel so free, yet they took it from us and the Federation let them.” Aaron remained silent as she continued. “So when you came to me and said we could fight to take it back, you knew I would never say no. I just didn’t realise how long it would take.” “The Marquis needed us to do other things first, Zill. There were a lot more places more important than Telstrus, more strategic targets, and they needed to use everyone they had.” “I know, I know.” The Bolian sighed. “And I expected it to take time, but three years? That was a long wait…” Again, silence fell over the hilltop as the wind rippled the grass around them. The sail carts were out of sight now, vanishing in the direction of the buildings of the new colony. “Three years was long enough to make this planet a home for the Cardassians that came after us. Time enough for them to make families here.” Zill paused. “I wonder if they raced the wind like we did?” “Doubtful.” Aaron’s voice was darker now, angry. “And this was our home, not theirs. Everything they built was on top of our foundations.” “That didn’t mean they should die!” “They weren’t supposed to die, Zill! Nobody was. They were just supposed to… leave.” There was a deep sigh. It could have been regret, or it could have just been a gust over the exposed stones. “It was an accident, you know that as well as I do. The fire was only supposed to destroy their crops and with the Marquis disrupting supplies, they would have been forced to leave the planet. And then we could just come home.” “I know what the plan was, Aaron. I know what was supposed to happen. But we didn’t account for the wind, did we? Ten years living here we should have known.” She gestured to the air around them. “It has always been capricious, and it turned on us that night. It betrayed us.” She didn’t have to explain further, they both knew what had happened then. The Marquis team, all former Telstrus colonists, had landed in the middle of the night with a mission to raze the fields and burn the food stores in order to force the Cardassian interlopers out. They’d planted incendiary explosives and set them off, the flames spreading across the fields and everything was going as planned. But then the wind changed. It was if the planet had decided to get involved - a sudden strong wave front came up from the south, completely unexpected, and had fanned the flames straight into the colony. The high winds created a firestorm that had lit up the place like daylight in hell. Zill, Aaron and the others had watched helplessly from this very hill as the place burned. They watched some Cardassians try to fight the fire, others try to flee from it. They watched them all die as their cries fluttered across the landscape. Zill had refused to move after that. Aaron had tried to convince her, of course, pleading for over an hour until the sky started to glow with the dawn light and it was too dangerous for them to remain. They could have stunned her or overpowered her but Aaron had seen the look in her eyes and knew. And so he had led the others back to the shuttle and Zill had stayed here, watching the smoke drift over the plains in the morning sun. The Cardassian military patrol found her a day later when they arrived. She was arrested immediately and imprisoned in one of the burnt-out buildings, having to endure the scent of the smoke and feel the wind blow through the ruined walls, as if it was mocking her. She told the Cardassians everything, then. They didn’t even have to threaten her, she volunteered it all, everything she knew about the Marquis and about their mission. Anything that could prevent something like this from happening again. She betrayed her friends just as the wind of Telstrus 3 had betrayed them. “I’m not proud of it Aaron. I wasn’t praised, or treated as a hero, if that’s what you thought. They still found me responsible for the deaths and they kept me imprisoned here. In fact they added a cell just for me when they rebuilt the place so I could serve my time here, on this planet, looking out on these plains and remembering everything I saw that night.” She gave a bitter laugh. “There was no glass on the window, only bars, so the wind was always there, always present. Always reminding me.” Zill ran a blue hand over her bare scalp before continuing. “And I served my sentence the same as everyone else in this prison that was once home.” There was another sound from behind her then, one she knew well. Aaron’s phaser was a battered old Federation type-2, the sort of Starfleet surplus that always made its way to colonists, and it made a distinctive sound as he drew it from his holster. “You know what has to happen now, Zill. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Zill nodded sadly and closed her eyes. But of course he didn’t shoot her. He couldn’t. Aaron Duncan had died when Cardassian soldiers had raided the hideout of his Marquis cell, acting on information Zill had given them. She’d heard that they were taken by surprise, nobody even had a chance to draw a weapon let alone use it. So they’d surrendered. And then the Cardassians had executed Aaron as an example, a disruptor to the back while he was on his knees. She often wondered if he’d known how they’d been discovered – likely he had, not much escaped his attention. The sun was down past the horizon now and it was getting darker. The wind blowing across the hilltop had taken on a distinct chill. Zill sighed as she reached into her coat pocket and wrapped her hand around the cold metal object within, pulling it out and holding it up in the last light of dusk. It was an old phaser, Aaron’s phaser. Getting hold of it had not been easy, in fact it had taken her all the time since she’d been released from prison just to track it down. But she knew what had to happen now. Darkness fell on the colony of Telstrus 3. Darkness that was briefly lit by the flare of an energy weapon. And then there was nothing but the wind.

((Chief of Operations Office, Deck 13, USS Gorkon)) Tap tap tippity-tap Jona sat hunched over his desk idly tapping his thumb on its shiny raven surface. A quick glance let him know that ten more minutes had passed since he'd last looked and he gave a low sigh. The shift was beginning to drag and he stole a brief glance out his office window to the starbase's lengthy form outside. He'd promised himself that he'd make time to visit DS224 again before the ship was called away on its next assignment. His gaze returned to the PADD and he scrolled down with the singular swipe upward of a pointer finger. Tap tap tippity-tap Apparently the counselor and doctor had come across quite the haul on the starbase. The good doctor had submitted a special request for the beaming of some extra large items to the ship. The Andorian Ops Chief didn't see any issues with that as long as it wasn't hazardous to the Gorkon. ch'Ranni: Wait, wha-? A castle? The manifest listed a castle! No way. Absolutely not. His finger stood ready to trigger the reject button but he hesitated. He'd have to double check that. Surely, there was some mistake. A quick inspection of the request details listed the item with a large, but not unmanageable, weight. He deduced it must be a miniature version of the real thing. As he checked the approval button and forward the order to the Cargo Bay techs, he wondered if it was a gift for the little red fire-breather Loxley had introduced to him. ch'Ranni: Smug? Smoogle? He shook his head once and decided it didn't really matter but made a mental note to find out for sure. The creature had definitely given him the evil eye but Jona tried to not hold it against the diminutive dragon. The creature deserved a nice little kingdom to command. Maybe he could even replicate a few tritanium figurines for the castle - get in the lizard's good graces. Tap tap tippity-tap Becoming annoyed at the sound of his own drumming thumb on the desktop, Jona shifted in his seat and moved the electronic tablet to his other hand as he moved on to the next item. The two crates of stem bolts had arrived from Starbase 118. The seismic stabilizers for Delta Doradus III, the spare ablative armor plates, everything seemed to be in order. Inventory check complete. The Azetbur was back from its refurbishing visit to the base and right where it should be - nestled up against the saucer section. He nodded approvingly at the technician's report. They had even managed to fix the annoying squeak in the [...]pit door, not to mention removal of every last vestige of the garish green paint on her hull. ch'Ranni: Excellent. Ready for her next adventure. Tap tap tippity-tappity tap Jona let out another breath and rose from his chair. He arched his back and stretched as if he were a Caitian sunning himself in the beam of sunlight entering the nearest window. Maybe another cup of raktajino wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. ch'Ranni: Raktajino, hot, with cream and double sugar. The food slot coalesced particles of inert matter into the requested beverage and he took a testing sip. The warm liquid hit his bloodstream and made his eyes open just a touch wider, banishing the tiredness from his brain. He walked slowly to his bookshelf by the window and pulled out his most recent acquisition. Emily Dickinson. A few minutes looking it over wouldn't hurt. In fact, it might clear his brain even further. It would also give him a little small talk to bring up with Meru the next time they saw each other. The [...] leather cover, a dark blue, weathered thing, fell open of its own accord and he began reading the words on the cream colored paper ch'Ranni: Hope is the thing with feathers / That perches in the soul, / And sings the tune without the words, / And never stops at all The prose was haunting, chilling even. And that was saying something for an Andorian like Jona. He returned the book to its spot on the shelf with the few other books stacked there. Taking another sip of his steamy drink, the department chief returned to his chair and swiveled it from side to side distractedly as if the ship were being rocked by an invisible salvo of phaser fire. The author was clearly trying to evoke a comparison of hope to a free-flying bird. He mused between sips of dark drink that having hope could be uplifting and freeing to the mind. Just the promise of good was enough to keep one reaching forward, battling the wind and gravity that threatened to beat it down. Still, the poem had an edge of sadness that juxtaposed its earnestness. Sadness. Tap tap tippity-tap He grabbed up the copy of Helmsman Today and flipped it open to the spread on the center page. Interesting. An advertisement for the Centauris' Cup. That was the biannual race Jo had mentioned a few weeks ago. Would the admiral really be open to entering the Gorkon in the event? She could certainly give any other ship out there a run for their latinum. He threw the magazine down on the reflective, inky desk and paused to look at his reflection in its perfect sheen. What was he doing? Tap tap tippity-tappity tap Jona's left hand moved slowly to the drawer on the desk. It hovered for a second as if it was deciding whether it was safe to proceed. Then, ever so slowly, his long thin fingers found the activation keys which unlocked the compartment. He pulled the wood and glass rectangle from the drawer and rested it in his lap. The smiling face of the young woman - with cornflower blue skin and face framed by snow white hair cascading to her shoulders - gazed back up at him. Her expressive antenna poked through her hair and emoted the joy that the snapshot in time had captured. Jona ran a finger across the glass to remove a bit of dust that had landed there. His lips thinned to a slight frown and a tightness formed in his shoulder blades. Why had the gods broken them apart? What did he do to deserve that cruel weight? Where were the fluttering wings of hope to be found in that stark reality? A single drop of rain landed on the picture's glass protector and Jona determined there must be something incredibly wrong with the environmental systems to allow for such condensation. He wiped the remaining tear from the corner of his eyes and placed the framed picture back in its drawer. ch'Ranni: ::whispering:: Miss you, Vexa. ::closing his eyes and even more softly after a long pause:: Maybe one day. -- Lt. Commander Jona ch'Ranni Chief of Operations USS Gorkon (NCC-82293) C239510JC0

The Eugenics Wars I’d be very interested to know more about, but I’m not sure it would make for a good show. Perhaps a bit too murdery. But some Khan origins would be pretty epic. The Romulan Wars get my vote - it’s a period that feels overlooked in the shows and with the Romulan love of intrigue it wouldn’t have to be purely about shooting each other in the face, I think there would be scope for some very interesting stuff.