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@TAma's assimilation was very fun to read (as has everyone's been so far, of course). It's a very quick transition, almost a blink-and-you'll-miss-it, but I think it works very well, especially considering the backstory she has with her step-father and Vulcan family. And what a bold move to make (as a drone), shooting her new captain almost as soon as she was aboard! PS: leaving the OOC note, as it cracked me up.

A great sim by @Alieth as the Ronin's loveable Cheesecake. I love this puppers.

[Dramatic music swells] 😆 ((CO’s Ready Room – USS Narendra)) Sal Taybrim was blissfully busy assisting Administrator Cass, and working to push forward her application for Miri 4’s Federation membership. He was due to meet with Cass in four hours and wanted to get the majority of the paperwork already done before he checked in with the Bolian. Little did he know that he would never make that meeting. He was focusing on his paperwork, and not especially paying attention to the fact that his requests directly to Starfleet Command were lagging. He had checked the time zone and wrote this off as being in the middle of the night at first. But as night turned to day, and he still had no replies, he started to have a nagging sense that something was wrong. A well-honed sense of low key paranoia borne from years of dealing with danger. And then the call came in. The official Starfleet seal. Sal’s head jerked up – it had been years since he had seen that, and his requests to expedite some paperwork hardly required that level of formality and secrecy. The emblem faded, replaced by a stony face Admiral, whose wrinkled cut through his frown like rivulets worn into stone. Steel grey hair and steel grey eyes completed the picture. Banks: Commodore Taybrim. This is Rear Admiral Banks of Starfleet Command. You have immediate orders to report to Sol sector with the USS Narendra. Sal diplomatically pursed his lips to stop himself from saying anything untowards. Taybrim: May I ask what is the nature of this order? Banks: Urgent Starfleet security matters. You and your crew will report to Sol sector, immediately. He understood the nature of classified missions, but he also had a shockingly high Starfleet clearance. Taybrim: Will we receive more information en route? Banks: No. And that was that. The rest of the conversation was even less enlightening, just a confirmation of the orders, the time table, the requested course, and then a black screen. Suspicious. So very suspicious. That’s when he decided to check the low frequency communicator. Oh. Oh no. There was a waiting message from Commander Dal. Hearing Hauke’s suspicions, the communications blackout and the additional information steeled his reserve. He was going to disobey orders… by following orders. They were going to Sol sector, but now how they were told. They were going to investigate this. And he didn’t have much time. Taybrim: =/\= Taybrim to Fairhug=/\= Fairhug: =/\= ? Taybrim: =/\= I need you to gather the crew and pull everybody back to the Narendra.=/\= Fairhug: =/\= ? Taybrim: =/\= Something has gone wrong. I will fill you in when you’re onboard. =/\= Fairhug: =/\= ? He sent a message to the crew asking them to return, and a message to Solaris McLaren to join the discussion between himself and Commander Fairhug. Something was afoot in Starfleet… ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ Commodore Sal Taybrim Commanding officer StarBase 118 Ops

NPC's make up the backbone of our supporting cast of characters and it's a true joy when two of the, both from the rarely explored Starfleet JAG corp, get together and produce something delightfully unique. Incredible stuff from @Marty Tucker & @Nolen Hobart! ========================== ((Interior, Sickbay, Habitat Module, Deep Space 33, the Alpha Isles)) On a frontier starbase, a Starfleet judge advocate officer had to wear many hats, and often found themselves visiting strange places in strange capacities. Just as frequently, they found themselves visiting familiar places but wearing a variety of hats. Some days, a visit to sickbay might be for the purpose of taking testimony from a victim. Others, a toxicology report, or securing some other kind of expertise of one of the station's doctors. On the worst days, he called upon a coroner. But this was none of those days. Today, Lieutenant Dukul Nibar, the six-foot-something Cardassian whose demeanor oscillated between “gruff” and “sarcastic” with an alarming frequency, was there in his capacity as colleague and friend. At a frontier posting, politics and history didn't last long in the face of duty and camaraderie, and whatever roadbumps he'd encountered as a newly-assigned Lieutenant Junior Grade had been worn down by the banality of day-to-day obligations. And Jack Morrow had been a part of that, before he'd been transferred to the Ronin. Nibar: ::quiet, condescending:: Jackie, you've got it all backward again. Jack was taken aback by the unexpected sight of the large Cardassian; he hadn’t anticipated any visitors. A part of him wanted to dismiss Nibar so he could wallow in his misery. He was currently reliant on a wheelchair, as his prosthetic wouldn’t be ready for a few days, leaving him to endure some wheelchair jokes. Morrow: ::eyebrow raised:: How so? Dukul waved a pale hand at the stump that used to be Morrow’s leg, and flexed a scaly brow. Nibar: When they say a good lawyer will cost an arm and a leg, they're talking about the client's. Jack put his face in his palm. Cardassians weren’t known for their sense of humor, and now he knew why. It’s probably why you don’t see many Cardassians doing stand-up comedy. Morrow: ::he smirked:: Hardy, har, har….Did you pay a Ferengi for that joke? Because I think you’ve been robbed. Jack shifted in his bed slightly; he couldn’t get over the fact that it felt like his leg was still there. Doctor Beck said this would probably happen, and it would happen for a while. Jack thought it was downright creepy. A part of him wanted to just curl up in a ball and shut out the world, but the more dominant part of his brain was waging war against depression and anxiety. And if he was honest with himself, the depression and anxiety were winning in spades. Nibar: ::wry smile:: Bulk discount. You don't want to hear the others. Dukul thought it was a pretty good joke, all things considered. But, then, he still had both his legs. His smile faded as he looked the man over. Something was missing beyond his limb. Morrow: ::forcing a smile:: I bet. Dukul snapped his fingers in realization. He had not come empty handed, but he'd been advised to hold off on bringing it in by the attendant at the front desk. There were ways to deal with a traumatized patient, and his gift, they said, was not a recommended one. But they didn't know Morrow that way. Didn't know lawyers. Booze was always the recommended gift. Nibar: Hold that thought. Got something for you. Morrow: Something for me? You shouldn’t have… Jack was now curious to know what Dukul had given him; what do you get for a guy who had just lost a limb? The JAG stepped away from Morrow’s biobed, and spied the bottle and glasses he'd stashed with a PADD under a waiting room chair. Before any of the administrative staff could object, he made for the pile and, in half as many strides, made his way back. Nibar: ::setting the glasses down, examining the label:: “Kentucky” Bourbon has to come from Kentucky, right? This comes from the moon. Legend has it that some two hundred years ago, some fool gifted an acre on the moon to the local government in Lexington. Deed’s still there, symbolic, and now they brew this: “Moonshine.” Name’s confusing as hell, but there you go. He handed the bottle over to Jack for his approval, like a waiter in some high class restaurant. The Cardassian hadn't been to his hometown on Earth in years, but his rarely-mentioned mother was adept at procuring curiosities from the Sol system. And Dukul figured Jack could use the spirits. Jack took the bottle to look it over; he was pretty knowledgeable about bourbon, a connoisseur. And in all his years collecting, he’d heard about this - but to this point in his life had never come across being a 200-plus-year-old bourbon didn’t come cheap either. Morrow: Holy crap man, this is rare of the rare, do you know how rare this stuff is? He ran his hand over the label, feeling the raised letters that read Moonshine. He waggled his eyebrows at Nibar and twisted open the bottle. He ran the bottle underneath his nose taking in the surprisingly oaky brew, with a hint of, something that Morrow couldn’t put his finger on. Morrow: Do I want to know how you came across such a find? He was sure the Cardassian would play it close to his vest. He only wanted to know so he could seek it out in the future, and from what he heard, the Chief Engineer of the Ronin was good at redistributing goods; at least, that was the rumor. It pays to keep your ear to the ground, and no one pays attention to the lawyer. By intentional strategy (and natural survival instinct) Lieutenant Nibar had rarely mentioned his mother. Not to Morrow, nor to anyone else. He’d alluded from time to time that she existed, as she must have for him to have been born, but beyond that he had very little to say about the woman who left Cardassia in the first war against the Federation. She was crafty, and if he ever was caught talking about it, any number of ears might catch wind of it, and anyone from Starfleet Intelligence to the Obsidian Order remnants, to his mother herself would learn of his loose lips, and trouble would surely follow. Nibar: I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill myself. ::wink:: oO Yup, Cagey. Oo Morrow: I feel like I should have gotten you a bottle of Kanar. ::he smiled:: Jack noticed the two glasses and poured two fingers of bourbon into each. Morrow swirled the whiskey in the glass, taking in its amber color. He lifted the glass to his nose, taking in the hints of moss, vanilla, and spicy cinnamon. Dukul picked up the small glass and held it up to look at. He was gracious that Morrow chose to share his first pour, though in hindsight the glasses made it something of a faux pas to do anything but. Nibar: Truth be told, I don’t think anyone does anything more than tolerate kanar. ::beat:: There are few places in the galaxy where you can drink yourself sillier than on Earth. Jack raised his glass and clinked it against Nibar’s. He first put it to his nose to take in the earthy scents, even though it was made on the moon. He then took a gentle sip, enjoying the caramel color liquid as it slid down his throat with a slight burn. Morrow:::smiling over the rim of the glass:: This is smooth. I like it. Thank you, Dukul. Nibar nodded, and pulled from his own glass. What Jack needed to do, was get out of the infirmary; he’d wheel his arse all over the station if that meant getting out of his bed and ditching the doctors. Right now he was still waiting on his prosthetic leg, top of the line from what he heard, it's great the information you can get when you’re not asleep, yet they think you are. Nibar: Yeah, not bad. It felt good to see Morrow perk up. Even though he'd transferred away, once he was given supervision over the entire JAG office on DS33, the Lieutenant felt a sort of responsibility over all the Starfleet lawyers in the Alpha Isles. He weighed the half-empty glass in his fingers. Jack smiled at the Cardassian. It was good to see a familiar face. He was still getting used to the crew he worked alongside on the Ronin and hadn’t met anyone yet unless you count the XO, Rox, and Doctor Beck. Morrow: I need to get out of this dump; find me a wheelchair if you would please. ::he smiled:: He tipped back the last of the bourbon in his glass and set it down next to the bottle. Nibar: The station’s about the same as you saw it last, Jack. You that desperate for a change of scenery? It was true Jack needed out of the bio-bed and quick, he was going to go crazy just sitting on his arse all day until they presented him with his new leg, and he had honestly thought about a Klingon one, as that was Rox’s suggestion. Morrow: I was thinking about a Klingon leg, whatcha’ think? Nibar: ::taken aback:: I think you’d have a hell of a time taking one off a Klingon in your current state. Jack laughed, and it felt good. Morrow: Touche’ Nibar: You know, rumor has it that the CMO on Arrow was a crackpot about prosthetic limbs. I think she got transferred to the Khitomer. Might be worth a trip. Morrow: Anything to get back on my feet, I’ll have to reach out to her and see if she’s available to take a look and see what she can do if she’s as good as you say. He’d take a W any way he could. Jack wasn’t the type to just sit by. He wanted to be working, not wasting time sitting on a bio-bed, especially on DS33. He wanted, not needed to get back to work, he was still looking up the Ronin’s last mission taking on the Tholians and the fact the Ronin had kept one on board this entire time and escaped his confines during the attack from Wrath and the Consortium. Dukul nodded and swept his reptilian gaze around the room until he spied a collapsible hover chair tucked into a corner. It looked disused, and if it had been anywhere else but Sickbay, he imagined it would have had a full centimeter-thick layer of dust. Nibar: ::fetching the chair:: You know, this wasn't entirely a personal visit. Got a puzzle at the office, and I thought maybe you could use the work. Jack watched as the large Cardassian looked around for an anti-grav chair. Morrow: Anything to kill the boredom. Like I said, I need out of here and soon. So sterile and sickbay has always given me the hibbejibbies. ::he shuttered:: Nibar crouched and searched for the interface on the large, white device that would open it up and engage the anti-gravity repulsors. After a solid ninety curse-muttered seconds, he found it. A chime announced the activation, and he stepped back to marvel. Nibar: Ain't that a thing. Morrow: ::Lacing his fingers behind his head:: Ya know, my niece could’ve done that in a fraction of the time it took you to figure the contraption out. And she’s five. ::he laughed.:: The Cardassian grabbed the grips at the top of the seat back and maneuvered the empty chair next to Morrow’s biobed. He thought of offering to help but imagined it might be a smidge insulting. Jack stared at the chair for a minute. He wasn’t waiting for help, instead contemplating that until he got his new leg, he would be stuck in one of these monstrosities. But it was it was, and using his arms, he picked himself up and slid over to the chair. It took a couple of seconds of Jack fidgeting to get comfortable. Nibar: Grab that PADD, and let's blow this popsicle stand. Jack grabbed the padd he’d had been looking at it and placed it on his lap. He looked over the small LCARS display and accessed the controls. He took a second to familiarize himself with the controls, and once satisfied, he moved the chair forward. Morrow: ::looking over his shoulder at Nibar:: Do, try to keep up.::he grinned:: The chair lurched forward a bit too much, almost sliding Jack out of the chain and onto the ground in front of him, and that would be very embarrassing. Dukul stood rod straight and folded his arms, bemused. He was sure Jack would get the hang of it, but he hoped the man wouldn’t have to. He’d seen limbs regrown, but that was when there was something to build off of. For Jack, it’d have to be a prosthetic, but he knew fitment and fabrication didn’t take that long. Or, rather, the optimist in him insisted it wouldn’t. Nibar: Easy, there, Seabiscuit. Morrow: Alright, let's try that again. ::a waggle of eyebrows:: And get out of here before anyone notices. ::devilish grin:: This time, Jack was slightly more gentle on the controls, and the chair moved forward. They made for the exit, Jack looking to see if any nurses were paying attention and how much trouble he would be in for leaving without permission. Nibar: Don’t worry, I bribed the guards. ::wink:: There’s a shift change in five minutes, and that’s our chance. It’s two hours to the border, and then we’re free. They continued out of sickbay and into the small crowd of people milling about. Most gave Jack a wide berth with the chair, and some gave him looks. It wasn’t helping in his trying to ignore the stump, and move forward. There was nothing he could do now; what’s done is done. But the thought of talking to that Doctor on the Khitomer was something he couldn’t wait to do, but first, it seemed Dukul had something in mind. Morrow: So, do you care to share this with the class? Jack looked up at the Cardassian, who looked like whatever it was; he was playing it close to the vest, which was a Cardassian trademark. Dukul took a deep breath. What he had wasn’t solid, but it was troubling in the “something doesn’t seem quite right here” sort of way that a series of innocent coincidences might add up to something sinister-looking, if one squinted. NIbar: Second file on that PADD. ::waiting for Jack to review, walking slower:: Khitomer transferred the prisoners it brought back, the folks who stole the Arrow. I was chasing down how they came to be on Deep Space 33. In the lead-up to Frontier Day, with reduced resources here on the station, Serinus wanted to run background checks on all new transferees, which these guys posed as. Morrow: Yeah, you have to run background; it’s SOP. Nibar: That’s the thing, he didn’t run the check on these people at all. Or, rather, he couldn’t. Dukul stopped in the nearly empty corridor. He looked this way and that. Cardassians were infamous for being conspiratorially-minded, a trait which Nibar might have taken as a racist insult if the good reasons for it weren’t so numerous. Even though he’d grown up on Earth and hadn’t set a single foot on his ancestral planet, something felt wrong here. He was glad to have someone he could trust to discuss it with, someone as sharp as Jack Morrow. He scanned through the PADD; things weren’t adding up; there was a set procedure for taking prisoners, and protocols dictated having to run background checks on everyone. It was simply what you did; the fact he didn't, or rather couldn't, could indicate outside influence, but maybe it was just glossed over, maybe deleted by mistake? Unlikely, but the question had to be asked. Morrow: ::scratching his wild hair:: Maybe they just glossed over them or already had them on file, so they didn’t need to be run again? It’s the break in protocol that bugs me. Nibar: No, not clean. Not inconclusive. Outright refused. Declined. “Return to Sender” kind of thing. He was in the middle of drafting a second request when they up and stole the Arrow. And from the sounds of it? They were aiming to spark a war. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and Jupiter's finger. Morrow: Like the Alliance needed to be prodded into war, they already declared in the Isles. And the last I checked, there are only two ships in this region, the Khitomer, and the Ronin, who will not participate in Frontier days; we’re running shotgun. Jack looked at the PADD swiped a few times, and looked back up at the large Cardassian. Morrow: Could this be related to that? Have you run this up the chain yet? Nibar: Up the chain to who? The stop order came from the chain. Morrow: ::sighing::Figures, you butter me up with rare bourbon and know it seems we’re hip deep into something. We’re just JAGS. Shouldn’t we pass this off to Starfleet Intelligence? This could swiftly go above their pay grades combined. It was still baffling to Jack that he was refused when checking on the prisoners' identities. Dukul was right; there was something rotten in Denmark. For his part, Dukul wondered how to respond to the question. He hadn't. And he wasn't sure if he should have. The Centauran might have a perspective to add to this, as the Cardassian was NIbar: ::hushed tones:: Who's to say it's not Intelligence, too? Morrow: ::nodding in agreement:: Good call. You’re probably right. Nibar: I don't know what to do, Jack. Am I crazy? This seems too much for a coincidence, doesn't it? Jack furrowed his brow and then looked up at his Cardassian colleague. Morrow: First off no, you’re not and second there’s no such thing as a coincidence. Nibar smiled thinly. They were just a pair of low-ranking JAGs, but they were kind of out there on their own, together. There weren't large staffs, even before three quarters of the station’s personnel vacated for Frontier Day. If they didn’t dig into this, it might go unnoticed. Nibar tried not to show his worry, as the thought that this might have been intentional crossed his conspiratorial mind, too. Nibar: Don't worry about it too much. I'll chase it down. If you know anybody in Intel you trust for sure, send me their info and I'll talk to them. Morrow: Intel and trust in the same sentence; I’d rather turn my back on a rabid Targ than trust the people in Intel. So, no, I don’t have inroads there, unfortunately. Smiling more broadly, Dukul looked down the corridor. The docking arm connected to Khitomer would be just two sections down, and Ronin back the other direction. They reached the junction of either heading back to the Ronin or going to the Khitomer and talking with Doctor Ohnari about a new leg. He didn’t really want to burden either doctor aboard the Ronin; this is just something that he needed to do for himself, and Dukul had supplied him with a great reference. Nibar: Go on ahead, Khitomer’s just that way. I'll go back and get your bourbon sent to your quarters. He smiled up at the large Cardassian. Jack's thoughts were a jumble of the data the Dukul had given him and the promise of replacing his left leg. The day was filled with possibilities. Morrow: I appreciate it Dukul. That was some top shelf hooch. Nibar: Keep the PADD. Let me know if you see anything interesting. Oh and remember! Morrow: When I return to the Ronin, I will send you some files we got from the Consortium. If you know what I mean, they might pique your interest. Nibar: The client’s leg, man. Morrow: Uhh…Sure? With that swimming in his head, he made his way to the Khitomer and Doctor Ohnari, who had no clue a strange officer from another ship was showing up on her doorstep without advanced knowledge. He sighed as he propelled the chair forward towards the Khitomer. With a wink, Dukul took off back towards the station’s sickbay. He didn't know if the puzzle would help keep Morrow in good spirits. But the man was sharp, and a second set of eyes would be welcome. If there was a conspiracy to steal the Arrow that reached to active Starfleet personnel, it would be hard to track down and prove. Together they might be able to get enough documentation to build a case. Lt. Nibar just worried there wasn't going to be a second attempt. Or worse, that they'd accomplished whatever it was they wanted in the first. NT/End ——— Lieutenant Dukul Nibar Judge Advocate Officer Deep Space 33 Written by Lt. Commander Nolen Hobart Executive Officer USS Khitomer (NCC-62400) A240001NH3 And Lt. JG Jack Morrow JAG USS Ronin - NCC-34523 D240008MT1 Simmed by: ------- Lt. JG Marty Tucker Chief Of Engineering USS Ronin NCC-34523 Capt. Karrod Niac Commanding D240008MT1

@Karrod Niac making me giggle and inspiring me to write a dumb post

I wanted to take a moment to appreciate the thought that went into this particular sim from Ensign Tasen. While it's not anything extraordinary from Tasen, she has proven time and again to have a firm connection with her character - showing us how she thinks and why she acts the way she does. In this sim, we really get to see just how scared Gwen is, and why she is able to push through! Thank you for your amazing writing, and I look forward to more from you! "Ensign Gwen'ora Tasen - Back to the Fray"

Karen's musings crack me up. IC: (( Operations Center, Deck 7, USS Octavia E Butler )) Counselor personal log -- What about the yellow alerts? Was it the color? A green alert would have made no sense, orange? Not really. Yellow was universally considered a warning cry: "Attention! Attention! Danger approaching!" It wasn't red, but it was close. A warning, a presentiment of impending threat. Like saying, "Hey, watch out! It's going to turn red soon and you'll have to take action to avoid the worst: jump, brake, swerve to dodge a meteor, raise your shields to defend yourself, or fire to avoid being annihilated." In short, it was clear as day that the yellow alert could easily turn into a synonym for ANXIETY. Only experience could help one manage the stress of yellow alerts. After hundreds of yellow alerts with no consequences, it was inevitable to relax a bit and not worry too much. After all, this was the star fleet: invincible, indestructible! Or was it? Tell that to the USS Columbia, whose wreckage still roamed empty space, a tombstone in the cold, icy void of the cosmos. -- End log. Caras: Yellow Alert!? Are we in danger? Do we need to start working faster? Did we follow the Unity Dow’s exact path, it’s possible we didn’t get whatever they got? If they got something. ::beginning to work quicker:: Arlill: I'm concerned about what happened to the Unity. If that happens to the OEB, how do we know we'll be any more successful than they were? At least with the shields up, we may block whatever happened to them. Stendhal: Don't worry at this point is just a precaution. Is just to let everyone know that there may be a potential danger out there. I suggest to start to worry when is all getting red and the Captain order to abandon the Ship immediately... Richards: Response Caras: ::Casually:: Counselor, how do you usually advise people to be calm in a red alert let alone a yellow. oO This is my first actual yellow alert on a ship in StarFleet. Possibly the first yellow alert on a ship that wasn’t due to my tampering Oo Stendhal: Ensign Caras, it's natural to feel a bit nervous during a yellow alert, but it's crucial to channel that energy constructively. Focus on your breathing, steady, deep breaths can center your thoughts. Remember, alerts are precautionary measures; they help us stay prepared. Trust in your training and the crew. Karen gazed at Caras. Did he feel judged? Why? Here, no one judged anyone; they were a team! Caras: That is. That is….. Good. Counselor after we’re done here I think I'm going to need to schedule an appointment. (beat) Just A few more Important adjustments. What’s going on out there by the way? Stendhal: An appointment? A date or a counselling session? Well nevermind! Karen looked at Morro, suppressing a laugh. After all, Betazoids were quite open about it, and how could they not be? Knowing others’ thoughts instantly. She had discovered that it wasn’t the same for all other races; in fact, many other races were quite closed about it. Even the word ‘appointment’ for her could have different implications, and even ‘date’. Richards: Response Arlill: Something wrong ensign? Caras: Nothing is wrong, so far as I can tell sir. ::looking to Karen:: Just a counseling appointment… A date? I wouldn’t want to cause a conflict of interest of anything, that is not a “no” I just..::he trailed off::. oO A date!? Did it sound like I was asking her out? Was I using the Orion charm? How did that happen?Oo oO The Orion charm!? Maybe was it! Oo Arlill: Okay, but you'll let us know if any of you feel off. We need to avoid whatever happened here, so let's try to stay focused. Stendhal: I agree, stay focused is really crucial! Caras: Agreed, ::he dove back under the floor panels:: This should be the last one right here. Richards: Response Arlill: What is that? Arlill: Let’s see if we can pull that up. Stendhal: That sounds promising! Arlill: Great! (beat) I mean, I think there’s a log here with some sensor data in it, we need to look into why this was possibly sent, what’s unique about it, why did someone take so much careful effort to send this hidden in the other logs. Stendhal: That can be the answer for sure, the sensor data may tell us about the thing out there, whatever it is! What caused the problems in the other ship the USS Dutywow Unity whatever is called... Caras: ::Laughing at the name Karen gave the lost ship:: Dutywow, an ironic name given that its duty was a rather boring assignment. There is hidden sensory data? That certainly reeks of sabotage, or at least conspiracy. oOFinally! Sabotage! My specialty.Oo. Richards: Response. Caras: Richards and I are done here, Lieutenant. Once we have the backup of that data, Richards can begin the decryption and we can fault over to secondary systems to observe the raw stream. Richards: Response. Caras: Good point, We’ll also want to make sure we’re not in danger at the time of decryption. The secondary computer core will be taxed and the primary will be busy capturing the data. I wouldn’t want to hinder ops and risk the safety of the crew to decrypt the messages. Arlill: Response. Karen took a moment to assess the situation. Assuming that as a Betazoid she was very open to any kind of relationship, her love life had been a complete and utter disaster. A Bridget Jones in space, practically. Or worse! At least Bridget had "scored" a couple of times! Certainly, being in a stasis chamber in a kind of induced coma for a few years had not contributed much to her social life. In addition, when she came out of it, with all that zero-gravity physiotherapy to get back to moving and even her little fingers refused to respond to her for the first few months. So, what happened first? That short walk with whatever his name was, Joran, Jordan? He had moved away shortly after, a coincidence? Then, well Rusty was more like a cool uncle with a pronouncedly exaggerated slang for her. So nada, not really the case. Madison was like a sister to her and vice versa, plus she was semi-married to that other girl from Risa with the unpronounceable name Aueka Eureka something Willow. On top of that, the two of them looked like two peas in a pod, so it would be like kissing herself in the mirror: impractical! Well, yes Tito was definitely a hottie and when she was with him she had turned into something very much like a silly high school girl, but he was already taken. This time then she had left. Who else was on Deep Space 118? The Commodore was a kind of saint, dedicated to his duty, no relationships for like ten years or more. Practically, Sal had even fewer relationships than a Vulcan who at least gave it a go every seven years. Well, new ship, new life? No way! Sometimes she felt like she was scaring everyone away. She had that brief... appointment with Josh. But her Betazoid sixth sense was telling her he wasn't interested in her type of goods... Oh, so the computer had noticed too? Was that why it had created for Karen her new personal holographic assistant, H.O.C.A., in Tito's image? How the heck did it know, had it rummaged through her logs? Those AIs were terrifying sometimes! Would she end up with a hologram? A nice virtual marriage with an imaginary entity? Was that what awaited her? Karen smiled, making an embarrassed grimace. Caras: Looks like whoever is on the bridge has been busy, or is about to be. Stendhal: Busy Bridget? Ah no! Bridge! Yeah it seems so! Richards/Arlill: Response Stendhal: I'm not a tactical expert, but what do you think about scanning the surrounding space for potential mysterious dangers? Just in case... Richards/Arlill/Caras: TBC / Tags! -- ================================= Lt Jg Karen Trisha Stendhal Counselor USS Octavia E Butler ID: C239604KS0 ================================= ####################################### https://wiki.starbase118.net/wiki/index.php?title=Karen_Stendhal

((Deck 11, Main Engineering, USS Ronin)) Thump. One hooded, lidded, spiky eye slowly opened. The precise and predatory iris swiveled lazily on its axis, scouring the area before it with scrutinizing but unjudging attention. It saw nothing of interest, and so thought little of shutting. That’s precisely what it did. The soft, easy hum of breath lilted in the air. Thump. The eye opened again, more assertively this time. Still nothing before it was worthy of attention, and yet it dared not close again, for it was when eyes were closed that the greatest of harms were done. Or so he’d heard. Thump. A low, long-suffering growl exited his scaly lips. It was not a growl of rage, fury or anything else that might be unfairly associated with his fearsome appearance. No, this was a sigh of disappointment, of resignation, of accepting the inevitable mild discomforts of life, old age, and existence aboard a starship. Ensign Ferentis’ ears were well tuned for a creature of his professions; that is to say, the sounds of heavy industry was of no bother to him. He’d napped in enough Jeffries tubes during refits to simply tune out the raucous clatter of duty. But subtle, difficult-to-localize noises… those were entirely different stories. He didn’t know what he’d expected; leaning up on his stubby dino-digits, he resolved to find either the answer, and fix it, or locate another Jeffries tube nook that would serve as the perfect warming plate for him to curl up and snooze. Let it never be said he was not a man of action. Ronin’s wounds were significant, and as there was little of interest for Ferentis during shore leave aside from sleeping, he’d been happy to offer his temporary services to the bigger vessel. It was more than that, too; if he knew the department chief on the Khitomer, there was no point in getting familiar with the interior structure of the New Orleans II class vessel, because so much would be changed by his return that he’d have to start from scratch. The prospect of working through shore leaves was slightly improved by the realization that there were bound to be hundreds of meters of Jeffries tubes, each running EPS grids nearby, and each soaking in some of that delightful warmth. Thump. So far, that noise was the only drawback to his strategy. And it was stemming from above him. Careful, languid motions carried him forward like some skulking alligator in a sepulcher. He hummed gently to avoid scaring anyone he ran into. Thump. His mind carried him back to his engineering lectures; what, precisely, could so consistently create that rhythmic noise? It probably wasn’t anything related to the computer; it sounded distinctly mechanical, which was only to be expected in these metal catacombs. He kept crawling forward, humming a tune he did not know was about Frere Jacque. Thump-Thump. Ferentis paused. Scowled. Grunted with mild annoyance. Continued his journey. Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump… The dinosaur paused, and glanced to his right towards a non-existent camera. Either there was something deeply wrong with the ship’s internal structure or… He passed through a deck translation, foregoing the ladder entirely, and saw the cause of his nap’s interruption. He stared. Staring was rude. He stopped staring. For a brief instant, the most sensible thing he could think to do was inspect his claws. This did not last long. Here, now, was a problem, a challenge that Ferentis had never been so unfortunate or so careless to find himself faced with before. There would be, of course, nothing wrong with simply exiting the situation. He was, after all, an innocent napper turned voyeur. This was not something he’d wanted, and now that he was stuck with this, he was determined to do more than simply accept his role as an unfortunate passerby. But discovery would destroy the three people present; and Ferentis was all too familiar with the stinging embarrassment that would haunt him for long after the rest of those involved had died natural deaths. That seemed to be his lot in life. It would either be a cringe-inducing accident… …or a story. All that was required to get from one to the other was a willing author. He ducked his head low, and gently, silently, scarily sneakily, trundled directly below the spotted pairing. The thumping continued unabated. Ferentis nodded, impressed, before catching himself and continuing his work. Sharp talons dug into the micro-meter gap between the access panel and the protection cover. His eyes skimmed over the array of EPS control interfaces and life sup- aha! Life support. He began by turning up the temperature by just a few degrees. To the best of his understanding, most humanoid species dealt with heat by sweating, and given what he’d just seen, there was plenty of that underway. But though he was not a traditional Pahkwa’thanh by any stretch, he still held on to certain customs; one of these was the practice of… performing the deed in a room that was slightly warmer than the surrounding locale. It was seen as an inviting welcome to the soon-to-be-arriving clutch of eggs, and it mattered not one inch to Ferentis that neither of the people above him were Pahkwa-thanh. Affection cared not for species delineations. His attention then fell upon the lighting. Ten seconds later, the slow blossom of a warm red glow suffused the intersection directly above him. He could see its gradual presence announce itself behind him, in the reflection of the path he’d just climbed through. One last thing to do. He scrambled through the corridor of confining metal as quietly and gracefully as he could, through several decks, until he accidentally struck upon precisely what he was looking for. A head, wedged into the small compartments afforded by the mess of Jeffries tubes. Ferentis spared a thought for the poor officer who had inspired the need for such a desperate accommodation. But of far more importance was the pair of thick fluffy white towels. He hummed to himself again as he snatched them, placed them on his back, and returned to the source of the disruption. With careful, tender, practiced motions, he extended one folded towel and then the other, leaving them in much the same position as their intended beneficiaries; one atop the other. Finally, nodding with satisfaction, he quietly exited the tangle of maintenance tubes, and opened the access hatch in Main Engineering- -to find a young Andorian crewman, arm extended towards the hatch, and toolkit in hand. They stared at each other, the crewman hesitantly, Ferentis pleasantly. Crewman: Uh… I was just going to see what the noi- Ferentis closed his eyes, and slowly shook his dozy head one way, and then the other. The crewman was confused. Crewman: But… if there’s a problem I have- Ferentis shook his head again, politely. The Andorian’s antennae sloped forward, twitching. Crewman: So you want me… Ferentis raised his head, as if to indicate the crewman was halfway to the answer. Crewman: …to walk away? Ferentis smiled slightly, and nodded with slow, heavy movements. The crewman stared. Blinked. Puckered zher lips. Crewman: Ooookay… Zhe pivoted on her heel, and walked away stiffly. Ferentis watched her go with relaxed eyes. He climbed out of the tube, shut the hatch, and stood in front of it, hands cradled before him, for a long time. END Ensign Ferentis Engineering Officer As simmed by Captain Randal Shayne Commanding Officer USS Khitomer NCC 62400 G239202RS0

Need Help? Just call triple A! Phase 2 BEGINS! (( Captain’s Ready Room, Deck 1, USS Kitty Hawk )) With the auto destruct sequence disengaged, the changeling known as specimen 731 captured, and the Kitty Hawk proceeding at best possible speed back to Earth with the prototype USS Miller escorting her, Roshanara entered the ready room and called out to the computer. Rahman: Computer, seal the doors and silence all comm calls to this room. After the computer responded with an acknowledgement beep, the Kriosian sat behind her desk and turned the desktop monitor towards her. Rahman: Open a secure channel to the Astraeus and Artemis: priority one. Captain’s eyes only. (( Captain’s Ready Room, Deck 1, USS Astraeus )) Swiping down on the screen on his terminal to queue the message for later transmission, Mei’konda leaned back in his chair, reaching up to massage his temples with both fingers. Letters of condolences were perhaps the most draining part of his job. The Caitian was fortunate in that he hadn’t had to write many of them over the years, but after the Changeling sabotage in his ship’s Operations center which had resulted in five deaths, in addition to the murder of their Master-at-Arms Andrew Davis, so that one of the pair could assume his identity, he’d known it was a duty he’d have to get on as soon as possible. With Astraeus now on her way to Earth but with the situation at Spacedock and Starfleet Headquarters still unknown, Mei had made the decision that all unnecessary communications would be restricted until further notice. At the very least, until Changeling infiltration at Headquarters could be ruled out… or dealt with. That meant that his officers and crews’ families would have to wait to find out what had happened. Astraeus Bridge: =/\= Captain Delano, we’re receiving a three way communication request… identifiers show that they’re coming from the Kitty Hawk and the Artemis. =/\= Mei’konda cracked his eyes open again, and a frown creased his muzzle. The ship of his old Captain, whom he’d spoken to at the beginning of this mess. And Addison MacKenzie’s ship. He’d never met the former medical officer, but knew her background well enough. She was one of the most highly decorated officers in Starbase 118’s attached fleet. But were they who they said they were? He was fairly sure that he could make that verification with Rahman, but what about with MacKenzie? Mei’konda: =/\= Acknowledged, Briidge. Encrypt the signal. I don’t waant anyone outside of our three shiips interceptiing it. I’ll taake it in my ready room. =/\= Astraeus Bridge: =/\= Aye, Captain. =/\= (( Captain’s Ready Room, Deck 1, USS Artemis )) Addison sunk into the chair behind the large mahogany desk in her office. Over the course of her career, the surgeon-turned-commanding officer had gotten exceedingly proficient in the art of learning to let things go that were beyond your control. Sometimes you could perform a textbook surgery, and sometimes the patient still died. The reality was that the galaxy was full of injustice, and getting worked up or upset about the actions of the universe was only likely to shorten one’s life due to stress. The Borg’s sudden appearance in the Alpha Quadrant and would-be alliance with the Changelings was only the latest in a long line of universal injustices. The damage to the Artemis and loss of life was another. But there was no time to think about any of that: the battle wasn’t yet one; the day not yet saved. There was still work to be done, and she couldn’t tend to the businesses of processing the events of the day until it was all over. Hallia had done well expediting the repairs to both the warp drive and the communication array. The idea of trying to amplify the comm arrays of other, smaller sources on the ship was a stroke of genius, but they had know way to know if their warning was ever received. Now that they knew the Borg were on a course for Earth, it was likely they’d make sure no messages got through. There was only one person in the quadrant Addison knew she could trust. Her former CO was not only on her way to participate in the Frontier Day celebrations, but she was also arguably making the longest trek of any ship. Not to mention, Addison now had several of Amity Outpost’s crew aboard. …she wondered how surprised Rivi Vataix must be. After the pair of officers verified each others’ identities after a series of questions regarding Addison’s poor choice in men and the best burgers in the Shoals (sleazy Betazoid royalty and Welder’s Diner, respectively), Rahman requested that another trusted source be added to the conversation. When the three-way link had been established, Addison got word from the bridge. Artemis Bridge: =/\= Captain MacKenzie, we have Captains Rahman and Mei'konda. =/\= MacKenzie: =/\= Acknowledged. Route it through to my ready room and encrypt the transmission. =/\= After a moment, two faces appeared on her screen: one new, and one with which she was intimately familiar. (( Doing away with location tags and communications =/\= markers here, so they don’t clutter up the whole scene! )) Mei’konda glanced back and forth between the two faces on his screen, his sharp blue gaze settling on Rahman first. Mei’konda: It’s good to see you, Captain Rahman. After all of thiis business with the Titan, I’ll be glaad to give my crew some tiime to relax on Earth. My parents will be there, Roshanara, I thiink they would be delighted to finally meet my old commaanding officer. Rahman: I see… I’m sure they haven’t already forgotten the lengthy discussion we had at your wedding. Your father had quite the opinion on the state of the Federation since his return to the timeline. Mei’konda’s father had supposedly been killed at the Battle of Wolf 359, but thanks to the whims of the Q continuum, he and his ship the USS Yamaguchi had actually been preserved and he and the rest of his crewmates were brought forward twenty-five years later, where he would be reunited with his son, now a grown Starfleet officer. Mei’konda exhaled a slow, relieved breath. As he’d hoped she would, Rahman had properly called him out on the misinformation. She was who she said she was. Rahman: Now, as for finally meeting, this is Captain Addison MacKenzie. She joined Veritas as a medical officer a few months after you’d left to take command of the Montreal. Addison sat back in her chair, observing the expressions on the faces of the pair on her screen. If Rahman trusted the Caitian, that was good enough for her. MacKenzie: It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mei’konda. Your reputation precedes you. The Caitian nodded in confirmation to Rahman. If she was sure that MacKenzie was also safe to speak with, he was willing to take her word for it. Mei’konda: Then maay I say… it is an immense relief to taalk to the both of you. Roshanara let herself exhale a sigh of relief as well. Rahman: It has certainly been a day… but it’s good to talk with some old friends. Addison crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. MacKenzie: Especially since we don’t know how many of us are left. Rahman: When I heard the Astraeus had gone silent, I was a bit worried myself, I have to admit. Leaning forward in his seat, the Caitian man clasped his hands together atop his desk. Mei’konda: Yes, Captain. I assumed some at Starfleet would be wonderiing at the sudden cessaation of reports from my shiip. The truth is, we had two Changeling infiltraators on board. We have dealt with them, and have one in the brig. But they caused extensiive damage… as well as casualties, before we could do so. Before that, behaavior by the captains of the Cole and the Sternbach was very… suspiicious, to say the least. Addison raised an eyebrow. The Changelings were apparently back with a vengeance, and Addison took comfort in the fact that they didn’t appear to be the only victims. MacKenzie: We’ve had a similar experience here… Unconsciously, Mei reached up to rub at his neck. He couldn’t still feel where the Changeling had wrapped its tentacle around his throat and attempted to choke him to death, not really… but the memory was fresh. It had only happened a few hours ago. It almost felt like days. Mei’konda: One of them attempted to kill me, and taake my place. We managed to kill it instead, and I then contaacted the Cole’s CO. I was able to conviince him that the replacement had been successful, and he shared some interestiing information with me. What about the two of you? Rahman: Unfortunately for my crew, a changeling was successfully in knocking me out at Spacedock before we even left. She got aboard and pretended to be me–apparently so convincingly that she even got my first officer to activate the self-destruct sequence with her. We’re not quite sure what the full plan was. A Ferengi scavenger attacked the Kitty Hawk but was destroyed, and our changeling “friends” aren’t giving us many answers from the brig. Addison shook her head. MacKenzie: I’m sure the goal of ours was to replace me, but fortunately we discovered the sabotage before they could get to me. We weren’t able to extract any more useful information from it. Mei nodded, thoughtfully. Mei’konda: I see…Captain Th’vorrorh of the Cole mentioned somethiing about Fleet Formation mode, and disappointment that there had been difficulties in adaptiing the software to our systems. Astraeus is too old; her computer systems too unique, with her blend of isolinear and bio-neural hardware. It sounded as if that had somethiing to do with their plan. MacKenzie: What else do you know? Mei’konda: On my end, only a few other thiings. Captain Th’vorrorh, or… The Changeling who was impersonaating him, also said that we could not disappoint someone named Vadic, and that findiing a man named Jack Crusher was essential. The implicaation seemed to be that Jack Crusher was on board the Titan, but there is no record of a crew member with that naame, and the only passengers we know they have on board are… He shook his head, and sighed. Mei’konda: Retired Admiral Jean-Luc Picard, and Captain William T. Riker. Addison’s eyes narrowed. MacKenzie: Crusher… Beverly Crusher was an experienced physician and former head of Starfleet Medical. I have to assume there must be some relation if Admiral Picard and Captain Riker are also involved… Are you still intended to participate in the ceremony? Mei’konda: Yes, we’re presently on course for Sector 001. Technicaally, I am still obeyiing orders, as that is where the Cole wanted us, but I have no intentiion of continuing our search for the Titan. It seems to me that they are on our side. Roshanara nodded, musing again about whom they might be able to trust Rahman: At this point, it might be easier to assume the ships that *have* gone silent are the ones left on “our side.” From what we do know from the changelings on Kitty Hawk, there is strong resentment against the Federation. These appear to be an offshoot group from the larger Great Link–more akin to a rogue terrorist cell. Given the sophistication of the conspiracy thus far and their success in infiltrating Starfleet, we have to assume they’re planning a bigger attack. Addison shook her head. MacKenzie: We have a bigger problem. We encountered a Borg Cube as we were passing through the Badlands. Interestingly, Captain Rahman, after we boarded the ship, we ran into a team of officers from Amity who managed to board the ship via some kind of transwarp conduit… We discovered the Borg stole some kind of technology from Amity, but we weren’t able to determine what. They dealt quite a bit of damage to our systems before they withdrew… But they’re on a course for Earth. Mei’konda straightened up in his seat, the shock visible on his face. The Changelings? And now the Borg? He’d never been involved in any situation which directly involved one of the Federation’s most deadly enemies, and now they seemed to be facing two - the Borg and perhaps the Dominion? Mei’konda: … Changelings and Borg at the same time? This seems faar too much to be a coincidence. Conventiional wisdom would seem to imply that they are coming at the first tiime, with so much of the fleet gathered at Earth, and paarticularly with Fleet Formation mode comiing online with so many of the newer vessels… perhaps it is, in some way, central to their plan. The Cole’s false Captain mentiioned it directly, after all. Roshanara took a deep breath. She could feel the pressure of that metaphorical ticking clock bearing down on her. Every minute that passed was another minute closer to disaster. Rahman: If they’re working together, and the changelings have infiltrated Command, we need to get back to Earth and warn the wider fleet ourselves. Go directly to the other captains. Have any of you been able to contact anyone else in the Sol system? Addison shook her head again. MacKenzie: We’re enroute, but we were significantly delayed. We tried to get a message through, but I think we should assume it never made it. The Caitian nodded slowly. With his crew, he’d do his best to stay positive and never let them think a crisis couldn’t be survived through perseverance, intelligence, and grit. He wasn’t about to do so with these two Captains, either. Mei’konda: Agreed. I think that we should ensure that our three ships can maintaiin encrypted communicaations until this siituation is resolved. Roshanara folded her hands together, interlacing her fingers as she considered their immediate next steps. Rahman: Kitty Hawk only has a skeleton crew aboard and we’re still making repairs from the sabotage. I think it makes sense for Kitty Hawk and Artemis to rendezvous before we head into the Sol system. Mei, you’re the closest of the three of us to Earth. Try to see if you can find other allies and warn the fleet to be on alert. We’ll try to get there not too far behind you. She looked back at both of her former shipmates. Once, they were her subordinates that she had the responsibility to protect as their captain. Today, they were her equals, and they were all tasked with protecting the Federation from whatever nefarious plan the Borg and Changeling alliance had concocted. Rahman: Whatever lies ahead, we will face it together. Godspeed, both of you. ======================================= Captain Mei’konda Delano Commanding Officer USS Astraeus, NCC-70652 M239002M10 & Captain Roshanara Rahman CO, USS Kitty Hawk I238705TZ0 & Captain Addison MacKenzie, M.D., Ph.D., FASFS Commanding Officer USS Artemis-A Captains Council Member at Large V239601AM0

((Stardate 239101.30, The Root, Verdant Belt, Sylvana Prime)) The classroom had been increasingly empty over the past month. Ras still attended as his parents insisted that his primary school education must continue despite everything that was going on. However, his mind had been fuzzy as of late. The rations his family were entitled to were hardly able to sustain all four of them. Most of the creche he had grown up with were migrating with their families away from the blight. Although, not all of them had left because they were moving, some of them had left Ras’s life because they did not get enough rations to survive. One loss in particular weighed on Ras these last few days. Ras looked over at a desk that sat a few rows ahead of him and to the left. It sat empty, as it had for less than a week. Every time he saw that seat, melancholy washed over him. Maybe he should’ve forgone a day or two of rations to sustain his crechemate. It would’ve been hard on Ras no doubt, but he should’ve done something. He felt immense guilt over the loss even though in reality he could not have prevented it, his parents had told him this very fact many times since Kael Jena’s composting. Why did they even need to compost her? The Verdant Belt had grown withered since those botanists unearthed the mutant mushrooms in the Great Barren North. There was nothing for Kael to return to. He supposed they did because it was tradition. A way to honor those lost, even if it was in vain. Ras’s faith in tradition had waned since the only things on his mind were his empty stomach. The growling kept him up at night too, the lack of sleep surely contributed to the fuzz in Ras’s head. He floated in that cotton, his thoughts adrift. Thoughts of leaving all this pain behind, thoughts of his now frail baby sister, thoughts of the dead stares his parents have as they reconcile with how to provide for their children. Thoughts of food. Basted Variegated Palm stalks, grilled tufted mushrooms, fresh Star Blooms that the Bloomgrazers hadn’t gotten to yet. His stomach growled now, and it snapped him back to the present just in time to hear his instructor calling his name. E’Na: Ras. Ras did you hear me? Ras: ::Looking up.:: No I’m sorry Shila E’Na. What did you say. Ras sat up at attention. He wanted to show respect to one of the few Shila’s that still came to teach the children in their classes. E’Na: I said that they’re closing this Root at the end of this cycle. In two days time, we will no longer have the facilities to run anymore. There’s only three of you in this class anyways. ::She cleared her throat as her voice broke.:: Go home, spend time with your family. I know your minds are elsewhere children. Ras looked around at the two others that still came to class. They looked back. Sadness in their eyes, all of their worlds had crumbled around them this last month and here further were more changes that kept a semblance of routine in their lives. ((Later that day, Ras’s Sha, Verdant Belt, Sylvana Prime)) Ras stood outside his Sha, a multiple family dwelling. The home used to be buried in lush greenery with many crops to sustain the families within. Now it was a former shell of itself, most of the plants yellow and dead, all edible foliage stripped of their former life-providing fruits weeks ago. The Sha was an efficient way to live, in fact it was the way most Kressari lived, not just on Sylvana Prime. The small communal pods emphasized a division of labor that sustained the massive cities and towns without encroaching on the many protected wilds on the planet. It also fostered a particular respect among the Kressari people’s that was largely responsible for their pacifist lifestyle. He used to love coming home to see the other children in his Sha. Usually running into the home with Kael Jena laughing and joking like they were blood siblings. The two were inseparable. And now it was just Ras walking into his quiet home. The once lively structure now housed only one and a half families, the El’Heems and what was left of the Ka'ari’s although he didn’t see much of them since their patriarch succumbed to starvation. The silence in the Sha permeated every inch of it. Most of Ras’s free time was spent taking care of Lira, his younger sister who rarely left her bed now. Ras: Lira I’m home. The Root here is shutting down, I don’t have to go- Ras stopped as he walked into the El’Heem’s portion of the Sha. His parents were sitting at the table completely overcome with exhaustion. Ras: What’s going on? ::Fear in his voice.:: Is Lira okay? Mom? Dad? Tal, Ras’s father looked up at the boy, his hands crossed in front of him. His eyes flashed colors of dejection and defeat. Mira, his mother, stood and walked to the counter but didn’t look his way. Tal: Lira’s not doing well. ::His voice cracked.:: As you already know. But we’ve been able to secure her transport with the Starfleet evacuation ships off world. Ras: How did you manage that? Hope for salvation had been a far cry for awhile, and now he was absolutely flooded with it. Ras practically ran to the table and sat down, looking at his father. Ras: Isn’t this something to be celebrate? We won’t have to split rations four ways and Lira will get the help she needs! Tal: Yes this is all true but ::Tal paused and looked at Mira who was now turned around looking right at them.:: the government has announced that the rations are down to 10% and Starfleet can’t provide enough food to sustain all of us. Confusion and anxiety swirled in Ras’s head. The hope he had just acquired, dashed on the rocks. Ras stood up in anger. The chair fell back and toppled over. Both Tal and Mira looked at him but didn’t protest, they knew how much this was to take in. How much all of it had been to take in. Ras: ::Tears welled in his eyes and his voice was weak and broken.:: Why can’t you find a solution? In a world full of botanists, why can’t you find a cure of this plague! You two are supposed to be some of the best. ::Ras was yelling at this point.:: I can’t sit by and do nothing. I’m coming to work with you at the lab after Lira leaves. I either do everything I can to help fix this, or I starve doing nothing and I can’t sit by and do that. Not after Mr. Ka’ari! Not after- ::Ras burst into angry tears.:: Not after Kael! Tal and Mira looked at each other. A glimmer of pride in their eyes at his determination. Mira: Ras. Ras: Don’t even try to stop m- Mira: ::Cutting Ras off.:: Ras. You’ll come with us to the lab tomorrow, then. We’re not going to stop working towards saving Sylvana Prime either. He stood in shock. All the emotions of the day. The lack of calories to sustain all this energy. He felt woozy. Ras: O- Ok. I’m sorry for yelling. I- I need to say goodbye to- to Lira. Tal: ::Getting up and taking Ras’s arm.:: Lira’s not leaving until next cycle. You need to lie down Ras. We’ll start preparing tonight’s rations and get you ready for tomorrow. Ras almost collapsed into his father’s arms. He leaned on him, not only physically but emotionally too. They walked together to Ras’s bed, next to Lira’s. Tal sat him down and swung Ras’s legs up for him. Ras looked up at his father through blurry eyes. He wanted to be just like him and help people too. Then Ras looked over at Lira, who laid asleep to his right. He wanted to help people like Starfleet was helping Lira. His vision waned. He tried so hard to keep his eyes open. To look at Lira for as long as could before she was gone. Gone like Kael. It became too much. He shut his eyes and fell asleep. NT/END Ensign Ras El’Heem Junior Medical Officer USS Khitomer (NCC-62400) K240106RE3

((USS Constitution - Security )) Akeelah had checked on a report coming from one of the Science labs but what someone had believed to be a dead body had simply been a mannequin used for some experiments. What experiment? She didn't ask. She didn't really want to know either. As long as nobody was harmed it was none of her business. And that mannequin did not count as someone. Not unless it developed life. So the Rodulan had returned and written up her brief report of it being a false alarm when the door opened and a familiar aura entered. That energy, Akeelah hadn't sensed it for a while. A long while actually. She looked up from her seat and rose from her seat as she saw T'Mar enter. She was her former superior officer and at the same time she had been T'Mar's superior. When Akeelah had come on board it was as First Officer and with that T'Mar's superior. When Jalana had received command, Akeelah had stayed on board but returned to Security where she felt way more at home, and such T'Mar had become her superior. Rank structure was such a wonderful thing. ((OOC I cleared this with Mel )) As T'Mar noticed her, her face didn't show a change, but despite her efforts to keep her emotional state hidden, Rodulans were very sensitive to surface thoughts and emotions. She didn't have to try, she didn't try. But she was immediately hit with a rollercaster of emotions that she had no doubt T'Mar would like to deny existed. The glimpse of surprise and pleasure to see her familiar face was immediately pushed aside by a landslide of guilt. That same guilt that Akeelah had sensed from her many years ago. (( Flashback - 8 years ago - Dagorin IV Surface)) Crouching, Akeelah snuck through the bush-work, following the sense she got from him, the Xindi-Reptilian. He had killed something, he was ready to hunt. She needed to be careful. That was when she saw it. A shape, half a silhouette peeking out from behind a trunk. Carefully she sidestepped, still crouching, to the other side of the tree he tried to hide behind. As she reached the tree she stretched up to her full hight, keeping her breath low and slunk around the trunk, raising her phaser to aim at the back of his head. She could have shot him right here, but she hated to shoot someone in the back without a warning. Possibly a mistake. D'Sena: I suggest you drop that weapon and raise your hands. The reptilian head turned slowly, the disembodied hand still in his own hand. The first thing Akeelah saw was blood, all over his face, continuing part the spot on his chest she could see. What in the Artist's name had he done? He now turned fully and she saw the blood all over his front before her eyes snapped back up to him. He smiled, but she didn't have to be a telepath to know that it was fake. The pistol fell and his hands raised. Lazlo: How's this? D'Sena: Better. Now turn a-- Before she could even finish the sentence he jumped towards her. Without hesitation her finger pulled the trigger, several times hoping to hit him. She was a good shoot, though he was fast and had known the shots were coming and dodged them, she hit him with one. Regrettably that didn't slow him down. Before she could pull a fifth time his shoulder crashed into her stomach. A moan pushed out of her, along with a full load of air from her lungs. Instead of her being catapulted away, his arms wrapped around her. Since she had seen it coming she had moved a foot backwards and it now skidded over the forest floor, forming a little mound with the soil and leaves being pushed along the way. That leg was the only reason she didn't just fall like a rag-doll. :: Lazlo: You! You're like him! Once the physical shock of the impact left, the Rodulan raised her arms and hammered the hilt of her phaser into his neck, but that didn't have any impact, he was just too protected. Like him? Like who? She was like nobody! She wasn't even like her own family. She could either talk or fight, she chose to fight, but she still pressed one word through accompanied by the heavy breath. D'Sena: What? He was heavy and the anger she had felt before, the urge to hunt fueled him and his strength. She pressed the nuzzle of the phaser she had clung to into his back, ready to press the button, but the moment she lowered her finger, he changed directions, pulling her with him like she weight nothing, which caused her to lose grip of her phaser. She slid over the ground and it took a moment to dig her heels into the soil. She couldn't get to him with strength so she had to he faster or more flexible. Lazlo: Your dead eyes! Your intruding thoughts! You're like him! She realized immediately that he had met another Rodulan. One that obviously wasn't as careful as she was with her abilities. She kept fighting against his pull, grunting and moaning when pain jolted through her body. She needed to call T'Mar and Mandak, but his grip made it impossible for her to reach her communicator. He swung her around and pulled her with her back to his chest. Something primal was within him and as she looked over her shoulder, struggling to break free she saw his teeth, pointy and sharp, coming closer. D'Sena: ::Grunting:: Oh hell no! The usually so controlled woman, who had even now tried to keep that control, had to let go if she wanted to get away from him. The look of his teeth close to her head, the knowledge of what he wanted to do, was just that kick she'd needed. Akeelah rammed her elbow into his stomach and kicked back with her slightly heeled boot, hitting the front of his knee. Finally he stumbled slightly, so she now jumped around, raising her knee between his legs, even though she didn't know if that did anything for him. She did not think much. As he bent over, she swung back and rammed the heel of her hand into his nose, seeing him tumble backwards. That chance the took and ran past him to where they had started and while running she reached down to grab her phaser. Twirling around she shot in his direction and tapped her badge. D'Sena: =/\= D'Sena to T'Mar and Mandak. I need backup. NOW! =/\= She shouted that way more than she had planned, but with her heavy breathing she wasn't able to control her speech at all. She saw him coming, and he was even angrier than before. D'Sena: =/\= Follow ::panting:: the noise. =/\= In the last moment Akeelah jumped to the side, but the Reptile had apparently anticipated that and reached out with one arm and just grabbed her, crushing her into the tree. The deafening scream of agony turned out to be her own. The cracking sound she heard was either the tree or her back, she couldn't say. But the hard feeling in her hand was missing. Her phaser was gone again. Lazlo: ::grinning:: That was the best chase I've had in a long time. It's almost a shame it had to end. D'Sena: ::Whispering with strain:: Let... me... go. Lazlo: You want to leave so soon? We just got here. D'Sena: ::Through clenched teeth:: I really... didn't want to.. to that. Before he could ask she focused on him as much as she could with the pain running through her, and dug into his mind. She knew that would cause headache and the deeper she'd go on, the more painful it would become. Some people were said to have become insane from it. She didn't know how well it would work on him, but he had a penetrable mind so she hoped the others would come soon, to get her off his grip. Because she did the last thing she could to for defense, as her body didn't listen to her and her air became less and less. She concentrated her efforts on taking him out mentally. It was successful, he raised his hands and held his head, grunting he dropped to the ground. Leaning against the trunk she remained on her feet, but it was harder than she had anticipated. Lazlo: ::growling through the pain:: I was wondering...when you'd get to that. The blood in her ears was rushing so fast and loud she didn't hear anyone approach. Akeelah focussed on the Reptilian brain, causing it pain just so he would leave her alone. She didn't like to do that, she had never done it actually, not even in self defense. But in this case she knew she had to do something, and since her body had been helplessly pinned against the tree with him crushing her spine, she had no other chance than to hurt him another way. At least until help was here. A flash came from the side, someone had shot at the man, though she didn't know if it was T'Mar or Mandak. But as soon as he'd realized that there was someone else he fought against her mental invasion. It became harder to dig and claw her way in. Out of nowhere he retrieved a disruptor and shot in the direction the other shot had come from. Next she felt was something hitting her feet and sweeping them away from under her, just enough to make her carefully kept balance tumble so she dropped to the ground and in the surprise her mental hold on him loosened. As the surprise faded she realized that he was gone. A Rodulan curse left her lips and she attempted to get up to follow him, but her legs gave him immediately, she didn't even get to use a little push to slide back up the trunk. With heavy breathing she began to slap her legs and didn't feel a thing. Vaguely she remembered the crack she had heard. .oO Deep Breaths... it's fine. Your body is just in shock. It'll be back in a minute. Oo. So she leaned against the tree trunk and looked around, seeing her phaser only a few steps away on the ground. She let herself drop to lie on the ground and reached out with her hand. Her fingertips almost got it. The other hand pushed on the ground in front of her belly helping her just a little forward. Enough to grab the phaser and then back into a sitting position. She heard steps of two people come through the dark of the forest and hid the phaser behind her back. It was Mandak with the Reptile right behind her, obviously he had the disruptor in his hand and in her back by the way they walked over. They hadn't fully reached her, when out of nowhere a light shot through the forest and into the man's neck, it made him drop the weapon. .oO T'Mar Oo. A loud scream cut through the silence of the night. It sounded like a battle cry and the heavy fast steps following approached accompanying that scream. Just a moment later T'Mar came into D'Sena's view, pretty sure she had seen her earlier if not for being down on the ground. The Vulcan charged the man, her rifle raised like a battle axe. He attempted to dodge, but T'Mar crushed into him, sending them both to the ground. That had been rather effective, she had to admit. D'Sena: ::quietly impressed.:: Not bad. She was glad to see that Mandak and T'Mar had him under control. D'Sena hated to admit, but the feeling in her legs had not come back yet. She assumed that the crash had pinched a nerve or something other that was probably easy to fix once she got to a sick bay. [[ A little later - Sick bay ]] She still kept her eyes closed and tried to move her legs, with the aim to kick him, though not really. But accidents happen, right? Nijil: Can you feel or move your toes? D'Sena: Do they move? Nijil: ::deadpan.:: No. D'Sena: Then no, I don't. ::Squinting her eyes she looked up to him, raising a hand to block out that overhead light.:: Any news? Nijil: You suffered a T6 injury, and had a minor disruption of your nervous system from your brain to your thoracic vertebrae.. D'Sena: What exactly does that mean? Nijil: It means… That you damaged your back and have made moving a limited option. .oO Oh no, you didn't just say that. Oo. Problem was he did. She had to ask more, find out what was behind it. She needed facts to grasp everything. D'Sena: Were you able to figure out what causes it? Nijil: ::beat.:: When you hit, whatever it was you hit, that you more or less shocked your systems. That tree, that bloody reptile in its evening dress. She would love to give him a piece of her mind. Maybe she could get to the brig before their arrival at SB 118 - where he would undoubtedly be handed over to the authorities - and do exactly that. D'Sena: I see. What will you have to do to fix it? Nijil: We have proceeded ahead with your operation, however the results will take time to appear. That surprised her. They did the surgery without telling her beforehand? Was that why he had given her the sedative? But no matter the surprise about that, she was sure he had done what he needed to do. That was why he was the doctor and not her. Well some more reasons than that. So now that that was done, there was a question left. :: D'Sena: How long will it take until I get my legs back? Nijil: ::sigh.:: Anywhere from another hour… to easily up to three months. Her heart sank. He couldn't really mean that. Months? How was she supposed to do her job when she couldn't properly do her job? It was as if she hadn't even heard about the possible hour... D'Sena: Months? But that means - Nijil: *That means* you will be on high restriction until further notice. Seeing as you can't even walk at the moment. ::paused.:: Your file does not state you have a spouse or family on board, is there someone you trust to tend to you during your recovery? ::snarky.:: Unless you want to stay in here. D'Sena: :: She raised a brow. :: I believe we both know, that it is better for everyone's sanity if I do not stay. ((/Flashback )) These three month, had turned out to be seven years. At first the complications came from the tree itself. The sap of said trees on that planet was filled with a hallucinogen, the compound the Syndicate had been after for their drugs, had entered her blood stream on impact. It had damaged her nerves more than the surgery had shown on first glance. Once the regeneration of the nerves was concluded she still couldn't walk. According to the doctors she should have been able to, but nothing had worked. Cade Foster believed it was all in her head. Many years later it turned out he had been right. Many years in a wheelchair that she hated to be in. And now T'Mar stood in front of her, still feeling that guilt. For not being fast enough, for sending her out for that job that lead to the fight with Lazlo. Blaming herself for that injury that had thrown Akeelah into a deep depression. But she had found her way out of it, and with a lot of work, blood, tears and pain.. she was where she was now. D’Sena: Commander. T’Mar: Commander T’Mar reporting in to get my clearances reinstated for duty. So she was actually back. Good for her. Akeelah nodded slightly and reached out her hand. D’Sena: Your orders, please. It took until this moment that T'Mar realized that Akeelah was not below her eye level, she saw that shift in her face, felt it in the second part of the roller coaster of emotion. For a Vulcan, Half-Vulcan, she was really adept at broadcasting her emotional state. After the first surprise was washed away, the wave was overwhelming, a mix of disbelief, relief, more guilt... T’Mar: ::softly:: You.. are healed? Realizing she would not get the PADD just now she lowered her hand and took a calm breath. Stoic as ever though on the inside, it was quite a storm. She had never blamed T'Mar. She hadn't blamed anyone but Lazlo and for a long time herself. But never T'Mar. D’Sena: It is a process. T'Mar: Response D'Sena: I regained control of my legs almost three years ago, with a lot of help of Cade Foster and leg braces. But I am still healing. T'Mar: Response D'Sena: I am mostly back to full mobility, though am at risk of relapse when I overdo it. Serok is a hound, reminding me to take breaks. The Vulcan massage therapist had played a vital part in her exercise regime, a drill sergeant, without mercy, but he was fair at least. One of the few people who didn't take her bull, no matter what. T'Mar: Response She eyed T'Mar, though with her full black eyes it was hard to see where she actually was aiming her gaze. D'Sena: Are you recovered? ::Smooth and subtle, as always.:: T'Mar: Response -- LtCmdr. Akeelah D'Sena Security Officer simmed by Commodore Jalana Rajel Commanding Officer USS Constitution B Image Team Co-Facilitator A238906JL0

OOC: Quick, everyone, hide your pets! And your bananas! IC: ((Transporter Room 1, Deck 4, USS Octavia E. Butler)) Eli and Una arrived in the teleportation room. Unlike Eli, Una didn't wonder if and when that kind of room would become obsolete. In her little village of Natale, after all, they still had donkeys and a post office. There was even a foundation for the preservation and maintenance of ancient places and trades. They didn't like very much space travelers like her and basically hate any kind of star trek... In addition, there was a thriving conspiracy movement that believed that humans had never been to the moon, that the earth was flat, and that the Vulcans actually came from southern Japan. Una helped Eli run diagnostics on the system, but nothing came up. According to the diagnostic programs, everything was fine. Una: How about we try teleporting something and follow the path it takes? Kovacs: Based on that diagnostic, I think that’s the right plan. If there is a fault, and it follows a repeatable pattern, then it’s going to be easier to fix. ::pausing for a moment, and then a grin spreading across his face:: So, are we transporting you? You did offer… Una watched Eli as he proposed that she try out the malfunctioning teleporter on herself, with potentially disastrous and fatal consequences for her molecular integrity. Well, he was just lovely! Even handsome! He reminded her of that Duyzer guy she'd met years ago on the Columbia. Wonder if he'd managed to save himself or if he'd blown up too. It had been a while since she'd seen him... oOMaybe she was the one who brought bad luck?Oo Una: I was thinking more of an object, like a box or something. Kovacs: Okay, okay ::holding up his hands in mock defeat:: Let’s take the cautious route. I heard we got assigned some marine that would probably have my butt since they’re the new ‘safety warden’ in town. Let’s do something safer, maybe… a banana? Una: A banana? oO How did he even think of a banana? Oo A real banana or a replicated banana? You know a real one is biologically 'alive', right? A replicated one, on the other hand, while retaining taste, density, and color, is biologically dead... oO How did they end up talking about live or dead bananas now? Oo Kovacs: (grinning) Well… I’ve never heard of ‘death by banana’ before. We can transport one here and then back out so we get data both way Una: I wonder why nobody really cares about bananas... Ok let's have a Quantum transportation tour with the yellow fruit! Death or alive you come with me Banana! oO What a Minions conversation! Oo Kovacs: Ready? Una showed off her recently acquired banana in her left hand, (God knows where she find it!) after few dramatic steps she dropped it with elegance on the transporter pad. Una: Beam it up Kovacs! Kovacs: Response Una: Anyway... A cat would be way better, yeah, a more suitable subject, preferably the Captain's cat! Kovacs: Response Una: To give us some motivation, you know!? If we off the Captain's cat, then we're in trouble, so we'd be more motivated to succeed! Instead of a banana, who cares? Kovacs: Response Una: Maybe the XO's hamster so? Aniway how is our Banana? Still alive? Kovacs: Response The swirling energy bubble typical of teleportation started to form with the characteristic energy hum on one of the teleportation pads... The banana appeared fine for a few seconds and then it exploded into a banana smoothie. The girl stared at the yellowish goo, dumbfounded and perplexed. Una: I must say that... What come back luckily didn't lived enough ... Kovacs: Response Tags/TBC ============================= Lt Jg Karen Trisha Stendhal Counselor USS Octavia E Butler ID: C239604KS0 =============================

I don't even know where to begin - not only is this a wonderfully written sim, but it's also such a great idea to support the ongoing plot by giving us an NPC's perspective. I really appreciate the effort and thought that went into this great post from our new Ensign @Eliana Darius ! I can't wait to read more from you

This whole JP was wonderous. An emotional and devastating end to a mission and to something else... (Part 1 is here.) Great work by @Nolen Hobart and @Talia Ohnari

Fantastic first sim from the newest recruit to the Ronin! Welcome aboard T'Fearne!

I'm loving @Solkon's sims—Vulcan's are such a fun species, and in this sim we immediately get a huge taste of it from Solkon's perspective. The pacing back and forth, the logical confidence in putting forward his thoughts, opinions and ideas. I'm excited to see where they take it. Wonderful stuff! Ensign Solkon: 'The logical next steps' (google.com)

I love this sim from @Quentin Beck & T'Ama is fantastic.

Inspiring stuff from @Evan Ross’ MSNPC. ((Outside the Headquarter, Central Biodome, Miri 4a)) Her patience was running thin. Waiting for the Commodore and his counselor to meet her outside, Zeda could not help but shuffle from one foot to the other - and when she turned around, she finally saw them approaching. Cass: It is good to see you. We should waste no time. Darius: Administrator, I am Counselor Eliana Darius, I am here to help in any way that I can. Zeda tilted her head in recognition. Cass: Greetings. I appreciate your willingness to support our means. This is not the usual working environment for a counselor. Taybrim: I trust counselor Darius will assist in de-escalation and helping keep everyone safe. He said in a deep, reassuring tone. Zeda nodded. She would not question the Commodore's choices regarding personnel. Darius: I must ask, are there any objections to my use of telepathy? It can help me to difuse the situation, if I know exactly what I am working with. Sometimes words are not the true reflection of what is being felt in these situations. I will only read what is required and no one will get hurt. Zeda appreciated the young Officer's thoughtfulness. The sentiment was evident in her smile, even though it was short-lived. Cass: A very mindful question. As my citizens come from various different backgrounds and planets, it is crucial to bear in mind how differently they react and feel about telepathy. It should be our last resort - however, given the drastic situation, you have my permission. Despite the turmoils she still trusted the Starfleet officer to be capable of using her skills considerately. Taybrim: Yes, the colony has a quite cosmopolitan make up of species. Darius: I understand completely. He turned towards Zeda. Taybrim: They’re not mobbing here – where do you think we should go? Cass: The center of conflict is the main city of Biodome 2B. But my sources state that the situation is overrun by aggressive plants, and security personnel is taking control. I do not think we should head directly into battle, let alone join the armed conflict. She wasn't a military leader. She had been voted by a diplomatic counsel, merely overseeing armed action. Zeda liked it to stay that way. Darius: ? Holding his hands up, Taybrim was not visibly armed. Taybrim: We use words, if at all possible. But we have reports that the plants are mobile and we may need to defend ourselves. She nodded. Cass: While we were preparing, the protests have sparked into the Central Biodome - the one we are currently standing in. I think this is a crucial moment to intervene and to talk to the people, spreading the word among all domes. She glanced at her companions and gave a determined nod. Darius: ? They moved at a brisk pace, turning into a common area where a mob of people were gathered around a colony build where smoke was pouring out. There was no organized rescue effort and most of the mob was panicking. Some of them were being restrained, wailing and stomping on the ground as if they were toddlers throwing an out-of-control temper tantrum – but they were adults and they looked like they were affected by some sort of psychotropic. The plant. And that’s when they realized that there were people still stuck in the building. A building that almost certainly had a growing fire within. Taybrim: Over there… there’s people trapped in that building. Zeda's heartbeat was rushing as she came to a stop. This looked nothing like her beloved city center - normally, people were walking around the markets, sitting and eating in the streets, enjoying the perfectly balanced artifical weather: right now, it was a raging chaos. Cass: ::turning towards her security personnel:: This building needs to be evacuated. ::her eyes narrowed as they hesitated to leave her behind - :: Now! A few officers rushed towards the scene of chaos, while two stayed behind with them. Zeda clenched her hands and stared at the grusesome scenes in front of them. As of yet, nobody had seemed to notice them. Cass: What is happening to them? What are they feeling? She turned towards the Counselor, hoping she was able to pick up the emotions of the affected. Darius: ? Taybrim: It’s likely a considerable portion of people in the area are affected by the plant – even if they effects are mild and they’re not violent, they’re disorganized and impaired. As if they were on drugs, it had caused the organization of an already panicked population to fall completely apart. Cass: They must make way for the security teams. The people must get out safely. Darius: ? Taybrim: It’s your call administrator. Zeda threw Taybrim a glance. There was a silent exchange, one of insecurity against commitment - it was time to overcome her fear. She turned towards Officer Darius. Cass: Counselor, is there a way you can reinforce my words, or calm people down to an extent where they might listen to me? Darius: ? She bowed her head lightly. Cass: Any help is appreciated. She turned around, looking out for a prominent position - without further ado, Zeda approached the scene of chaos and climbed on top of a collapsed market stand. Smoke and a biting smell were emerging from the building in front of her as she raised her arms and voice. They were running out of time. Cass: People of Miri 4a! Please listen to me. Only a few heads were turning around towards her. The affected people still didn't seem to notice anything going on around them. Cass threw a glance at Counselor Darius, hoping she could support her as she continued. Taybrim/Darius: ? Cass: Miri 4a is facing troubling times. I understand that fear, confusion and anger are taking hold of your hearts. I feel the same. But I need you to remember where we come from. She paused and took a deep breath. Cass: This colony was built on a hostile surface. This moon offered nothing, and look what you made from it! ::she gestured around them:: You've invested hard work and so much love in this world, and those are the foundation and the soil we walk on today. I need you to remember that. This colony was build by a community and we need to defend and preserve it as one. Starfleet arrived here as a friend, but it is still us who need to rise and stand our place. Taybrim/Darius: ? Zeda gazed around the chaotic street as she extended her hand towards the building. Cass: Please, take a deep breath and focus! Brothers and sisters of ours are trapped inside this building, and they need our help! I know some of you are feeling unwell, and from those of you I only request to remember who and what you love in this colony. Remember the good days. Make way for security. ::she was hoping that the delirious state might increase positive emotions as well, not only negative ones:: Remember your friends, your family! Everyone else - whoever feels able to, please support our officers. Bring water. Evacuate the building. Biodome 2B is facing serious trouble. The citizens are in need of food and we need people who support the deliveries. Talk to your local authorities, remember what we are fighting for! She gazed around the street, hoping for some response. Taybrim/Darius: ? Administrator Zeda Cass Head of Colony Miri IVa as simmed by Lieutenant JG Evan Ross Intelligence Officer StarBase 118 Ops O240009ER2

I had to merge a couple of sim to get the whole scene , but trust me if I say that I'm glad to be on a runabout with Oddas this time! @Tomas Falt@Alora DeVeau@Kettick@Alix Harford

A beautiful final (?) Tribute to our beloved old USS Arrow. May the stars cradle you in love, dear girl. (Deck 1, Bridge, USS Arrow)) Carpenter picked herself up off the hard deck and planted her feet on the deck, feeling more than watching. It wasn’t a stretch to say her old command was out of whack. There was a persistent grinding of metal on metal that indicated the need for serious structural repair. Why certainly; they’d get right on it, just as soon as they were done being imploded from the inside out by a warp core containment breach that, at this point, was too deserved to not be right around the corner. Hobart: ::hopeful:: Weapons…? Zenno: Negative. Repair would take too long. Which was, in Carpenter’s mind, quite a pity. The old ship deserved to go down shooting, like she had always done before. Alas, a large and admirable explosion would have to do her enough. Carpenter: There’s nothing more you can do. She stared at Hobart, intense and solemn. Would he buy it? He had to. Hobart: Lieutenant, start getting everybody onto the Khitomer. Ensign Kay, signal the Captain and let him know we’re coming. Ensign Michaels, give me everything you can to the engines, and mister Avedin, lay in a collision course. We’re going to blow this thing up the ugly way. Zenno: Evac plan activate, aye sir. Carpenter moved quickly, joining into the background of shifting people and plans. Her fingers began to splay across the console, as she accessed the now- defunct weapons control interface. Zenno: Response Carpenter didn’t look at her when she replied, merely nodding towards him with her focus still locked on the old style readouts. Carpenter: The weapons are out, but the capacitors can still hold a charge; I’m routing power through the auxiliary feeds to give us some extra oomph. If you’re looking to help, you could arm the torpedoes in the magazine. He wasn’t sure if the stern Bolian would go along with her request, but she didn’t care much; she could do that if she was successful. The capacitors began to overload, soaking in that rich plasma energy; but the smile came when she felt the subtle warmth against her shin, one of which was pressed right against the bottom of the console. What she’d failed to mention was that the reroute would take energy straight through the bridge access station, and then back out to the emitters. As long as she stayed close, and as long as the Khitomer’s transporters were overdesigned like all modern equipment seemed to be… Avedin: Collison course aye! Blood pulsed hot in her ears as she stared at the viewscreen, and the enormous target that began to fill its borders. Good lord, but it was massive. Worse than even she’d expected. All of this hadn’t been for naught- not as long as they succeeded. As long as she succeeded. The familiar sensation of ants across her body told her it was time. She braced herself, knowing that this next part was going to hurt. Carpenter: The second rule… The hum in her ears grew louder; it would be instantaneous, unless… Every instinct in her body told her to stay still, to not fight the beam, to embrace its consistent effectiveness. But she was near the weapons station, and the warmth was only growing. She gambled again. And she pushed. Her arms extended to either side of her, palms out, face scrunched, as she began to strain against the transporter field. The hum grew louder, shriller, fluctuating intensely. Her teeth grit as the pain grew exponentially, her skin began to smoke under her tunic, and with a final scream… The transport beam exploded, leaving a small puff of ash. ((Deck 3, Transporter Room, USS Arrow)) The room was dark, powered down for the final run. But with flickering, guttering hesitation, the station before the pad lit up, audio reports screeching as it struggled for life. The back of the pad blossomed into illumination; an emergency diversion, initiated by the computer, in the event of catastrophic beam failure. Between her pushing and the plasma interference, the first part of her plan succeeded. Now she needed to rematerialize. Aside from warp drive, transporting a living person was perhaps the most energy-taxing procedures a starship could undertake- and now it was forced to carry out the operation while struggling for more juice, and while hurtling towards the enemy at a significant impulse factor. The pad spluttered and sparked as short circuits that would never normally be allowed desperately struggled to carry out the computer’s override instruction. Two of the pads flashed into fire as power surges exploded them from the inside out. Then, slowly, deliberately, as if each atom was being put together one at a time, the figure of Carpenter began to materialize. After agonizing seconds of partially corporeal life, Carpenter’s steaming, ragged body flopped to the deck, twitching as neurochemical imbalances and physical strain racked her form. But she had done it. Whatever happened, she would go down with the ship this time. Like she should have. A terrible jolt nearly tossed her out of the transporter room; the Sheliak were firing again, and Arrow’s unshielded, battered form was taking yet more smashing. She had to get to the bridge; partially to see the enemy she was about to blow to Hell, but also to ensure that her tumbling little ship didn’t get blasted off course and spiral into space. She trusted Avedin with her life, but she couldn’t risk it. She staggered down the corridor, leaning on the bulkheads as her skin continued to curl with burns. The pain kept her alert, the desperation kept her moving. Oh, and the sounds of the computer’s wailing, interrupted every two seconds with “Warning. Decompression imminent. Clear this section immediately” didn’t hurt either. She found a turbolift, and hung on for dear life as another hole was punched through her ailing vessel. ((Deck 1, Bridge, USS Arrow)) The turbolift just about threw her out of itself as she arrived on the bridge. It was a wreck. Half of it was covered in debris. But she was so close. They were so close. They had to continue. And they would, if the closeness of the enemy was any indication. She sat at the helm, and closed her eyes. This was it. A small chime drew her attention. Weapons control had been destroyed; the computer had transferred the protocols to the helm. And somehow, amidst the madness, enough repair measures had been undertaken to ensure that one single photon torpedo had been loaded in the port tube. She stared at it and laughed, her voice breaking and scratchy, but wholly genuine for the first time in years. It was just a pity no one could be around to hear it. Like making peace with a god, Carpenter placed her finger on the launch button, and pressed it. The single firm retort of an exiting warhead kicked the ship from under her, and she watched it flash and fly onscreen, hurtling towards its target, the last gasp of the starship Arrow. And then the dreadnought fired again. A whitish-blue stream of energy, thick and rippling, tore out from the gargantuan monstrosity’s hide. It sliced through space, sweeping down to cut Arrow cleanly, and finally in half. But the beam intersected with the torpedo first. Carpenter had to shield her eyes suddenly; never before had she encountered such a bright conflagration. It overwhelmed the filters on the screen, shining like a holy ray of sunshine onto the bruised, flaming bridge. As the light began to diminish, Carpenter lowered her hand. And she saw the impossible. A gaping, smoldering, blue hole in the side of the leviathan’s flank began to spread. Veins of flames creased outward like a corrupting scorch, reaching deep into the damned thing’s heart and then cracking the surface back towards open space. Carpenter couldn’t believe her eyes. Well, she was committed. With a snort of annoyance, she folded her arms and waited for the end. The light swirled around her. Fire spilled from high, rose from up low. For a brief moment, the solar system had a second sun. END.....? MSNPC Shondra Carpenter Commanding Officer, USS Arrow As simmed by Captain Randal Shayne Commanding Officer USS Arrow NCC 69829 G239202RS0

I do love this sim. It underpinned the feelings going on for @Doz Finch in that moment; the inevitability of time and the human experience of loss, as well as the friendship between Doz and Meru. Beautifully written, as always! -- ((Corridors, USS Gorkon)) After leaving the library, with a last and quick glance towards her most dear friend Tahna, Doz found herself in the corridor, its walls imbued by the red alert and the passing silhouettes of officers hurriedly going to their stations and duty posts. To her right and further along, she could see Vylaa already making headway having departed moments before her, the woman's soul no doubt torn to shreds by the reality that her children were now desperately unsafe, and even more dismally, on borrowed time. An officer passed her by, dropping one of his many PADDs, and she knelt down to pick it up for him, the pinches of her cheeks rosy and smiling, his the same in gratitude. She’d known that feeling well for quite some time. Living on borrowed time; as soon as she had turned sixty, it had been as though an invisible clock had started to tick. The inevitability of time…the inevitability of being Human…and the inevitably of being Doz Finch. She was sure of it, you see, because once there was no one else for the universe to take away from her…who else could it take but her? Another officer, this time a Caitian, lost her balance along the wall but was held up just in time by the diminutive engineer who waited with her, until she had gathered enough confidence to carry on. As she began her journey towards the nearest turbolift, her pace a tad slower than some of the others, thoughts coursed through her mind. About how cruel and deeply unfair it was. All of the loss she had gone through. All of those she had loved. Family, friends. As if she was constantly being tested by something…unknown. Something callous. It had to be callous to repeatedly strip a person down and expect them to carry on with their Humanity. And many often couldn't carry on. Confusion from a junior scientist this time, who had wandered out of a holodeck suite with a pale expression, hand shakily gripped around a cocktail. She couldn’t have left him standing there. Not in that state. So instead she stood with him, hand on his shoulder, and for the next few minutes explained what was going on and what he should do next. She thought next about how much Tahna had unintentionally helped her. How she’d properly introduced her to the Prophet’s…maybe even reintroduced faith into her life, assuming that she’d ever had it to begin with. She had gone through so much, you see, that the idea of a benevolent anything felt puerile. Who could have faith in a universe that could so willingly bombard a singular soul with so much grief? It had been a miracle that she hadn’t turned morose, frankly. Well, part-miracle anyway. Her intention had always been not to become that way. Time was ticking. Her colleagues would probably start wondering where she had gotten to. Before reaching the turbolift, she paused next to a viewport…to take one last look. And as she did, everything around her disappeared. The blaring alerts. The shuffling officers and the swooshing of doors. And she just stared. Silent, still, with her arms flat to her sides. Into a galaxy ruled by Borg. Into the face of a universe that had taken so much from her. Alone. Fin - End Credits -- Lieutenant Doz Finch Assistant Chief Engineer USS Gorkon NCC-82293 C239809SH3

@Kettick 's irony strikes again.

Ensign Galanis is hitting the ground running. I particularly love the transition from 'everything's going to be fine' to... Well... It's Starfleet. ((Outside the Transporter Center, Presidio Campus - Earth)) It wasn't completely unreasonable to expect graduating from the Academy to have been the end to the nervous tension that had been hanging over the fresh Ensign's head since the day they'd left Velestia. Niev had done it - they'd chased the stars and earned a place among them. The shiny little silver pip pinned to their collar should have felt like validation and success. It still did on some level, sure... but even the aloof Centauran had a hard time wrapping their head around the full implication of the words 'Amity Outpost' in the assignment orders they'd received. The warmth from the San Francisco sun radiated from above as Niev posed at attention and tried to look cool and collected in front of the familiar faces before them. While studying in the Academy, Niev had often imagined what it'd be like to travel to places their globetrotting parents had never been. Never once did somewhere as far and unknown as the Delta Quadrant cross their minds. For their part, Niev's own loved ones looked like they were just as unsure how to feel as the Ensign was. A family member departing on long travels away from the unit happened so often for a Galanis it bordered on mundane. But today, Niev was going where no Galanis had gone before. Their parents had hopped on a transport as soon as they'd heard the news. Esha - Niev's mother - was an elegant and slender woman who stuck out like a sore thumb in her high quality Velestian dress. Rhys Galanis somehow managed to demand even more attention, Niev's barrel-chested and bearded father dressed like he was ready to board the nearest sailing boat and travel around the world. It was probably safe to assume he was planning on doing just that, actually. He'd always talked about sailing Earth's oceans one day. The pair was quite a contrast to the subdued and detached air around the child they'd brought into the world. Niev idly wondered how far away many light years away they'd be by the time their parents realized how much less convenient sailing around the world of humanity was, with all the continents and land in the way. A surprising part of the Ensign felt nostalgic for being forced along on those trips in their youth. Niev had worked so long and hard to find a path of their own. It was strange to feel a pang of sadness as they finally split off onto it. Words had already been exchanged. All that was left was for Esha to grace Niev with a tight, affectionate hug before Rhys stepped up to clasp a firm hand on Niev's shoulder. The short-haired science officer swallowed hard and allowed themselves a small but reassuring smile as they noticed the looks of pride and worry in the eyes of their parents. Choosing to spare them all before things got too emotional, Niev firmed up their shoulders and stood tall. The Ensign turned on the spot and headed off toward the doors of the Transport Center. Though the butterflies flitting about their stomach were still there, Niev felt emboldened. Like they could take on anything the universe could throw at them. oO You've got this, Niev. Everything is going to be fine. Normal. Boring, even. Oo ((Transporter Room 3, Deck 50 - Probert Station)) Rahman: Hands up where I can see them. The first words the fresh-faced Ensign heard after beaming up from the planet, Probert Station's transporter room emerging into view, were so absurd they took a few moments to even register. They blinked in confusion as they took in the surreal situation. Wide, sea-green eyes flitted between each of the figures and finally settled on the phaser being very firmly aimed at the transporter chief. Transporter chief: Whoa, whoa, whoa! Parker: Response Niev's mind was racing. The woman with the phaser was looking their way now. Only one of the two armed people even had a combadge. To say the scene looked suspicious to the new arrival was a drastic understatement. Was this some kind of a prank? A weird test? The thought of actually beaming straight from the Academy into an actual crisis seemed too absurd to entertain. Whatever this was, the look on the Ensign's face suggested they didn't want any part in it. Rahman: Oh, great... Galanis: ...Don't mind me. I must have beamed into the wrong transporter room. Rahman: Stay on that pad, ensign. The woman's head moved back to look at her partner, and Niev felt the bottom of their gut drop out at her next words, face visibly paling. Rahman: We can't afford any witnesses. Parker: Response Galanis: H-Hold on, there’s no need for anything hasty, I don't even know what's going on here! Rahman: You're coming with us, Ensign. It was better than being disintegrated, but Niev’s idea of a successful first day as an enlisted officer didn’t include being taken hostage by strangers either. Their eyes constantly flitted toward the transporter room door as they debated between trying to run and calling for help. Rahman: ::as she's typing into the console:: Get on the pad, Parker. ::looks to the transporter chief:: You, too. The Ensign’s attention shifted toward the Transporter Chief as the woman spoke and commanded. As far as Niev knew, that man was the only other person in the room who seemed innocent right now. So, when the unsettling smile began creeping onto his face, it leant an extra level of despair to the situation. oO This has to be a nightmare. Maybe it was a transporter accident, and I’m in some sort of alternate dimension where everyone in Starfleet has lost their damned minds. Oo Transporter chief: You really think it's going to be that easy? It was as though reality itself collaborated with Niev’s suspicions, the man’s hands going through a brief phase of sheer wrongness as they melted and shifted into the whipping tentacles and began to attack the woman. The Ensign had studied well in the Academy and knew exactly what they were seeing. That didn’t make it any easier to accept. Suddenly, the transporter pad seemed like the safest place on the entire station. Galanis: Is that a… changeling?! Parker: Response Niev did their best to keep an eye out for any errant phaser fire coming their way, but the Centauran’s feet were planted on their escape route now, awaiting the other two to join them with a mixture of shock and exasperation on their face. Galanis: ::speaking under their breath:: So much for making my posting on schedule… Parker: Response Rahman: Computer, initiate transport! For the second time in the span of minutes, Niev watched their surroundings dissolve away and be replaced by another as they beamed into another transporter room. By the size of it, the Ensign guessed it was on a ship, but it was hard to tell for sure. TBC… Ensign Niev Galanis Junior Science Officer Amity Outpost A240106NG2

Their sims are always beautiful. @Gogigobo Fairhug and @Alora DeVeau

And here's another one. ((Sickbay, Deck 7, USS Gorkon)) When one imagines the first few days serving aboard a Federation Starship, there are a number of expected possibilities. Years worth of mission reports and galactic adverts creating a specific impression. Schemas, the psychologists would call it. Ay expected he’d have time to explore the ship, meet his new colleagues, and familiarise himself with his duties. From there, they’d have simple diplomatic missions, or survey a newly discovered planet, maybe explore the ruins of a lost civilisation. A temporal event ranked low in his expectations for his first few days. A temporal event that flung the ship into an alternate timeline where Starfleet was nothing but dust or an unrealised idea, and the Borg squatting over the known universe like a great cyborg deity…..well, that just seemed so ridiculous that it was barely worth considering. And yet, that was precisely the situation they found themselves in. One ship, against a collective larger than anyone could have ever envisioned. The crew was nervous, unsure of what their future would entail. It was obvious for anyone to see, and really, who could blame them for it. Academy training can only cover so many possibilities. Ay could hide away from the world in his quarters, the equivalent of burying your head in the sand to escape an oncoming sandstorm. Or he could do what he trained for, what he was good at. Practice medicine, assist the crew with ailments major and minor, and do his small part to help get everyone back home. And if needed, replicate a belaklavion or guitar and keep morale up. It was this resolve which kept him going. With that resolve held tight and spread through his body, he stepped through the sliding doors into sickbay, alongside Ensign Solkon, a vulcan who, like himself, had only recently been assigned to the ship's medical staff. The first thing Ay noticed as the doors opened was the Romulan standing on the other side, evidently in the middle of cataloguing something. No Starfleet uniform, or sign of rank. oO A Romulan, a Vulcan, and a Bajoran walking into the doctor's office…..there’s a joke in there somewhere Oo Taeval: Ah, Ensigns Solkon and Nera, I presume? Our new doctors. ::His welcome smile was threadbare, dimmed by circumstance.:: I’m Taeval, I’m a physician’s assistant here. The smile was appreciated, strained as it was. Little things like that made a difference. Solkon: Greetings, Taeval. I am certain we shall work well with one another. Nera: I agree ::offering a wide grin:: Pleased to meet you Ay was aware of the differences between the Vulcan’s and Romulans; one logical and calm, the other passion and fire. Both studious though, and unnervingly intelligent. He suspected he’d enjoy working with them. Taeval: Our acting chief is Lieutenant Tali Namura. ::There was a knowing look in his green eyes, as if there was an inside joke the pair would soon be in on.:: She’s in a meeting with the senior staff, but that should finish soon. Solkon: That is good. I am certain there is much to do, especially given the current situation. I am certain she shall be able to direct us on the best course of action. Now there was an interesting look. There was something there, more to Lieutenant Namura than what Taeval was saying. A curiosity, which would no doubt be solved when the meeting concluded. Nera: Well, I for one am more than happy to get started ::glancing around the sickbay, taking stock of the room:: Taeval took a moment to inspect Ay and Solkon in turn; it was a measuring, seeking look. It reminded Ay of being back home, in the Jolan Facility. It was the type of look he’d come to expect from the monks, like they were weighing you. Taeval: How are you holding up? Our current situation is a lot for anyone to take in. Solkon, in true vulcan form, did not reply immediately, instead approaching a nearby cabinet and picking up a tricorder. He seemed to be formulating his answer, applying the perfect amount of logic to it. Solkon: It has been a…difficult adjustment, I will admit that. But we must not let it dictate our actions, nor let it overwhelm us. We must think and act rationally. I trust that the senior staff will see it the same way. Whatever caused this new timeline to form can be undone. All we have to do :: he put the tricorder back in the closet and closed it before turning back to face Taeval :: is to keep the crew well enough to make that happen. Do either of you have any pre-existing experience with the Borg? Nera: No first hand experience with them, just the same briefings everyone else got at the Academy. Ay walked to a nearby workstation and leant against it, folding his arms across his chest. How was he holding up? He was standing, ready to work, which had to count for something. But there were still so many great unknowns about this. Was Bajor standing defiant, or had it been assimilated. Did it even exist? He took a moment to consider his family, those he thought of as family at least. Prylar Bani, the woman who raised him, the children at the orphanage he’d helped school. His sister Ateh, missing for so many years now. Perhaps in this timeline she wasn’t missing. Perhaps she was out fighting the Borg this very minute. She’d always had the adventurous spirit, Starfleet was her dream. Or perhaps she simply didn’t exist, like so much else. There were a million unanswerable questions, that each lead to even more. Following any one of those mental pathways for too long would drive anyone insane. Nera: It’s a lot to take in. No Starfleet or cavalry coming to the rescue, it’s all on us ::smiling again to present an outward appearance of confidence:: All we can do is perform our duties to the best of our abilities, and keep the crew breathing. Even here, I trust the Prophets are watching. Taeval: Response Pushing off from the workstation Ay made his way to a biobed, running his hand over the fabric. Nera: How are we doing for supplies? Solkon/Taeval: Response Nodding, listening to what was being said, he continued examining the biobed, extending the sensor array then retracting it. Fully functional, as he expected. Biobeds often had their own little quirks he’d found; some smooth, some a little jittery. The more you familiarised yourself with the quirks, the easier the job became. Nera: Are there any pressing medical concerns? Solkon/Taeval: Response Tags/TBC Ensign Nera Ay Medical Officer USS Gorkon G240106NA2