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Exploring the Skarbek world has been exciting and a great way to explore different facets of our characters, taking them to places we haven't thought of before, and scrambling maybe existing parts of their "regular" versions. @Doz Finch - I have truly enjoyed reading about SkarDoz ("Gramma"), and seeing the world through her eyes, and the transformation she's undergone along the way. I love the introspection, particularly at the beginning of this sim, and how she relates to her companions. Very well done! Kudos to all of you, @SevaReeshe, and @Tahna Meru for bringing forth such an enjoyable and amazing scene!

This is such a fun read! I love the descriptions. Nefaria is a force to be reckoned with in this exciting holodeck adventure, written by @Robin Hopper! Thank you for sharing it with me—you know me too well. NPC Nefaria: The Scales of Justice (google.com)

The Arrow's CO has done a lot of self-reflection this leave and I think this sim deserves special recognition for the delicate balance it manages to strike with a complex, emotional topic and not at all because it implies the benefits of listening to his XO. That had absolutely nothing to do with this post. At all. Bravo, Skip. ================================= ((Deck 1, Captain’s Ready Room, USS Arrow)) Dewitt: Permission to speak freely, Sir? Shayne: We’re alone. That was as good as permission, as far as Shayne was concerned. From day one, his policy had been that the formality of command largely ceased in the confines of a singular, private conversation. He knew that his love of the chain of command could be a noose as easily as it was a guide, and he was determined to not be hanged by his dedication to protocol like some sort of stuffy, intransigent bureaucrat. Thus, anyone- from the lowliest crewmen to the most senior of his officers- held his attention and his confidence while alone in the environs of the ready room. It was a sacred trust, one Shayne was pleased to know he’d never had reason or need to break. Dewitt: I have talked a lot to one of the Cadets from the Libris, Ginny Lacy. I guess she is the brain behind the automation of the ship. She's holding the belief that an AI has a more complete and deterministic picture of heated situations and how to solve them. ::pause and taking another sip:: I can think of a million reasons why I believe an automated AI-based ship is a bad idea... But I cannot put off the thought that there is some truth to what she said. Shayne heard the Lieutenant’s words, and secretly, inwardly began to build defenses around himself. It was natural, second nature, to be exact, and it was a method of maintaining his emotional equilibrium without sacrificing awareness of the moment. But Niac’s words gruffly scampered up his brain stem like a vertical Jefferies Tube, wagged a vaguely hircine finger in disapproval, and then vanished back through the hatch. No, this time he would be better. This time he’d trust his crew. Shayne: There is. Before it had become a topic of personal contention for the captain, he’d often wrestled with the idea of AI ships himself. It seemed that ninety percent of the personnel aboard a given starship were there specifically to attend to the personnel aboard the starship. Doctors, counselors, environmental engineers, communications officers, that one schmuck saddled with corralling the various pets that escaped quarters during crises and took the opportunity to mate, leading to callico-targ hybrids that no one was qualified to look after… wow, his mind flew off the track. The point was that it was an old argument, and even without the normal recrimination that would accompany the notion, Shayne had to admit that the cold logic of steel and circuits would be a comforting distance for the fleet to maintain. But it was too cold for him. Sometimes when he looked at ships in space, he’d think about their beauty or their power. And yet, when they occasionally emerged from the eclipse of a moon, or left the native sun far behind, he couldn’t help but think how impossibly cold they must be. Shivering duranium and frost-encrusted nacelles and… just cold. Dewitt: As I'm collecting those pips on my collar... I'm just wondering how you deal with that... Heated decisions will always be made with an incomplete set of information... Part of it seems like a mixture of a gut feeling and hope. Shayne kept his bearing stern and thoughtful, but inside, it was like a long-forgotten sun had risen from behind a cloud bank. So much of what he’d felt was being spelled out better than he’d ever been able to consolidate it, and it seemed that he was being rewarded for listening to Niac’s words, if only in the form of validation. It hadn’t been just him. It was reasonable. It was feared, and difficult, and challenging, and there was no easy solution, and now his place in all this- in all this- was becoming, if not clearer, then more trustworthy. Shayne: You couldn’t be more correct. In my experience, every officer contends in a different way. That’s where you’ll find your sense of style, of leadership. But for me? I think like an Ops officer, and a pilot. Aviate, navigate, communicate… and do the best you can. It wasn’t much of a response, but it was the truth, and he held close to the validity of these approaches, even if they weren’t for everyone. Dewitt: How do you make those decisions without doubt and without charging yourself if things go south? Shayne stared at Dewitt for a moment, nonplussed. Before, the relevance these questions had to Shayne was something of a novelty, an enjoyable detail in an otherwise rapidly changing life. But now, it was almost like the young lieutenant was reading Shayne’s mind. How very much like the captain Dewitt was starting to become, and for the life of him, Shayne could not determine whether that was bad or good. Shayne: “When I was a child I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child, but when I became a man I put away childish things…” Randal Shayne held much of religion in great contempt, and made it more dangerously clear than most in his position. Tolerance and respect were still possible, but he would not be satisfied with the bludgeon that faith had become so often on his homeworld in the past. One must live it, embody it, and serve it as much as it served them, and in the pursuit of this agenda, Shayne had taken to skimming the holy texts of many faiths around the Alpha Quadrant. It was such a pity he couldn’t believe; the churches were beautiful, the stained glass telling stories that words might have mangled, and the words… twisted to evil so often, and yet… Shayne: You are asking the right questions, but the wrong person. Only you can answer them, in time, and with much deliberation, and much error. And the permission to make those errors, those choices… starts with your leader, and slowly, you find conviction sufficient to supply your own. And then you decide, and learn, and if you are right more often than you are wrong, they make you a captain. It was not the fountain of wisdom Shayne wished to provide, nor the simple answer he himself so desperately craved as a nascent lieutenant, looking with awe and anxiety at the ever-increasing obligations and possibilities open to him. Shayne knew the willingness to dive in, even without knowing, despite the desire to know as much as possible, was part of what made a good leader, or at least a good star service captain. It sounded so reckless, so self-serving, and yet, no ship was safe in port. No soul would blossom in confinement. And no words could convey a truth they weren’t designed to bear. Dewitt: Response Shayne: Our success is built on failure. And so long as you are ready to learn, and answer for the consequences, and accept the burden that is the metal at your collar, I give you permission to fail, Mr. Dewitt. And perhaps together we will find the answers you so keenly seek. For a moment, the uniforms didn’t matter. The ranks didn’t matter. They were but two men; one freshly proven and looking towards the future, and the other watching from farther down the road, at the storms and the rockslides and the many dead canaries, and trying to shout in a hoarse whisper… “awake!” Dewitt: Response Tag/TBC (END?)

(( OOC - We’ve done our best to be mindful of our descriptions and keeping to the PG-13 guideline, but the scene is intrinsically violent. Please be good to yourself, and if this is troubling to you, simply skip Part One!)) ((ISS Koh'la'Shamuu)) Activating the laser scalpel held to her throat was all he had to do - and after witnessing what he had done to the Ensign who had tried to come to her aid, Arys didn’t doubt for one moment that Boucher would kill her. To say that she had a plan wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t entirely correct either. Part of her was still hoping for rescue, but knowing the situation she was in, another part of her had accepted that it would be unlikely. And that allowed a certain freedom. She was still terrified, but forced herself to concentrate on what she could do right now. And, for the moment, all she could do was to get LeVesque out of here and have him help Foster and Zumagi to evacuate. Perhaps she had wanted to give them enough time to do that as she gave the computer to seal the doors to the cockpit, locking herself and Boucher inside, and wedging away from him a split second before he activated the scalpel. Yavir glared at the woman. She had tipped from annoyingly necessary to a genuine obstacle. He no longer needed her, and now she had the gall to stand in his way. He cast about, looking for a weapon with more range than a laser scalpel. Finding nothing, he tightened his grip on the medical implement and waited to see what her next move would be. Boucher: ::flinging away the fistful of hair:: What do you think is going to happen here? Trovek: I don’t know. It was a sober and genuine response. She had managed to bring the slightest bit of distance between herself and Boucher, but with the doors sealed, there was no escape. Trovek: I know what will not happen. Boucher: Oh? Trovek: You will not be able to pilot the ship. You will not be able to escape. Boucher: Do you really think I’d have you bring me here if I was incapable of handling a ship? Federation arrogance that you know best. Trovek: LeVesque locked in a course and you have no way to change that. She was guessing. She hoped that she was guessing right. Boucher: No, I’ll bypass your little override, shut off life support to the rest of the ship, purging it of all the filth hiding in the corners, then I’ll continue on my way. YOU are the only obstacle - one I plan to eliminate. Now. He lunged at her, scalpel hand leading the charge like a desperate fencing thrust. If he could end this quickly, the damage she’d done to his timeline could still be mitigated. Arys raised her arms in front of her face and upper body in a defensive gesture, and the surgical device sliced through the flesh of her forearm, leaving no blood but a gaping cut. The muscle hadn’t been completely severed, but the scalpel had performed its task admirably. Yavir wanted to take advantage of the contact and her distraction while he was close-up. His free hand shot toward her throat, grasping and lifting her momentarily from the decking. He wasn’t strong enough to keep her suspended, but he could squeeze. He pressed the button on the scalpel again, but the tiny blue light failed to ignite. Boucher: Damn. He cast the now-useless device away, making a tight fist, and buried it in her midsection with a vitriol he’d never felt before. He struck out blindly, feeling his fists make contact. At one point, a jolt of pain went through his little finger at the same time he heard a crack. He wasn’t sure if the source had been his finger or a rib. With the oxygen in her lungs slowly running out, she clawed at the hand around her throat, and when she failed to free herself from his grasp, she raked her fingernails across his face. Yavir felt a warm trickle down the side of his face. He was pretty sure she hadn’t gotten his eye, but the blood was running into it, and he couldn’t see clearly as a result. Annoyed, he shoved her hard against a jutting work surface. As she fell to her knees, he wiped furiously at his face, clearing his vision. The momentary opportunity was all she needed though. He felt her entire weight launch into his stomach as she plowed into him. The air was knocked from his lungs in an unintelligible but somehow still profane outburst. He brought his fists down on her back, hammering her shoulder blades. Then the entire room flashed bright white, went black, and then blurred to normal in an instant as her knee connected with his groin. He lost control of his limbs, falling limply to the decking. He had to keep fighting, but his body wasn’t obeying him any more. It was terrifying how satisfying that was, and how okay Arys was with the sudden shift into survival mode rather than conduct befitting a Starfleet Officer and someone who had dedicated themselves to being a healer. Her whole body hurt, and for the lack of having any kind of plan, she kicked him in the face as he began speaking. Boucher: You – What epithet he’d intended, she didn’t give him a chance to make known. Yavir felt his nose break against the toe of her boot, ending the sentence with a crunching punctuation. Trovek: SHUT UP! She hissed, just about managing to not accentuate the command with another kick. His mind was a blur of pain. The lightning emanating from between his legs, the searing pain in his face and head - they mingled with swirling emotions. He hated this half-breed woman. He hated Nyra. He loved Kat. He hated Naystrim and her sanctimonious vision. All these feelings mingled together, gnawing at him like a dog with a bone. At some point, these thoughts must have spilled from him audibly. Boucher: Nyra … Trovek: What? She didn’t know who he meant, but she knew for a fact that she wasn’t Nyra. Still, it snapped her out of her fight or flight response, and for a moment, she hesitated. Boucher: ::not hearing the question:: Nyra … Trovek: ::coldly:: No one of that name is here. His mental fog was beginning to lift. Yavir remained on the floor. It still hurt too much to move, but he was at least becoming more aware of his surroundings again. What did she say? What name? Vaguely, he heard himself say Nyra’s name. But that wasn’t her name. He’d been told her real name. His brain was still hazy, and he spoke: Boucher: Nestira Aristren. That was a whole different story. Arys knew Nestira, even if not well. She knew that the woman had been sent to Miranda VII on an undercover mission, and that she had returned only days before they had laid siege to Terra Prime. The question was… how did he know her name? Trovek: What about her? Boucher: She hurt my sister. I have to find her. Trovek: She isn’t here. And she wouldn’t hurt anyone. Because Nestira was very… gentle. Arys had a hard time imagining that she would hurt anyone - but then again, she hadn’t pictured herself hurting anyone either. Those kind of morals changed very quickly when your life was on the line. Boucher: Then you do know her. And I assure you - she did hurt my sister. Arys needed a plan. Now that her chances for survival had increased, she needed an actual plan. Some way to detain Boucher, or get Sherlock and additional security here… But he didn’t shut up and let her think, and Arys regretted instantly what she said next. Trovek: She was part of Terra Prime. She probably deserved it. It was as though the balance scales of pain had just had a black hole dropped onto one of the trays. The physical pain which held Yavir to the deck was outweighed by the resurgence and redoubling hatred toward this woman. Still, he knew he lacked the strength for another fight. A new plan began taking shape in his mind. He shifted slowly - non-threateningly - to a seated position, just a few inches closer to the shield and comms controls. Boucher: Don’t you dare talk about my sister. You know nothing of her. She didn’t deserve what Nyra- Nestira did to her. Trovek: ::hissing:: It’s always different when it's your own family, isn’t it? It didn’t matter to you when you murdered the hybrids of Utopia Colony. Have you ever seen your compound in action? Did you see what it did to the people there? She was thinking of Meryle Harris, who had watched her two hybrid children bleed out in front of her, unable to do anything about it. How ten thousand people - sisters, daughters, mothers - brothers, sons, fathers - had been killed in the most painful way imaginable. Boucher: Kat and I didn’t have anything to do with that. It was only true in the letter of the statements. He’d been a pilot, enabling those who did handle the “wet work” get to and from the targeted locations. He’d acted the pirate on several occasions, stealing supplies and ships for the cause, but he’d never killed anyone … until today. Kat had certainly never killed anyone. Her job was to save human lives, and she’d done it well. Trovek: Sure. He had to try … Boucher: I need to talk with Nestira. Can you make that happen? She had to remind herself that she was meant to de-escalate the situation. To avoid further violence and loss of life. Even when her internal voice (or external voice?) was screaming at her to bash his skull in while she still had the upper hand. But did she? Did she still have the upper hand? Something wasn’t right. Trovek: I.. can make that happen, yes. Yavir shifted his weight, inching closer to the controls panel. Speaking with Nestira would be a huge win, but he wasn’t willing to submit to capture for the sake of one conversation. He started pulling himself up, using the workstation as a ledge, and tapping a control to pull up the shield controls in the process. Still in a half crouch, he tried to look unthreatening. Boucher: I need to stand for this. Trovek: I-... That was when he leapt to his feet and once more tackled her. And Arys, caught entirely off-guard with this attack, had no means to defend herself. She was slammed against the wall and lost her footing, and she was sure that Boucher would kill her. Only that he didn’t. Yavir had hit with the outside of his shoulder, sending her careening away from the console behind her rather than tackling her into it. Boucher: You said you can get a message to Nestira? Trovek: Y-yes… Boucher/Moray: Tell her Yavir Moray is alive. Tell her I know what she did to Kat, and she will pay for it. That’s a promise. You deliver that message, and you’re worth leaving alive. He punched in a string of commands that opened up a secure communications link. Moray: =/\= Moray to the Dolorem =/\= Alvarez: =/\= Holy crap, you’re still alive!? =/\= Moray: =/\= I won’t be for much longer if you don’t get me out of here. =/\= Alvarez: =/\= One sec. ::beat:: yeah, I see you. =/\= Moray: ::to Trovek:: Deliver the message. And then he was nothing but shimmering light. Arys was alone. END(?) for Yavir Moray PNPC Lt. Trovek Arys Chief Medical Officer Starbase 118 Ops J239809TA4 ~and~ MNPC Yavir Moray (aka Elias Boucher) Simmed by Hiro Jones E239510KD0

This was a great read from Denali's very own Ensign Sasus Raimor. 👌🏻 (( Raimor’s Room, Anchorage, Denali Station - After The Party )) Raimor sat in front of the blank monitor unsure of what to do. He’d resolved himself to call his father and tell him everything that had been going on over the last few weeks, but that was twenty unproductive and silent filled minutes ago. Now he wasn’t so sure. He looked at his own reflection for an excuse to walk away or any form of advice. It looked back at him without offering either and the betazoid officer let out a deep sigh. oO You know, you could be a bit more helpful here. It’s your family too. Oo Raimor pushed back from his desk and walked over to a box of things he’d been meaning to put away since he moved to the station. Reaching in, he pulled out an old, dusty binder. He clutched the volume to his chest and walked over to the couch. He flopped down, kicking his feet up and wiping the layer of dust that had accumulated over time on the front cover of the little family heirloom. Thinking back, he wasn’t sure why his family had decided to keep most of the photos in a physical book. That had always just been the way they’d done things. A PADD could have kept many more photos in a safer manner, but there was something nostalgic about having these old memories in an actual book. He inhaled deeply, letting out a long sigh before tentatively opening himself up to everything he’d been avoiding for years now. He only recognized a few of the figures in the older photos. Great-great-grandmothers that had kept the family respectable hundreds of years ago and whatnot. With each page Raimor turned, a low rumbling sense of dread started to churn in his stomach. Black and white pictures with crumbled, yellowed edges turned into crisper color ones with more and more folks he recognized. He knew what was coming, but still let out a gasp when he saw it. He’d taken a photo the day he got accepted to Starfleet Medical. Proudest day of his life. He looked down at his own, younger face as it smiled back at him. The younger Raimor had his hands clenched tightly around a small disk-like object that contained a video detailing his acceptance to school and an arm wrapped tightly around his younger sister Heria. She was only a few years younger than him, but she had always looked half his age. His father stood behind the two of them in the dark uniform he always wore. Raimor couldn’t think back to a time where his father wasn’t wearing that same uniform. He remembered that he had to actually have mom take his father’s phone away just so they could get this picture. It was always that way back then. He smiled slightly and grabbed a box of tissue off of the coffee table to wipe his nose. He looked back at his own face and sighed. oO I know. I’ve avoided it all for too long. Oo He hesitated one last time before bringing his gaze back down to the book. He saw his older sister Alessa standing next to him, looking down at him and smiling. She looked so genuinely happy for him there. He knew how hard it was for her to show her teeth in photos; Mom had always had to bribe her to let them show, but here they were shining brilliantly in the sunshine. Raimor sighed and wiped his face again. He hadn’t been able to talk to Alessa for over two years now. He wondered how she was doing with her new husband. oO Father was so mad when she said she’d changed her last name. Oo That was the last time he’d seen his elder sister. He’d begged her not to leave, but she was always so headstrong. He’d never seen an Earth goat, but what he understood was a fairly apt description for his sister. She didn’t change her mind, but she’d slipped a piece of paper into his pocket with her contact information. He still hadn’t used it. His eyes had been avoiding the last ghostly form in the family picture, but he finally forced them onto it. His mother stood behind Alessa, hands on her shoulders, eyes firmly ahead at the camera. Raimor let out a shuddering, sniffling gasp. It was all too normal. There wasn’t any hint of the disease that would take her life two years later. No clue that the strong woman he was looking at was just dust now. He reached his hand out shakily to touch his mother’s face, but instead of the warmth he always associated with her, it was cold and plastic. It was wrong. Raimor closed the book and put it aside, not wanting to look at it anymore. He wiped himself clean with another tissue before wheeling back to his desk. His reflection was waiting for him, slightly more red now, but unhelpful as always. oO I guess nobody is going to save me, huh? Oo With a resolving breath, the Betazoid officer clicked to life, causing the monitor to flicker and force his reflection away. He waited anxiously for a few moments before a ringing tone echoed too loudly around his apartment. Raimor quickly turned the sound down to a more reasonable volume, hoping that nobody had been woken up by his call. He looked around for any signs that he’d trespassed on somebody's sleep, but snapped back when he saw a stern face on the monitor. Eloy: Sasus. It’s late. Raimor blinked at his father for a moment before responding. Raimor: Yeah, I thought… Well it’s been a while. I just wanted to check in with you. His father raised an eyebrow. Eloy: Are you well? Raimor: Uh, yeah. I just got done with an awards ceremony with the rest of the officers. Eloy: I see. There was an awkward silence between the two men. Raimor waited for his father to ask him something, anything, but he didn’t. They just stared at each other silently. Raimor: ::fumbling:: Umm, I graduated. I’m sure you figured that out though. I’m out on a station called Denali now. It’s a really fascinating place. W-We aren’t sure who built it yet, but it's a ring of sorts with a sun in the middle. ::pause:: It’s massive. Eloy: Yes, I heard. I heard that there was some sort of disturbance there as well. A pirate attack if I remember correctly. Raimor: ::excitedly:: Yeah! It actually was happening when I got here and I had to- Wait. You’ve been keeping up with me? Eloy: Not specifically. One of my associates was loosely linked with the shipment company who managed to lose the weapons your pirate queen lady stole. I had to prove that the company wasn’t involved. Raimor: Oh… I see. Eloy: Is that all you had to tell me, son? Raimor gripped the ribbon he’d just been awarded earlier in the evening tightly in his hands, feeling a familiar ache in the back of his throat. Raimor: No, that’s all. Eloy: Then have a nice night Sasus. The monitor flickered again and Raimor was left alone in his apartment. The young man finally let out the deep sob that he had been choking back. After all of this time his father truly hadn’t changed at all. NT, END Ensign Raimor Medical Officer Denali Station D240001SR3

((Interior, Main Engineering, Deck 3, USS Arrow)) Despite the recent progress he made with Lieutenant Commander R'Ariel, and even before Lieutenant Dewitt shared the good news about their long-hoped EPS overhaul, Ensign Nolen Hobart planned to avoid the “fun.” He knew that, as wave after wave of Arrow crew beamed down to “Space Vegas,” as some of the humans had taken to calling it, the ship would grow ever more still. The buzz of excitement had been building steadily since they set toward Deep Space 33, known ahead of time to be but a waypoint for bolder and brighter destinations, but it hadn’t grown in Nolen. As impressionable as his own mind could be by the press of others’ feelings upon him, his own, personally-cultivated dread at what he might sense even from orbit served as a robust levy against the rising tide. As high as the crests of anticipation seemed to be reaching, Ensign Hobart knew that down on Freecloud itself, if the lights wouldn’t blind him and the sounds wouldn’t deafen him, he would find himself struggling to keep his head above water. But there, as he made preparations for the upcoming overhaul, amidst the emotional buzz of the crew, an entirely different kind of buzz caught Nolen's attention. The power feed along the wall to the subspace transceiver was vibrating. Hobart: ::curiosity:: Huh. Vibrating equipment was generally not a great sign. Some equipment was meant to vibrate, but usually not for very long, and not without some kind of readout about what it was doing. Some equipment vibrated because some of its moving parts had come loose or required lubrication. But a power feed had no moving parts. Or, it wasn't supposed to. Nolen ran a system diagnostic. While he waited, he looked around the compartment. Empty again. He could get used to this, so long as the work was interesting. Connor had been there not that long ago, but he’d run off to Shuttlebay 1 to meet Ensign Slipka. Gripping the loop of a ceramic mug—a family gift, painted on its exterior a dubious declaration of Nolen's rank among and above the galaxy’s engineers—he brought it up under his nose, and gave the contents a long, satisfying sniff. The computer gave him a cheerful chirp and Nolen took a sip of his coffee. The results of the diagnostic were unsatisfying. No significant power fluctuations. No indication of any interruptions or irregularities at all. The computer thought this was great news. Nolen knew it was not. Hobart: ::concern:: Huh. He tried to recall who was on the bridge for this shift. Connor had mentioned who, but Nolen was too busy looking forward to the EPS overhaul that had finally been approved—and on a ship that had emptied its personnel, no less!—to pay that much attention to minor details like names and command structure. He tapped his combadge, expecting to open a channel to the Bridge and… whomever was there. He was surprised, not by the identity of the Officer of the Deck, but by the fact that his combadge started talking at him. Gott (recorded): =/\= …problems? Gott stuck? Have no fear, ‘cause I've Gott you! For a limited— =/\= Ensign Hobart had never before slapped his hand against his combadge with such determination or force. He ran a hand through his soft, wavy brown hair and grabbed a fistful. A sharp tug confirmed that he was not, in fact, in the midst of a nightmare. He gave it two more sharp tugs, just in case, before returning his attention to the console. ((Timeskip, Interior, Shuttlebay 2)) As the doors to the shuttlebay swished apart for him, Nolen threw up a hand to shield his eyes. The lights of the Billable Hours were blinding, and the noise—was that music, or sehlats mating?—was deafening. Nolen had found his own little chunk of Freecloud, already, right here on the Arrow. He wasn’t pleased. Hobart: ::yelling:: Computer, shut down all external device interfaces in Shuttlebay 2! If the Computer chirped its acquiescence in response, Nolen couldn’t hear it. But as the Billable Hours was cut off from the ship’s power feed, the lights dimmed and the noise faded to a tolerable whisper. It was then that Nolen got a good look at what exactly was going on in the shuttlebay, and shifted from “not” pleased to “dis-.” Hobart: ::mild horror, to self:: That is ten pounds of ship in a five pound bay… It was enormous. The sight of it inside the shuttlebay was nearly incomprehensible, and Nolen imagined that even the thought of it would have driven the engineers at the Starfleet Design Bureau babbling mad. He could make out three decks underneath a whole host of features that didn’t seem to make any sense or serve any purpose except to be there and look fancy. He tried not to be distracted by his reflection in the polished gold hull plating as he dared to creep closer. He crouched down to see that it was, in fact, resting on the deck, metal-to-metal, and, in order to avoid crushing its uppermost bits against the ceiling of the Arrow’s hangar, was actually listing at a disturbing twenty-five degree (or so) angle. He heard the hiss of an airlock equalizing from somewhere out of sight, and walked over to investigate just who had crammed this golden lump into the Arrow’s cavity. As he approached, he heard the whine of an embarkation ramp as it was interrupted halfway along its programmed travel by the deck of the Arrow, angled up from its perspective. As Nolen rounded the corner slowly, he was startled by an intense tap on his shoulder. Spinning around, he came face to face with an upset-looking Ferengi. Gott: Response? Hobart: This is your ship? Gott: Response? Nolen’s eyes narrowed. Hobart: Right now, I’m the guy who decides whether your ship gets to plug back into our EPS grid. Gott: Response? Nolen smiled. He hadn’t met very many, but he’d always heard that Ferengi were very pleasant, so long as you had something of value to give them. TAG/TBC ——— Ensign Nolen Hobart Engineering Officer USS Arrow (NCC-69829) A240001NH3 --

Absolutely cracking sim from @Jovenan here. Multiple plot and character elements from the ensign's short but eventful Starfleet career were expertly woven together in this dream sequence. What a delight this was to read, and the greatness continues in Part 2. Fantastic sim, Jo.

This sim by @Rebecca Iko really had me mentally fist-pumping in enthusiasm for her transformation into an action movie badass.

Usually when I am busy I just read rather quickly my comrades sims, if my characters aren't in the action. This last week was such an example and as I read in a few minutes the lines of the many stories they write only one got my full attention and was worth reading it with time. A luxury I lacked this week.

This was a great scene and I am very much eager to read more about Antonova Well done! @Talos Dakora

In this, @Talia Ohnari has landed upon the formula to winning me over in a sim. Plausible technobabble? Self doubt overcome by abject professionalism? RELEVANT BACKSTORY?! Love it!

I loved this sim from our newest recruit @SevaReeshe! It's so witty, she had me giggling throughout while still maintaining the seriousness of the characters' situation. And the way she carefully incorporated Seva's backstory and skill set, comparing their situation to a final exam and referencing her father's stories, it's all so well done. Fabulous work, keep it up!

((Ferengi Yacht 'Billable Hours', on Approach to the USS Arrow)) Teeth scraping and gnashing together as he worked through the last of his second dinners imported tube grubs, Gott sighed with culinary contentment as he sipped a glass of Sluggo Premium Latinum Reserve and considered how he'd ended up aboard his newly purchased vessel and the purpose for his impromptu trip. Word had reached him in his small but gradually expanding counseling suites aboard Deep Space Thirty Three that the USS Arrow, home to many of his current roster of patients, had experienced grave trauma during the course of their last mission. It had concerned him to learn that many people had died and many more had been injured, mostly because he wasn't immediately able to book them for urgent crisis care for which he charged a significant premium. He'd been horrified at the thought of all that trauma and the associated anecdotes he could use to flesh out his next book going to waste so he'd decided to make his inaugural journey aboard the Billable, a spacious and luxurious yacht built to his exacting specifications and paid for with a small portion of the latinum he was making via his Interspecies Medical Exchange consultancy fee. Although it had taken far longer to complete then originally planned, largely due to his constant need to augment and improve the interior design features, Gott had to admit to finally being satisfied in a vessel that could serve as both home and office quite literally anywhere. The craft's overlong and tall body contained three decks and an observation dome, decorated in a style some would call 'ostentatiously garish' and which those same opinionated observers would silently envy. The lower deck, where the various engine bits and...pipes, he assumed....held little interest for him aside from containing the lobby to his office, where a tranquil fountain and soothing bogs created the gateway to his mid-deck, which contained a palatial end to end counseling suite that even the Nagus would be hard pressed to improve upon. The living carpet, bioengineered to give warmth and tactile feedback via his delicate feet, stretched from wall to wall and his 'listening couch,' upon which he could recline for maximum psychological insight, created a soothing liquid filled crescent around half the interior wall. Soothing lights, a robust media and sound system and a sumptuous bedchamber that would make terrestrial kings and emperors green with envy made up the top deck and extended all the way forward, where wrap around viewports provided a spectacular backdrop for his...personal entertaining. Although his invitations to the stations Commanding officer, a ravishing woman named Agatha, had so far been rejected with increasing amounts of hostility, Gott knew it wouldn't be long before his obvious charms won her over. All of this passed through his mind as Atraxia, his digital assistant, handled the mundane details of piloting the green and gold warp capable vessel on it's final approach towards the Arrow. Her synthetic and sultry voice called to him as he splayed out on the couch, his iridescent Tholian silk robe hanging open around his shoulders. Atraxia: Doctor Gott, we're on final approach to the Arrow but they're a little confused about our presence here. Gott clucked and straightened up slightly, brushing back his earhair into a well kempt mane. His voice was sharp and shrill when he answered. Gott: Put me on the radio with them then! I won't have my clients go unserviced...or worse...stuck with only Starfleet counselors to treat them. Or steal away his client list, he failed to add out loud. Atraxia dutifully opened a channel and Gott loudly cleared his throat. Gott: =/\= HaAcCGgGGGnGGGcchh =/\= Wilkenbean: =/\= Uhh....This is...Arrow flight operations. Please state your identification and purpose for approach. =/\= Gott finished clearing his throat and responded to the confused but officious sounding voice. Gott: =/\= Hello? Hello?! Is this thing even on?! =/\= Gott thumped on the comm pickup as his yacht drew closer to the Arrow, handily killing time as they approached. Wilkenbean: =/\= This is the Arrow, we are receiving your transmission....are you in...some form of distress? =/\= Gott clapped his hands together at the sudden opportunity and siezed upon it. Gott: =/\= Distress! Yes, very distressed Mister...Mister? =/\= The voice on the other end of the comm didn't seem to quite know what to do and fumbled out an reply. Wilkenbean: =/\= Petty Officer Wilkenbean...and you are? =/\= Gott stood at the sheer nerve of the question. Gott: =/\= Well of course you know who I am, Mr. Winkenbreen! I'm Doctor Gott...famed author, esteemed practioner of the therapeutic arts, noted interior designer. And I desperately need to come aboard your little vessel right this instant! =/\= The voice on the other end of the comm sounded taken aback and the distance to the Arrow dropped to less than a hundred kilometers. Wilkenbean: =/\= Well I'm sorry, Doctor, but I don't have you on the flight schedule and I don't have authorization to bring a civilian vessel aboard. Please discontinue your approach or you risk being fined under Starfleet regulation...=/\= Gott cut the man off with a terse cackle. Gott: =/\= This is a medical emergency, Lieutenant Franksandbeans, and I'm using my special authority as a medical practioner working for Starfleet and the Interspecies Medical Exchange! Your crew is in desperate need of psychological aid and I'm coming aboard! Clear the landing pad or...whatever it is you need to do...we're landing. =/\= Gott closed the channel and watched with a smile as Atraxia competed the approach and, with only a bit of hesitation, the Arrow's forward facing shuttlebay doors slid open and allowed his vessel to park up, consuming most of the interior volume of the tiny bay. Now all he had to do was wait for the patients to come to him. [To Be Continued!] ((OOC: Gott is now available for shoreleave counseling services for anyone who wants to visit!)) ====================================== Gott Ferengi Commerce Authority Bonded Psychotherapist Noted Author Ships Counselor, Interspecies Medical Exchange V239509GT0

(( Outside counselling offices, USS Constitution-B, alternate quantum reality )) As the doors swished closed behind him, Lazarus broke his stride and paused now standing in the corridors full of people going about their day. He watched them for a moment, his eyes full of a dull fear. It was the kind of fear that eats a man from the inside out. He felt hollow. A small child's voice cut through his mental haze, as the child asked their parent if they could go see one of their friends on deck 8. He glanced left and right, and then joined into the flow of people moving about as he headed back to his quarters. When people spoke of Azura, she sounded better than him. A better leader, a better scientist, a better friend, and a better partner. It made him feel small, like he hadn't been living up to his full potential. As he walked, he mostly avoided eye contact, or if he accidentally met the eyes of someone else passing by he offered a terse simulacra of a smile. He had crossed through to a different-same reality, only to learn that the version of himself that departed here was his better. He was living in his own shadow... or was it her shadow? He still couldn't make sense of this change. Who was he? Were he and Azura the same? And if she was the more confident, more composed, happier version of themselves, then should he become her? In some ways it felt compelling to do so, but he was held by fear each time he thought about it. What if he transitioned, only to find out he was still the lesser of the two? What if he was transitioning to try and fix something and it was the wrong choice? What if he transitioned and did it wrong? It should make sense, all of this, but it doesn't. After extensive paperwork and meetings, he was granted access to her personal logs. He wanted to understand her and her life, in hopes that it would help him make sense of things. It wasn't just that she transitioned. She was also, apparently, autistic and queer as well. He found a few mentions in her logs of Kovar. He remembered Kovar well, and the book they gave him on neurodivergence. Lazarus had never read it, but it seemed that Azura did. He didn't have extensive personal logs of her time before joining Starfleet, but the mention of reading Kovar's book stood out to him. Maybe she read the book and figured out she was autistic. Or maybe she allowed herself to feel the queer yearning that he knew he repressed about Kovar. Or maybe it was both. Could he recreate the process if he read the book? Or would his journey need to be different because he knew the ending already? He sighed and noticed the intersection he was at, and took a turn toward the arboretum and abandoned his plan to go back to his quarters. (( Arboretum )) He spotted an empty bench and sat down. Plenty of people milled about, including another senior officer. They waved at each other. Sure, he had his title and his position back, but he was a ghost of who he used to be. Too afraid to connect, too overshadowed by Azura. It was hard for everyone to lose her, and to gain such a vague shadow of her. Lazarus decided that he was probably autistic, too, but still hadn't read the book. And he knew he was queer. He was still getting used to admitting it to himself, but those things were true. And it felt good to know those things, and to find peace about them. He was able to make sense of his experiences, especially growing up, when he reconsidered himself as an undiagnosed autistic and closeted queer kid. But was he transgrender? He scratched at his beard in contemplation, and noting for the umpteenth time that his beard didn't make him uncomfortable. He sort of liked it, it covered up a lot of his face and was very masculine. But then it struck him, an idea. The holodeck! He got up and hurried himself to whatever Holodeck was open. (( Holodeck 2 )) As he stepped into the black and gold grid, he ordered up a simple program. Davis: Computer, officer's quarters from the USS Constitution, just like the ones I'm staying in. The computer chirped in affirmation and the quarters materialized around him. Davis: Computer... He felt a cold sweat immediately forming all over his body. Part of him was thrilled, but most of him was terrified about what happened next, and how it would feel. Davis: Computer, change my appearance to match that of Azura Ada's. And give me a body-length mirror. The computer again affirmed the order, but seemed to hesitate for an iota of a second before complying. Maybe he just imagined it. He felt something odd as the computer projected a hologram onto his own body. He knew it was possible, but he'd never done it before. But when he looked down, he saw hands that responded to every movement, but they were slender and... lady-like. Gone were the fingers he'd written off as "sausage fingers." And suddenly there was hair surrounding his face and weighing his head down. Over the years, he'd tried to grow his hair out more than once but never got very far. This was full, and long, and moved when he moved. A strange sensation. He looked down and saw his chest. He gasped, and quickly stepped in front of the three panel body-length mirror. As soon as he saw the reflection, a shock ran down his spine and a deep sense of dread filled him, mixed with an overwhelming joy. Lazarus tried to study the reflection in the mirror, but every time he looked at it–at her–he started getting choked up. It was her, yes, but it was also him. He was her, she was him. It was all there. He'd seen this face plenty of times but to live in it, even as a hologram, was something entirely different. He touched his face, and watched the delicate hand caress his-her cheek as tears rolled down his face. Her face. Their face? He turned and posed and studied the form from all angles. As the shock wore off, so too did the dread. The dread, he was able to identify, was born out of fear that he'd like it. And that meant lots and lots of change. And change was hard. But he didn't like it–it was more than that. He stopped posing and was suddenly very still in front of the mirror. He felt a roiling inside himself, a conflict: fear and fact, battling inside. It could have been seconds, minutes, or maybe more. But suddenly it clicked. He opened his mouth and declared to the empty holodeck... Davis: I'm a woman. And she wept tears of relief and joy and fear in front of the simulated mirror. —— Lt Commander Lazarus Davis Second Officer Chief Science Officer USS Constitution-B IDIC team member ASDB team member C239510LD0 (she/her?, character) (she/they, writer)

Great stuff, Doctor @Seesh! ((USS Arrow, Deck 3, Sickbay, Surgical Bay 2)) “Doctor Seesh, that's not the S.O.P, even I know that.” Those words decided to ring through his mind now. Could that not wait? Seesh bristled in irritation as that sunk in. Not at Commander Serinus, but at himself. He was in Starfleet, there was a procedure to things, he knew that. He had a reason, Jacin and MacKenna's injuries were more pressing matters. It wasn't just him prioritizing the Arrow crew. However, he knew there was a procedure for a reason, he wasn't in his ship-hopping days anymore. He should have picked his words better. oO Not that anything has been standard about this mission from moment one. Oo He quickly, even somewhat violently shook his head, as if to rattle those thoughts out. Live and learn, and carry on, that's how he got this far. That and persistence. Heaps of persistence. His focus turned fully to Lieutenant Jacin as preparations were finished, osteotractors set to make sure Jacin's spine didn't move a micron. No risking any more damage. A full suite of tools and an error-free sensor cluster before him provided some reassurance as he pieced together what he was working with. That was an exposed spine and burns from what was meant to be a lethal phaser blast. Thankfully, it had barely managed not to be. Adjusting the holoscreen, he could see this was going to be a process. Singed nerves and cartilidge, parts down to the bone vaporized. While it looked bad, his probings gave him more and more hope, everything was still mostly functional. A combination of neuro-synaptic shock from the phaser and muscular detachment was what caused Jacin's immobility. Routine sterilization had taken care of any incidental debris, and the spinal cord itself was, as far as he could tell, untouched, so everything laid out in front of him was relatively simple. oO Did I just see that and think 'simple'? Simple by spinal surgery standards, maybe. Oo The noise and bustle of the rest of Sickbay, of Doctor Ohnari's nearby procedure in progress faded away. It was all still there, but pushed out of the way in his mind, the drones and beeps of his own readings at the forefront. 'Simple' or not, there was bone to restore, muscle and ligament to regrow and reattach, burns to treat, skin to heal. This initial surgery was going to be the backbone of Jacin's recovery. Figuratively and literally. With a careful mix of nanosurgeons to start the process of regrowing the bone outward into the desired shape and his own diligent supervision of the tissues between with a sonic separator and protoplaser, repairs shaped along nicely, until erratic beeps from Jacin's readings started, interrupted by one quick defibrillation cycle, bringing things back to normal. Seesh could feel his own heart racing, though he hadn't flinched at all. Working with the nervous system, complications were always right around the corner. After a pause to make sure his heart didn't affect his hands, he double-checked for burns and damaged tissue around the site, along with making triply certain everything was sterile. She would be bed-bound until the follow-up surgery and it would take a bit of rehabilitation, but the Lieutenant should be back to her old self soon. He couldn't help but reflect that if they were in another place or another time, maybe not even all that long ago, Jacin's prognosis might be much different, much more uncertain. After updating Jacin's charts, making certain she was being carefully monitored, and that he was on-call if anything at all happened, he retreated to his quarters for a mental breather. Talking to patients was always a difficult piece of medical work for him, and hours of surgical work wouldn't do him any favors there. He couldn't help but smile to himself once he was alone. Sure, he'd probably have to get a formatting refresher from Ohnari for a research paper, and he'd never have the same way with people R'Ariel did. Surgeries, though? Give him a few more minutes, and he could go for round two if he needed to. ((Timeskip, Sickbay Recovery Suites)) It had seemed all three doctors had some impeccable timing, though Seesh lagged slightly behind, but close enough that the doors didn't give off another hiss. He was surprisingly quiet sometimes, whether he meant to be or not. R'Ariel: How are we all doing? MacKenna: We're here, we've survived. You tell us the rest of the story. Jacin: Well, we’re in sickbay so… Taking a look at the Commander's foot for the first time in hours, it was already a massive improvement. He actually hadn't been sure if getting MacKenna's real limb back was doable, but he was glad that it was. Ohnari had done some impressive work. Ohnari: Looking good here, Commander. Although you'll have to stay with us a few days, I am decidedly confident you will have full range of motion available to you. MacKenna: Sounds like a vacation. The look on the Commander's face was, this time, visible to him. There was some sort of distaste or sarcasm to it. Understandable, who liked being confined to a biobed? Something was said between MacKenna and Zabi, but he didn't quite pick it up. R'Ariel: Lt Ayemet, I dare say you had us all very worried. What have I told you about ending up on the casualty list? Jacin :trying to sound casual: Sorry to have let you down sir. Ohnari: ::softly:: No one is let down, we're happy you returned, and are working on recovering. She gave a soft smile, but Seesh picked up a bit of worry behind it. So, he wasn't the only one, then. He'd been around his fellow doctor long enough, he started to pick up on her subtleties. R'Ariel: I think you and I are going to have a really good talk about what you sensed over there. He was curious about that, too, though he wasn't sure it was his place. That was much more in R'Ariel's wheelhouse. Jacin: Yes sir. It seems like I won’t be going anywhere. R'Ariel: Looks like you got this. Ensign Zabi, have you been looked at yet? Zabi: Well, I'm not bleeding anymore but I'll need a new shirt...and probably new pants. How's the commander here? They were going to be replicating a lot of new uniforms after this one, that was for sure. It seemed that Talia had only now noticed him, but then, he had been awfully quiet. There was still a bit of 'everything should be fine' he was trying to think how to voice without being too blunt about it. Ohnari: Commander is stable, once the osteo-generators finish, I'll be able to begin the dermal grafting. Seesh: Lieutenant Jacin is going to need a follow-up, but after that, I'm confident she'll be back to her old self soon enough. I apologize if being unable to move scared you, Lieutenant, but you'll be mobile next time you wake. Though, there was a slight bit of uncertainty to his voice he hoped didn't bleed through. She should be fine. Ohnari: ::lowering her voice:: I hadn't had a chance to check the chart yet, how extensive was the damage? Any impact to the spinal column? Seesh: ::quieter:: Spinal column, yes, spinal cord, no. Soon as the nanosurgeons finish filling the gaps, which will be quite soon, she'll need a follow-up for muscular reattachment, dermal regeneration, and possibly physical therapy afterward. ::pause:: You might say she's unlucky, but I say otherwise, if that phaser had hit a few millimeters lower... He trailed off, not needing to say much more than that. He didn't really want to say more than that, thinking about it turned his stomachs. There was a fair bit of work ahead of them yet, but it seemed the worst was behind them. They were, as the saying went, out of the woods. Perhaps more accurately, out of The Swamp. NT/END Ensign Seesh Medical Officer USS Arrow, NCC-69829 A240002S11

I was trying to think of a clever text to describe how much I love this scene, but instead I'll just stand over here, hold up my 'I ❤️ Foster'-sign, and let y'all read the sim

Utterly thrilling to read from start to finish, and @Jo Marshall properly sets the tone for the final act of "Fight the Power", our current trip into all things Skarbek. Glinn Corbin Terek - A Swift Solution Supplied (google.com)

Poor Valin finally bites the bullet and goes for some counselling. However, the only available counsellor is Kelv a Tellarite. This may well be his first and last session! (( Counseling Offices, USS Astraeus )) Kelv: Ktarian bundt cake. Warm. And a mug of Vulcan hot chocolate with nutmeg. The replicator chirped and a moment later the requested items materialized in front of the Tellarite, who took them in hand and carried them back to the chair and small table in front of it to set them upon. Zera had precisely two hours between her last appointment and the next, which had involved her enduring a tirade of self doubt and low self esteem from a crewman in Ops. Who was infatuated with a member of Security and didn’t know how to express themselves due to the aforementioned tirade and a fear of rejection. That had been unbearable. But, Zera was confident she was able to argue some sense into the poor piglet. And now she had a chance to enjoy a quick bite of her favorite dessert, while going over the notes for her next appointment in a two hours. She took a bite of the gooey dessert and squealed in delight. It faded when she read through the previous counseling notes that referenced that relationship woes were among the previous concerns. She made a porcine grunt. What was with this ship and relationships? She sipped from the hot chocolate with nutmeg when the door chime beeped. Another series of grunts emanated from her as she grabbed the napkin of the table to dab her lips with. Kelv: Come in already! Zera looked up at the door as it opened and admitted a Human who almost had a respectable amount of fur on his chin. He tried to hide a grin but she saw it and the Tellarite’s brow raised slightly. She remained seated and stared at the Human who dared to interrupt her favorite meal of the day with his emotional issues. Yes this was her job and she was damned good at it but she’d barely gotten one bite of her bundt cake. Dermont: I, um, was wonderin' if ya 'ad time fer an unexpected session, ma'am. Kelv: I just like to sit in my office, in uniform for hours on end because I enjoy the decor and hope someone will stop by and ask me inane questions. ::She grumbled:: What do you think, crewman? The Human raised a brow and Zera took a bit of internal delight as it seemed like he was trying to figure out how to react to her comment. Dermont: response The Tellarite sat back in her chair and stared at the scruffy looking Human while she picked up a nearby PADD and pulled up his personnel record so she could get an idea of whom it was in front of her. . Kelv: They made you a lieutenant? And an Engineer? ::She continued reading:: I didn’t realize that Starfleet recruited from elderly care facilities these days. ::She snorted:: I can’t help you with your aches and pains, go to Sickbay for that. I’m just an emotional Engineer. Zera eyed the Human and took a sip from her mug. If she couldn’t enjoy her cake, at least she could enjoy her beverage. Dermont: response Kelv: I didn’t stutter. The plaque on the door says counselor. I’m an emotional and psychological engineer. I help fix the things in people that Sickbay can’t.::she stated matter of factly and eyed him:: Though something tells me, I'm going to be pulling overtime with you. Well. What’s your problem? The porcine counselor snorted in irritation at him. She grabbed a fresh PADD from the small table to her side, opened a new counseling file and made some notations. It was obvious despite her demeanor she was ready to work on her news repair project. In fact, all of her logs were labeled as Counseling Repairs. She intentionally made a note at the top of the file: Ancient Relic. It was the little things that made her smile. Dermont: response ((ooc: Didn’t want to add too many tags here but I hope you enjoy your counselor. Remember, you asked for this. )) ========================================= Lieutenant Zera Kelv Counselor As simmed by Lieutenant Commander Toryn Raga Second Officer/Chief Tactical & Security Officer USS Astraeus NCC-70652 Astraeus Staff Member Writer ID: A239410TR0 https://wiki.starbase118.net/wiki/index.php?title=Toryn_Raga

((Somewhere deep in Miranda VII)) Dara wasn’t part of the inner circle, but she orbited closely enough so that when vital data began its inevitable journey downhill that she was one of the first to get such information. Naystrim had left the station – moving on to the next evolution in the Terra Prime movement. That was fine by her…all her experimental weapons were here primed and ready to be deployed at the opportune time…and the rumors were that Starfleet was coming. Well, let them come…they would unknowingly be walking into quite a trap. She rubbed her hands together in anticipation. After years of hiding in plain sight, studying at the most prestigious Earth institutions—her particular focii being xenogenetics and bioengineering—Dara was finally ready to make her contribution to the cause. Her entire life had been preparation for this very moment in time. She was a Paxton…the latest of an unbroken line of believers…from the very beginning. A true disciple amongst the converts…it was in her very DNA. -- The civilian crowd was growing more agitated. Food stores were exhausted, and those in attendance were forgetting they belonged to the most noble of species. Such degradation…it disgusted her how quickly her brethren could forget their inherent nobility afforded them by their very blood. Dara’s mind—conditioned since she took her first toddling steps as child—immediately placed the blame on THEM. Non-Humans. The leaders of Terra Prime stopped at nothing to provide to their followers, but at every turn they had to fight to obtain the barest of necssities. And the aliens wondered why they despised them?! If Dara had her way, aliens would soon take their rightful place…beneath the boot of Terra Prime. Gritting her teeth, Dara shoved forward through the crowd, as an area in front of her lifted their voices up in a manner that denoted surprise or perhaps fear. Voices rose as questions were peppered ahead, and Dara’s pace increased—along with the force of her movements—shoving people to the ground to get to the source of escalating unrest. Slipping under the arm of a large man who raised his fist above his head and shouted a frantic inquiry—which she didn’t even bother to listen to—Dara found herself mere inches from a blue-skinned alien with wildly gesticulating antennae. Sh'shelor: We mean no harm, we simply wish to get you to safety. Dara’s eyes widened, but she kept the look of utter contempt off her face. Sherlock: Look! There is an imminent threat to the station. And we need to begin evacuations. Her attention homed in on a dark-haired female who appeared human…but one couldn’t ever really tell with these things. However, one thing was certain, with the delta their chests it was clear that Starfleet was here. These bastards just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could they?! At every turn Terra Prime was hunted by the rabid wolves of Starfleet. Dara gritted her teeth…she had to think fast. Sh’shelor: We have food, fresh water, and medicine! The stupid Blue Skin was going to start a riot…and Dara was at ground zero. She felt the heave of the crowd as pandemonium started to break out. The three Starfleeters looked amongst each other and spoke in tones that denoted unease. The crowd could very well do her dirty work for her! She pushed her way back into the crowd, grabbing at arms, making individuals LOOK at her as she made her way against the crush. Dara: They have guns! ::grabbing another person:: They’re going to kill us all! Person by person, if she could get them to lock eyes on her, a simple statement to incite fear and panic was uttered, and she could hear increasing yelling from those she had spoken her sweet nothings to as they disseminated what they had heard. Now past the throng, Dara took off running, her destination one of the satellite hubs which she had cloned internal sensor controls. Oh, it could only passively monitor, but that suited her needs. If Starfleet was here, no doubt there would be multiple incursion points…and the sensors would tell her where each and every one of the non-human ones were. A wicked smile broke out on her face. The anticipation of finally seeing the fruition of her life’s work come to pass was almost too much to bear! Miranda VII was loaded with booby traps – this, most probably even Starfleet knew – but now there was something else…something new. A potential weapon that had no taste or smell but one helluva punchline…and Dara couldn’t wait for the opportunity to set it loose. She stopped in front of the green-limed screen and brought up the internal sensors…small dots began showing up at various points in the station. Her face bathed in the green glow; a giddy chuckle erupted from Dara’s smiling lips. Dara: “Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly… Tag/TBC ************ MSNPC Dara Paxton Xenogeneticist/Bioengineer Miranda VII Station J239712S14

This is the second time @Kali Nicholotti has written for the opposing ship's EMH in our current mission and I think it's worth memorializing here how even in a relatively short piece, she deftly captures the Robert Picardoness of it:

I've been enjoying this scene a lot, but this sim by @Kettick really stood out to me! The narration was really engaging and I felt like I learned a lot about Kettick! Not just about his personality, but a bit about how he views the world and his place in it.

You can really feel Nesre’s anguish in this post. This was a wonderful and engrossing read @Alora DeVeau. — ((Corridor, Deck 6, USS Intrepid)) They were in the past. That realisation was nothing new, but it seemed that the weight of it was coming down more and more heavily upon the minds of those who were stuck there. Even Nesre felt it, that sudden pressure of the knowledge that they may not be able to return to the reality from which they had come. All they had known, all they loved was back in a different century far removed from where and when they were. The counselling staff were not immune from such thoughts. The strike in the breast at the dawning that she might never see her mother or her brother again had hit at the least expected moment. Her sessions were filled with people on their break between shifts, lamenting their losses, their fears, and they were all quite valid. And Nesre? She hadn’t taken a moment to consider her own. It was in the middle of the corridor that it truly hit. There was little traffic, those going on duty taking to tasks they had to finish, those coming off allowing themselves the luxury of a meal, or a shower, or simply some well earned rest. And she made her way toward her own quarters, her thoughts whirling with the fears of others, only to have her own suddenly rush to the forefront. Her feet froze and she stood there a moment, the tightening sensation in her chest, that squeeze that left her breathless. One hand pressed against where her heart pounded loudly within its chamber, the other hard against the wall in order to offer some level of stability. Deep breaths. Slow. Controlled. Inhale. One. Two. Three. Her whole galaxy had circled around her family. Even in the darkest times, when the shadows in her past had clawed at her, when the pain and suffering of their situation seemed unbearable, they had at least been able to find comfort, support, and love in each other. Since then, her universe had expanded to others, and she’d found there were more stars and suns than she had ever thought possible. But even though some of those lights in the darkness had come with her, she could not help but mourn over what she might very well have lost. Slow. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. They game in gasps, sudden rushes of air that squeezed in and out of her lungs in chaotic draws, sharp, and painful. Closing her eyes, Nesre tried to count down, then focused on something. Anything. Noise. Noises. There were noises. The hum of the ship. It was there. Something beeped, a steady rhythm. And there were footsteps… That snapped her back to reality and Nesre managed to inhale more slowly, then gained control. Straightened, she allowed herself another breath, long and easy, her heart still pounding, but with less urgency than before. Her eyes opened, and around the corner, a familiar blue form appeared, and almost ran into her. He barely stopped in time, then tried to circumvent her. Kel: Excuse me Lt. Salo. His voice was dark, rough, not at all like the V’Len she knew, and his form of address in such an informal situation stole her attention. Every muscle of his body tightened, the line of his jaw sharpened with tension. All her own cares were cast aside, her mind snapped back to the reality of the here and now, and without hesitation, Nesre turned and followed him. Salo: V’Len, wait! Kel: ::annoyed:: I'm on an errand of my own Lieutenant. You need not involve yourself. An errand? In such a temper? His continued response toward her was cold, callous, certainly not the V’Len she knew. Their earlier conversation burst to the forefront of her mind, and it only helped to spur her onward. Salo: V’Len, what’s wrong? What’s happened? Her inquiry only set his ire against her further. He stopped so suddenly, that this time, Nesre was the one who almost collided with him. She jerked to a stop as he whirled around, his form looming over her and shadows darkening his expression. Kel: ::gritting his teeth:: Nothing is wrong and I don't need your help. You should turn around and go the other way. He didn’t even give her a chance to respond before he turned again and began to stomp away. Once again, Nesre followed, unwilling to simply let this go. As a counsellor, she was duty bound. But as a friend, there was more at stake, and more determination to help and protect those whom she cared for. Salo: I can't do that and you know it. Kel: response Salo: You're obviously upset. I can't just leave you like this. It wasn’t just his current state, though that was troubling enough. Nesre knew there was trouble brewing in that mind and heart of his, and the situation left him torn, struggling with a part of himself he hadn’t really had to wrestle with before. Nesre picked up the pace, coming alongside the man. Kel: Response He wasn’t talking, but then again, he had already talked. While Nesre didn’t know all the details of what had happened on the surface of the planet, she knew some from the preliminary reports. Because part of her job was to keep up with the officers and possible scenarios that could be concerning, Nesre paid close attention to what happened on the ship, and this was no different. With V’Len’s case, she’d an opportunity to talk with him earlier, and had seen first hand one of the struggles he dealt with. And now? Now she had a suspicion. Salo: This is about Millie, isn’t it? Kel: Response

((Personal Quarters, Deck 5, USS Intrepid)) The quarters Avander had been assigned were private (a positive), but windowless (a negative). Looking out at the vastness of space never got old, and he liked to record his personal and duty logs while staring out a window. Instead, he found himself staring at a painting of geometric shapes, a circle and a triangle. He thought it might be something meaningful to Vulcans—what was it called—ID-eye-see? That sounded about right. He would have preferred a window. The crew had already received a briefing on how to file their official duty logs. There would be a copy for the ship’s records of their specific actions, but another, more detailed copy (with notes about the temporal shenanigans) forwarded to the Department of Temporal Investigations. Their protocols would keep certain details under wraps for at least the next 135 years. Still in discussions with the counseling staff, Avander realized that many of the staff were concerned about the stress their loved ones would have in the future when they suddenly blinked out of time in the year 2400. While they hoped to get back to the very time they left (or thereabouts), some of the crew were (justifiably) concerned that that was easier said than done. So the solution they had come up with was, in Avander’s humble opinion, quite clever. They would encode personal messages with a codex that would be indecipherable until 2400 and send personal messages to friends and family along nonrelativistic, old-fashioned radio transmissions. To most observers, they would look like background radiation, but if they had made accurate calculations, Starfleet would be able to intercept their signals, decode them, and pass along messages to those left behind in 2400. Avander pressed the record button on the old-timey data pad, stared at the painting, and began to dictate. Personal message Saturn Delphi Codex I don’t know when, or if, I will return to my own time. I want my family to know that I am well enough. I’ve taken a detour to the past and the crew and I have helped to save a planet’s population in the 2260’s. More alarmingly, there are transhumanistic beings aboard, including a Q. I’ve made contact with Auntie Elmond and have been reassured that things will all work out. Avander paused the recorder. He didn’t feel that this would end up being his “last message” home and it felt off to try and force any finality to the message. Still, in case something unexpected did happen to them, it might be better to add a few more words. The past isn’t as fun as I was led to believe—at least it’s a lot more inconvenient than Grandpa Endic always made it out to be. Our Starfleet delta’s aren’t even combages! He could go on about the technology limitations of this age, but didn’t want to come off whiny. Avander struggled to think of an appropriate topic for this awkward cross-time communication. Without technology and endless access to information libraries, I’m gaining a better appreciation of analog listening. I think I’m getting better at it, but there are always so many different ways to interpret the same data… Shoot—what had started as a good personal observation had turned into a philosophical reflection within two sentences. His mother would chide him for being too abstract in his messages. Perhaps it would be best to wrap this up and get ready for his shift. One way or another, I’m sure I’ll see you all again “soon.” I am grateful for the opportunity for a truly novel adventure—after all, that’s what I signed up for! I just didn’t expect my assignments to take me quite so far from home. All my love, Avander. That would have to do. Time to get back to work. -- Lt JG Avander Promontory Intelligence Officer USS Oumuamua O239910AP4

I absolutely loved reading this - our normally delightfully cheerful CEO getting to tear things up. And a Blondie reference, what's not to love? @Hallia Yellir, great work as always!

I adore reading well-written solo sims that give an insight into the character, and highlight history and personality traits that aren't emphasised on in other interaction. I liked this one in particular for choosing the style of a Captain's personal log - I hope we get to read more of this!