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((Kel’s Quarters, Deck 5, USS Intrepid)) Seeing her image on a screen was a strange experience. It was so sterile and far away and yet the woman pictured, Millie seemed to be closer to him than even a friend as good as Nesre. Hundreds of memories had paraded back into his mind. Breakfasts, coffees, hikes, dancing. He remembered their long conversations in starboard nacelle control on the Exeter. The nacelle was temperamental and Millie was constantly trying to get it to work properly. He would sit and read to her or chat while she pounded away and ran diagnostics. Even now it seemed she was right behind him, looking over his shoulder. Nesre's arrival had been something of a relief, bringing him back to the present, even if the present was the past. Now they sat in Dr. Sevrik's quarters, which were both familiar and different. Kel: I shouldn’t even be here. The Trill have very specific rules about being involved with "previous lives". I think I've already broken a half dozen. Salo: You make it sound as if you’re at fault. It wasn't of course and V'Len knew that. Rox had blown some kind of fuse and tried to give V'Airu the "best birthday gift ever". Frankly, V'Len felt a simple chocolate sundae would have sufficed. V'Len followed her gaze and quickly jumped up to shut off the monitor where the image of Millie was still visible. With the flick of a switch her image disappeared from the screen. Getting it out of his mind was more difficult. Kel: That. ::gesturing toward the screen:: That's just a ghost. She hadn't asked for an explanation, but he had felt compelled to give one. Salo: Really? She was a lovely ghost Setting back down, V'Len wished Nesre had not said that. He let out a slow controlled breath. He tried to stay focused on the conversation. Kel: She was one of the crew of the Exeter. I guess I was checking up on the old gang. I'm throwing the whole rule book out today it seems. I should get a nice long lecture from the Symbiote Commission when we get back. oO If we get back. Oo Salo: I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you. Kel: It is hard. The more I need Xam Kel's knowledge, the more I pull out his personality. It's a balancing act being a joined Trill. Trying to keep yourself and still use the resources of past lives. Salo: Tell me about this. If we weren’t here, in this time, how would you keep that all straight? Kel considered for a moment and then gave the best analogy he could think of. Kel: Think of it like a faucet. If you want knowledge from the symbiote you open it to a tiny drip and you can pull out what you need. In our time I only ever open it a crack. Play the guitar, maybe fly, but those are things I learned myself and used the symbiote to give me more insight. So I just open and close the faucet as needed. Salo: And you’re finding that harder here? Kel: I…V'Len has never run a ship like this, so the faucet is open much wider because I need a lot of Xam Kel's help. And with it comes a lot of Xam Kel and his past. Her grey eyes glanced back over to the monitor ever so briefly before they flicked back to V’Len. Salo: And even harder when you know someone you are back in a time where someone you loved is still alive. V'Len was ever impressed with the woman's ability to piece together what was really going on. He'd not mentioned that he cared about the woman on the screen or that she was alive and even nearby. Nesre had pieced that together on her own. He wished they'd shared more holodeck mysteries. Salo: Would you share with me about her? It felt like the question itself somehow pierced him. Kel: ::firmly:: No. No I will not. Firstly, how could he express what Millie was to him? She was like a balm for his soul, effervescent and gentle and at the same time she was a force to be reckoned with, insightful, determined and resourceful. He was not sure he could summon the right words to his lips. Second, the more he thought about her, the more he thought about how to get back to her, to be with her again. Salo: Response V'Len stood up and walked to the other side of the room. He leaned against the wall and looked at the floor. Kel: The more I talk about Millie ::wincing:: oO why did I say her name? Oo the more I lose myself. No ::breathing deeply:: I can't tell you about her now. Salo: Response Kel: What else can I do? I have to keep the faucet open until the crew is safe. Even if it means losing V'Len, it's my duty as CMO to make sure the crew are safe. (beat) If it helps Xam is, by all accounts, a great guy. ::smiling:: Salo: Response Tags Lieutenant V’Len "Xam" Kel Chief Medical Officer/Helmsman USS Oumuamua NCC-81226/ USS Intrepid T239811VK2 He/Him (character and player)

I love @Dekas' family! ((Anchorage Tower, Dekas & Kettick’s Apartment, Floor 35/36, Denali Station)) ((Early afternoon on Denali, Late night Aurelia time. Interplanetary Timezones, euf.)) It was that time again. Time to talk to his family. But this time he felt less awkward about it. It wasn’t going to be a short hour and then a while before it happened again. No. This one was to let them know they’d be seeing him in person soon, if not a few friends. Still, he maybe thought a little too hard about whether his feathers looked all right before he made the call. And the few seconds it took for them to answer felt far longer than it actually was. Daf: Dekas! Dekas: Shav’aa! (Aurelian for: “Dad!”) You know I expected it would be mom. It usually is, though it is nice for you both to mix it up a little. Daf: Zuka will be around in a few minutes. She always loves talking to you. But Keso and his family stopped by and are staying the night. It’s never just a quick goodnight when there are six grandchildren to say goodnight to with your mom around. They all just want to stay up and keep chatting, and she almost can’t refuse the conversation. ::a pause to shake his head:: Did you know he and Serri are planning on having more soon? Getting close to making it a family tradition to hatch a huge nest of fledglings over there. Dekas: Do you think they’ll beat your record of thirteen? Daf: They just might. ::he clicked his beak in amusement:: How are you? Hearing an Aurelian ask that question, and knowing for a fact he could be honest about it relieved him instantly of one layer of stress. Dekas: ::sighing:: I could be better. I hurt my wing recently, and I’ve been extremely stressed and feeling a bit like I could pull my feathers out, and I feel like I haven’t given myself a break. I feel like I can’t. It’s like I can’t stop. And now I almost have to. But on the bright side, I can make it into a visit home? The physical therapy would be nice, I’ll even see if I can’t convince a few others to come along with me. I think a few of them would really enjoy it. And the emotional support would be nice. Daf: Well you know we have more than enough space for some people in this house if they want an easy place to stay. :::he looked over his shoulder as a door opened quietly behind him and sighed fondly.:: Hello, my love. Zuka sat down and leaned her head affectionately on the top of Daf’s to acknowledge and return the adoration, but otherwise spoke to Dekas. Zuka: Keso and company say a very enthusiastic hello. As if on cue, there seemed to echo the sound of a few of those hellos from somewhere in the background of the audio. Zuka: ::looking back toward the door:: I don't know if they managed to hear me, or if that was just really good timing. But any friend of yours is welcome to be a temporary baby bird in our nest. Dekas: ::with a quiet laugh:: I don’t know how they’d feel about you calling them that. Zuka: They don’t have to immediately know that’s what’s happening. Just that they’re being cared for while they’re here. It breaks the tension between new people to treat them like family outright. Dekas: But you’d tell them. Zuka: It’s true, I don’t like my intentions to be confused. I don’t know why people get so funny about it. But I can try to refrain for you if it would make you more comfortable. Dekas was quiet for a second, he was tempted to thank her for saving some sort of “embarrassment” adjacent feeling. And then he shook his head out of it. Dekas: You know, I actually think it’s best they meet an Aurelian on their grounds. You can be as honest and open as you like. Zuka: Oh good, I probably would have said it anyway. ::a wink:: I'm happy we'll get to see you, more than anything. Daf: Agreed. We miss having you over here. Dekas: Well, then consider it a plan, because I miss being there. ::a beat:: Actually, can I ask a favor if anyone comes with me? Zuka: Absolutely. If it was possible for him to smirk with a beak, he did. Dekas: Marvelous. NT, but TBC… — (OOC: I plan on starting up the Aurelian Vacation thread of things in the next day or so, tagging two people specifically in that to start, but also leaving an open “any” tag just in case others want to also be in on the Aurelian trip, too. But that ending bit does indicate he’s going to try to cause just a little bit of harmless Avian mischief on the way.) Lt. Commander Dekas Chief Engineer Denali Station J239802D12 Pronouns: They/she (player), He/him (character)

Each and every one of @Tahna Meru's sims are elegantly written, infused with the character's personality but also bringing forth such a scene that is beautifully, masterfully described. In this piece in particular, we see the Skarbek version of her character moving forward with completing the mission, showing internal processing of the events, and glorious, seamless inclusion of her fellow writers/characters honoring them. And, the ending of this piece, wow! It's incredibly nuanced, brilliant, subtle, powerful. Wonderful work!

While I remember and no-one has beaten me to it: ever since Doz joined the Gorkon, she amazes me with her wordplay and great sims. So far, each of her characters is based on someone and with that person in mind, she really makes her characters come to life. Now what amazed me in the following sim was the mix of emotions she put me through (during my lunch break, no less…). First there was the emotional part where we get a glimpse in her past, and then with a swift move she had me laughing at my desk with the rest of her sim. Amazing work, @Doz Finch, keep going. ((The Cellar Bar, Near the Warehouse, Outskirts, Witherington, Indre III)) Finch’s demeanor had shifted subtly but surely over the last day, spent mostly in the company of the one known as Lark, and briefly with the other one known as Trouble. The bulk of the shift had happened once the colonist Imul had been introduced. Her cold and watchful quietness had, through some need and necessity to survive, given way to an emphaticness. It was neither overbearing nor obstructive to the mission, but she could tell that the shift had been noticed by the younger fighter and Bajoran who led their cause, whose glances towards her had grown taller and wider and more frequent in those last few hours, like an invasive anemone. Feeling eyes in the back of her head was one of her many personal knacks; a woman didn’t spend most of her life in a corrupt penal colony, filled with amoral guards, and dangerous criminals to not develop such an ability. As the weather continued to pummel, she had moved carefully down a set of wet steps towards the door leading to the cellar, feeling those eyes goring into her, and had entered it with her weapon raised. Sometime during their walk from the barn and through the many fields that separated them and the it, she had taken the disrupter back from Imul, eager to feel its haughty steel against her aged skin, eager to pry the roof of its barrel with her cloudy eyes, eager to claim it fully as her own. As she moved through the cellar-bar, filled with the nose-tingling scent of alcohol, she’d almost released it, startled a little by the presence of a spike-tailed rat. But sense had kicked in just in time. Any place a rodent felt comfortable enough to wander about in was enough of a sign that the place was safe, and so she said: Finch: ...This’ll do the job. Tahna: Lure them out, get them tipsy, lock ‘em in here to drink themselves to death. Tahna gave them a grim-smile, but as she and Imul began to descend into the cellar, the unmistakable sound of a Cardassian shuttle filled all of their ears with its leaden hymn. The other two turned, and Finch moved a few steps closer to them, heavy face peering out through a gap beside Tahna. The shuttle had moved over to a boxy building nearby, seemingly readying to park itself beside it. Imul: That should be the location of the warehouse. As they stood there, three heads looking up into the sky at the slightly shimmering and rain-drenched shuttle, mist whipping around it, Finch’s mind went back to her idea of taking it, picturing its internal design, envisioning the men stationed in and around it. She felt Tahna’s glance, and looked back at her through her brown eyes, the constellation of stars within them faded. Tahna: And that will be our supply delivery. Finch: Mm, in the nick of time. Her words were punctuated by the sound of a distant explosion, causing all three of them to duck once again. The shuttle, typically big enough to carry prisoners, slowly turned in place, floating above its desired location, until a billow of smoke in the even further distance beckoned its attention. The smoke, hauntingly visible in the darkness, carried cries that could be heard for miles. Whether Cardassian or colonist or Skarbekian cries, she couldn’t tell. Imul: Something must have happened. Tahna: Let’s hope that was one of our explosions, not theirs. Finch: Mm, and it was a big one. The Spoons will no doubt be needing more than a few of their men to investigate it. Imul: This might be our best time. Those at the warehouse might be called away, maybe there’ll be less guards now than at dawn. ::He raised his hands.:: Only one way to find out. Finch: ::she nodded, almost stirred:: Imul is right—strike while the iron is hot. The guards would have had their attention divided, leaving their weakest to look after the warehouses’ landing points. The ebb and flow of their routines interrupted just enough for Finch, Tahna and Imul to steal what they needed to steal. Tahna: Right. Bring the alcohol, in case some have stuck around. Imul: I have them. Tahna: We need to move quickly, there’s no telling how long that explosion will keep them distracted. Rhita said if we can get in, his folks will make sure we can get back out. I’d like to believe that, but don’t let your guard down. Imul: Ready when you are. Finch took one last dark glance at the cellar, absorbing its dusty confines potentially one last time, before turning back to them with a swift nod. Finch: Lead the way, girl. ((Near the Warehouse, Outskirts, Witherington, Indre III)) The journey from the cellar to the warehouse wasn’t unlike those they had been making throughout the day. They passed all the usual, horrid sights; street-lamps atop crushed cars, trees burned and uprooted, craters pocketing the streets they quickly ran through, and barely a colonist in sight. Which during the curfew only made sense. But that didn’t stop the curious from peering out of window curtains, and sheepishly closing them in a flash whenever one of them noticed and looked back. Lark led the way, taking Rubin—the mongrel—and his natural reactions to his environment very seriously indeed. As they moved through the streets, avoiding the fragments of patrolling troops heading in the direction of the big explosion, Finch momentarily wondered what had happened to the girl, to Lark, to bring her to this point. The obvious was that she was Bajoran, and so had likely lost her home, or family members and friends, those she loved to the Cardassian occupation. But how deeply had it affected her? Would it haunt her forever? Was she cursed to spend eternity fighting enemies alongside the Maquis, because she had nothing else left? Couldn’t the girl move to another part of the quadrant and start anew, instead of throwing it all away on a hopeless war? As Finch’s beady brown eyes bored into the plumage of the back of the girl's head, those were the thoughts that scratched at the innards of her mind. Tahna’s situation reminded her all too familiarly of her own, thirty years earlier. When her entire life had been turned upside down, and she lost everything, and everyone. Remnants of the girl she used to be barely existed anymore, not even safely tucked away in her dreams. All that remained was nightmares, and the ghost of the girl she used to be looking back at her in the besmirched surfaces of anything that could reflect. After a few minutes, the slight and wet slaps of their shoes slowed down, as they came a stone-throws distance from the metallic warehouse. It was relatively small, which may have been advantageous for them. Guards stood outside of it, noted by Tahna’s quick and quiet voice; Tahna: ::quietly:: I can lure them away like we planned, if you can get in past the building’s security system. Or…I can try to talk them into letting me walk right in, you two follow after. Imul: We should try to stay together. Finch: Mm, he has a point. Any other options? Tahna: Shooting is always an option, just not my first choice. Finch: ::stoically:: But it may be the only one. Imul opened the bottle of kanar and handed it over to Lark. Imul: You’ll need this. The mongrel bounced at Lark’s side, which was probably a good thing. They watched as they moved forward, Finch’s attention gazing over to the other sides of the building, noting its fences, and any other routes in. Imul: We need to help her. Let’s go after her and pretend we’re drunk and we no longer remember where our house is. At least it’ll get us closer to them. Finch: …what!? Imul’s idea nearly floored Finch. The woman’s head twisting around to look at him, eyes bulged and drenched in the pouring rain. But before she could protest his idea, his arm was already proffered, as if she had any choice at all. He launched them both forwards, barely giving Finch enough time to conceal her disrupter inside her gray garment, and tailgated Tahna’s approach towards the guards. Finch looked and felt completely out of sorts, small body jittering and jolting next to him with every thrashing of his performative slew. Tahna: Response Finch: ::grumbling:: I hope you know what you’re doing, Imul. Imul: My kingdom for my house. He moved the pair of them past Lark, intent on stealing the guards attention. Finch shot the young Bajoran an alarming glance—eyes now ballooned to extremity. They inched closer to the guards, her dull heart suddenly resurrected with a hard thump inside her ribs. Finch: ::mumbling:: If they don’t kill us, I’ll kill ya me’self… ::her accent thick:: Tahna: Response Guard 1: ::to the other guard:: Look. Guard 2: You shouldn’t be out here. Imul: My friends, you wouldn’t know where my house is, would you? ::He turned the empty bottle upside down.:: I need a refill but well… ::He motioned towards the street.:: It is gone, all gone… Finch: All gone. ::she repeated, awkwardly pretending to lose her balance:: Poof! Guard 1: ::laughing:: Poof! Guard 2: ::grinning:: You’ll have to find your own way back, little man. Tahna: Response He moved closer, seemingly ready to strike one of the guards with the bottle. So that’s the direction he was heading in. Imul: Or maybe you can join me for a drink? Don’t… ::He smacked his lips.:: Don’t you have some of these bottles stored inside? Finch eyed the weapons clasped in the guards hands, then went back to her pretend drunken stupor. Thankfully they seemed entertained, but the fact remained that it was past curfew hours, and time was ticking before their sense of duty kicked in. Finch: It’s strong stuff…let's get more. ::she said, gripping onto Imul for balance, ensuring that it hurt his arm just a little bit.:: Guard 1: ::laughing:: Is it now? Maybe we should take them up on the offer, what do you think? Guard 2: Yeah, maybe we should… Tahna/Imul: Response The second guard peered behind them at Tahna, a speckle of unease draped on his face. Finch’s heart punched at her ribs again. Finch: What I'd give to be back in our cellar, surrounded by the stuff. ::she inclined her head to Imul:: Guard 2: ...Surrounded by it? Guard 1: ::to the second guard:: We are running low. We could go with them for a few minutes, couldn't we? then head straight back? Tahna/Imul: Response The guards responded with curiosity, but the second one shifted his eyes to Tahna again. He was onto something. Finch slowly turned her head around and looked Tahna dead in the eyes. Tahna/Guards/Imul: Response -- Doz Finch, "Gramma" Fixer Skarbek As simmed by, Ensign Doz Finch Engineering Officer USS Gorkon C239809SH3

Things have been getting crazy on the Da'al homeworld. Commander @Genkos Adea, under the influence of a mood-altering airborne substance, finally had enough of Jiah Kleebohn's crap. (MNPC played by yours truly, and it's been rough being such a prick to the lovely Artemis, but that's simming for ya) I love how this sim is written for a couple reasons. 1: earlier in the mission, I wrote how Jiah attempted to calm her building rage by clenching and unclenching her fists - willing away the urge to hit somebody. In this post, Adea mirrors that motion so subtly and poetically, it gave me literal chills. 2: The internal struggle of this usually calm, collected, mild-mannered Betazoid is laid out in such a believable progression, when he does finally crack, I cheered out loud before I realized he just clocked my NPC. 😅 Give it a read, and let Elliot know how much you love his writing: https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-artemis/c/PK8nHXaPrDc/m/zNWSbPedAAAJ

I've taken a liking to that MSNPC and am veeeery curious to see when we will see him again! Well done @Talos Dakora

I'd be remiss if I let this whole beautiful gag go by without recognition. Ensign Hobart's dreadful condition has led to a hilarious series of sims that's been a great reading. A well done to all involved. ================================================================================================ ((Interior, Sickbay, Deck 3, USS Arrow)) Hobart: ::trying to sit up:: The thuddewbay! Bower'th thtiw oud! He tapped at his combadge, but missed at first, due to his numbed digits. At another attempt, he heard a reassuring chirp. His uniform jacket might be done for, but at least that still worked. He thought. Hobart: Hobarb do Enthineerin. ::nothing, a frustrated grunt:: Hobarb do Enthineerin! ::pulls combadge off angrily, looks at it:: Gueth idth broken. He smacked his lips. The pressure was decreasing, if slowly. As the two women laughed at his expense, he wondered what time it was, and whether this horrible day was close to an end. Perim: ::chuckling:: I am sorry... What about engineering? I'll make the call! Ohnari: Maye try hand gestures...? With a nod to the doctor, Nolen raised his uninjured hand to the level of his face and opened and closed it repeatedly. He narrowed his eyes at Cadet Perim and fixed them on hers. He had no telepathic powers, but if ever there was a moment to suddenly and heroically develop them, this would be it. Hobart: ::tongue clacking:: Tha bowa in tha thudderpay ith thdill offawyme. This was not it. Perim: Waffles? Don't we better call the mess hall for that? Gritting his teeth, Nolen formed a wedge with the same hand, and slapped it to the top the biobed. Hobart: ::deadpan, attempting to annunciate:: We bwew tha thirkut. Thuddles aww thduck. Perim: ::sudden excitement:: Of course, the power junction. I'll notify them! You stay here! Hobart: Yeh, thoor. I thday here. Ohnari: See? I told you the hand gestures would work. Despite his best efforts to restrain them, Nolen's eyes rolled circuitously before meeting Dr. Ohnari's. Perim: I'll get down there and help with the cleanup - without touching any power related parts. Ohnari: Yes, please do avoid those until we are sure they aren't going to reach out and bite anyone else. Temperamental things, those power parts. Nolen nodded eagerly and pointed to Ensign Ohnari. Hobart: Imfowm Wewdennan Dewidd. The Lieutenant should have already been aware, but an explanation couldn't hurt. So long as Perim avoided undue self-recrimination. The important thing was getting the ship's systems back online, he knew, consideration of how they came to be offline was of secondary concern. Jenna looked at Nolen once again in concern and squeezed his arm lightly. He inhaled sharply and sighed, resigned to occupy the biobed for a bit longer. Perim: You get better soon! I obviously need that engineering tutoring. ::to Ensign Ohnari:: Thank you, doctor! Ohnari: Of course, you be safe, Cadet! ::turning back:: How are we feeling? Your tongue should be a little more adept at that speech thing now. Although if you want to express your "wub" for me again, I'm all for it. Perim left the biobed and - just before exiting sickbay - turned around again to give Nolen one last smile. Nolen gave her a thumbs up, glad she could get her mind onto a different task. That's when Ohnari gave him a playful nudge. He tried stretching his tongue as he strained to recall when he had said "wub." Might as well roll with it. Hobart: Beddah. ::Raising his eyebrows:: It'th becauth I wub you dad I donb howb dith again' you. ::wink:: Ohnari: ::smirking:: Just kidding. I promise to only bring it up about....seven more times before I let it go. But your vitals look good, it appears you do have a moderate allergy to the basic analgesic cocktail, so I'll be sure to update your chart. Nolen nodded. With the Cadet gone, Ensigns Hobart and Ohnari were left alone with the chirping and trilling of various medical devices and instruments around him. As she updated his chart, he was content to languish in the pause's calm. Until he wasn't. This was boring. Hobart: ::grinning, sort of:: Mighd nod ged a bedder pfanth ad thith, Doc. Know any good dongue dwithders? Or, perhabth... ::eyebrows waggling suggestively:: thum muthicaw theader? He didn't give her a chance to object. Hobart: ::puffing up his chest, feigning pomp, singing loudly:: I am tha very modew of a modern mador Generwaw! I've information vegedabew, animaw, an' minewaw! ::deep breath:: I know tha khins opf Enkhlan', an' I quode the fighdth hithdoricaw, from Marathon do Waderwoo, in order cadekhoricaw! TAGS/End for Hobart ——— Ensign Nowem Hobard Enthineerin Othither Yu Eth Eth Arrow (NCC-69829) A240001NH3 Reply all Reply to author Forward

@Doz Finch, it has been a treat to read your work and to see the Skarbek version of Doz. From her thought processes, to seeing the world through her eyes (and wanting that shuttle! - "she had her own reasons for wanting access to an enemy-owned shuttle" - and phantoms from the past), and the descriptions; it all is so elegantly, and artfully written. ❤️

(( Cargo hold, Dolorem )) Yavir set down the spanner, wiped his brow, and checked the connections for the seventeenth time. Everything looked correct and secure. At last after five and-a-half hours of back-breaking work clearing out the space, rewiring power to the new brackets, improvising and fabricating a restraint system, it was finally ready to power up. With incredible care, he verified the chips as he replaced them one after another in the panel. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and activated the circuits. The soft blue light was turned faintly purple through the filter of his eyelids. Normally, this success would have brought a smile to Yavir’s face, but now … well, he thought it would probably be quite some time until he felt like smiling again. Ten minutes later, he pushed a 2-meter long cylinder into the hold-turned-stasis bay. Internal illumination had been deactivated for transport, but had anyone seen the care with which Yavir pushed the hoversled, it would have been immediately clear whatever the cylinder held was of inestimable value. He slowly angled the sled, allowing the cylinder’s base to contact the base disc, then pushed the cylinder vertical. Once the temporary restraints hissed into place, he rotated the pod so the viewport faced away from the wall. Finally, he locked down the holding clamps he’d canibalized from another section of the cargo hold, and activated the pod’s internal illumination. Kat’s face was haloed in soft blue light. She looked serene - devoid of the stress and worry that he’d started to think was normal over the last couple years. Yavir: ::placing a hand on the outside of the viewport:: I’m going to make this right, Kitty. I promise. (( timeskip - the next morning, Miranda VII, Medical Facility )) He awoke early. Not just because he always woke up early, but because the Dolorem’s bunks weren’t exactly the most comfortable sleeping arrangements. Still, there was no way he could bring himself to sleep inside the old quarters. Since Kat’s accident and Nyra’s disappearance, it was impossible to enter without sobbing. Yavir felt as though in a single day everything he’d had was stripped away. As soon as he’d been given captaincy of the ship, he rechristened it the Dolorem and moved in full-time. But yesterday he’d heard there was another patient on Miranda VII with similar (albeit less severe) symptoms to those which Kat was suffering. Today he had set aside as a fact finding day. He would go to this other patient and get answers by any means necessary. Even the smallest clue as to how to help his sister would be a salve to his shattered heart. He walked through the entry door to the medical center, greeted the receptionist in the most affable manner he could muster, and was escorted to the room where the patient (known simply as “Liz”) was staying. Once they’d arrived, the nurse excused herself, leaving the two alone to talk. Yavir: Liz? Liz turned out to be a human girl of seventeen years of age, laying on one of the body beds. Someone who, with her short brown hair and wiry frame, didn’t stick out, and who Yavir would likely have overlooked her. Liz: Yes? ::pause:: What do you want? Yavir: My name is Yavir Moray. I need to ask you for your help. She frowned, evidently not happy with the idea of helping someone who belonged to Terra Prime. Because if Terra Prime questioned you, you usually ended up forgotten in a cell - no matter if you were guilty or not. Liz: For what? Yavir: Can you tell me anything about your accident? What caused your condition? Liz: I can’t. ::she said quickly:: Because Liz wasn’t sure what had happened. Yavir: Please. Anything. It’s for … someone close to me. They had a similar accident. Liz: It’s just a headache, I don’t know. This was clearly a young lady who didn’t want to talk to him. Yavir pinched the bridge of his nose and sat on the stool next to the bed. She was his only lead, and whether she wanted to help him or not, she had answers, and she was going to share them. Yavir: Liz, I’m sorry your head hurts, but here’s the deal: helping me in any small way is helping you. Not helping me is … a bad idea. You have no idea what I’ve lost. She didn’t, but she didn’t really care either. Liz had learned to only look after herself, especially since Terra Prime had taken control of Miranda VII. Liz: I said I don’t know, okay? Now stop harassing me! Which was a lot braver than most other people in this situation would be, but Liz figured that aggression was the best way to get her out of this. He reached into his pocket where a small device was concealed. It was crude, hastily made, but he hoped effective. Once activated, the room (already mostly sound proof) would be unable to communicate out via traditional means. It essentially gave them total privacy. He toggled the device on as his other hand reached out as though to lay a comforting hand on Liz’ forearm. Yavir: I’m afraid I can’t accept that, Liz. ::his face dropped the feigned friendly demeanor, going stony:: What can you tell me about your condition? I need to know who was around you, what you felt, and why they stopped with you, but kept going with the other victim. She stared at the device, and pulled away from him. Perhaps saying what had happened would make this go away quickly, but admitting what she knew of Nyra was terribly risky - after all, they had planned their escape. Liz: I really don’t know… :: she tried:: His hand rested on her forearm, just above her slender wrist. Yavir never broke eye contact, but began applying pressure. He wasn’t the strongest man, but knowledge of pressure points and where the more delicate bones and ligaments were located overcame this. He steadily increased pressure, his knuckles going white with the force, as he spoke softly, still maintaining his unblinking stare. Yavir: What. Happened. Liz? Liz bit her lip, eventually deciding that some information wouldn’t hurt. Liz: Suddenly my head started hurting and I got dizzy. It started as a headache but it got worse and worse and worse. Yavir: ::still increasing his grip:: Who was there? She pressed her lips shut, closing her eyes. This couldn’t end well - he was, or had been, someone close to Nyra. He would never believe Liz if she told him… He felt something pop. It could have been in her wrist or one of his own knuckles cracking from the strain. At this point, his brain and hand barely communicated. Each faculty had its job to do, and didn’t bother checking in with the other. Yavir: You will tell me. Sooner is better - for us both. I don’t want to hurt you Liz. I’d genuinely be happy to stop. I have nothing against you. Liz yelped in pain, trying to pull her hand away. Just that she wasn’t particularly strong to begin with, and that Yavir had no intention of letting her go. Liz: Nyra. Nyra was there. She had climbed through the vent and she was covered in cuts and bruises. I think she was in the explosion that happened here. It was as if ice water had replaced his blood in an instant. His breath caught in his chest, and his vision swirled for a moment. That couldn’t be true. Nyra wasn’t capable of something like that. No human was. When he came back to his senses, Liz had tears on her cheeks and his fingers (and hers) had gone purple. He could feel a grinding of her carpal bones, letting his brain know he’d continued increasing the force of his grip. Now was not the moment for pity though. Yavir: You’re lying. Liz: I’m not! Really! Yavir: Nyra CAN’T. DO. THAT. Each word was punctuated with an abrupt shake of her captive wrist. He stood from the stool, looming over her where she cowered without breaking eye contact. His breath was ragged and his words now came as raspy whispers. Yavir: Tell me everything you know. Now. Liz couldn’t do that. Not out of loyalty to Nyra, not out of loyalty to Kayla, Sam or Lauri. Because it would only make matters worse. Liz: I met Nyra before. She was always … weird. ::she once more tried to pull away from him:: I heard the explosion and I was going to check what happened. I wanted to take the vent, but Nyra was already there. Yavir: She was there? That doesn’t make sense. Liz: She was injured. She spoke to me, and then she… she… I don’t know. It was like she was staring through me. Then the headache started. He was getting really tired of the vague answers. Sure, she was telling him what happened, but not HOW it happened. Someone had caused an explosion, this Liz person found Nyra nearby, wounded, and then (according to Liz) Nyra gave her a headache. Yavir: ::in an undertone to himself, finally breaking eye contact:: But Nyra couldn’t do that unless… Liz: She said she was sorry. And that I need to get away from her. Yavir: Liz, I’m giving you one chance to answer me directly or I swear on everything you find holy or sacred, I will kill you right here. How could Nyra have done this? He placed his unoccupied hand next to her head and leaned forward until their faces were mere inches apart. The angle forced her injured wrist back within his grip. He could see tiny reflections of his own face reflected back at him in the tears filling her eyes. Liz, who clearly was panicking, didn’t know how to answer that - she would, at best, be guessing. She knew that there were some telepathic species who could do something like it, but claiming that Nyra wasn’t human would hardly make matters better. Liz: I. DO. NOT. KNOW! ::each word came louder as the last:: Yavir’s hand left Liz’s pillow, reaching for the bedside table. There were a few items there, but the one his hand settled on was a solid mass of casing and circuitry. The medical scanning and diagnostic device had most likely been placed there by some conscientious nurse, hoping to make future check-ups of the patient more efficient. They would never have imagined the tricorder being held aloft as a final threat of violence. Yavir: ::softly and calmly:: Not enough, Liz. Liz: ::through gritted teeth:: Maybe she had some device! Maybe her brain is broken! Maybe she’s telepathic, maybe she’s not even human! I DON’T KNOW! His vision narrowed and focussed on her frightened eyes. Yavir could hear his own blood surging in his ears. The words “broken,” “telepathic,” and “not human” echoed in his mind - a cacophony of four words that sped up, slowed down, and overlapped until they became a his of static to match the blurring image before him. As the tricorder swung down, he was aware of the scene as though he were outside it instead of the perpetrator himself. The man, semirecumbent over the already injured girl, brought the technology designed to heal down in an arc intent on the very opposite of healing. At the same moment, four sounds could have been heard in the room, were there anyone present capable of hearing them. The mingled crunches of bone from Liz’s wrist and head were offset by the crunch made from the housing of the tricorder cracking. She would have cried out in pain had the blow not rendered her unconscious. The sound instead that contradicted yet complimented the staccato of breaking things was another breaking. Yavir uttered a sound that somehow combined the grunt of furious exertion and the further disillusionment of hope. He raised the tricorder again, intending to bring it down one more time, fulfilling his lethal intent, but in his periphery, he saw Liz’s vital signs displayed on the wall above her bed. She might live. She might not. He now found himself staring at the figures, charts, and numbers - very few of which he knew how to interpret. The cracked tricorder slipped from his fingers, falling to the floor where the clamshell hinge gave up the fight, sending the device in two directions. Rising from the bed without another sound, Yavir zipped up his jacket and walked straight out of the facility, not stopping or acknowledging a soul on his way back to the Dolorem. He had new questions, and needed new answers. He had to find Nyra. End MSNPC Liz Simmed by Nestira Aristren J239809TA4 And MSNPC Yavir Moray Simmed by Hiro Jones E239510KD0

This was an achingly beautiful read, courtesy of @VLen Kel. — ((Senior Officer’s Crew Quarters, Deck 5, USS Intrepid)) V'Len walked into his quarters and dropped down onto the bed. Well not really his quarters, these were quarters of his Intrepid counterpart, CMO Sevrik. Training the crew to man the Intrepid had been exhausting and he was glad to finally be able to relax and hopefully sleep. He couldn't help but look around the room and smile. Like V'Len, Sevrik was clearly a music lover. There were three Vulcan lyres scattered around the room, a sort of metal flute, a brass instrument and a fine guitar hanging from the wall. The quarters were spartan by the standards of the 25th century. There was no carpet, and the metal walls were undecorated apart from the guitar, but V'Len felt very much at home. Xam Kel had spent a good decade in quarters like this. At first alone and then with…Millie? The name echoed around in his mind for several seconds. It was a name V'Len had never heard and at the same time he suddenly knew everything about the owner. Her warm embrace, her effervescent laugh, her sharp voice when she was crossed. V'Len felt he'd always known her, better than he knew Jack or Nesre. But how had he forgotten? How had her name been buried and silent for so long in his mind? He rose, not sure where he was going, but moved over to the room's computer terminal and began wildly punching buttons. The interface was frustratingly slow. Data could not be brought up by simply giving a verbal command, not in this era. While only moments passed it felt to Kel like an eternity. Finally the screen lit up and displayed a picture of a gentle eyed, Andorian woman. Millie. Kel sat down facing the display, his eyes open wide in wonder. She was on a Starbase 12, just 6 lightyears away. Kel gently caressed the image on the screen with his thumb as a thousand memories rushed back. There she was. Millie. His Millie. His wife. Not exactly V'Len's wife, but Xam Kel's wife. The two had met serving on the Exeter, Xam a brash, Trill helmsman and she a confident, Andorian engineer. Millie. She was just a week's journey from their current position and 6 lifetimes removed from Kel. He was trying hard to hold back the tears welling up in his eyes. They worked together for 3 years before karaoke and too many drinks resulted in him waking up awkwardly in her bed. The truth that they both cared for each other finally came out and they were married a year later. V'Len could almost have been their child. But there were no children, because V'Len Kel was not the first Kel host to suffer a grievous injury. The CMO of the Exeter was unsure whether Xam Kel could be saved after suffering traumatic injuries on an away mission. Then the Trill Symbiote Commission had stepped in. The Kel symbiote was removed and whisked back to Trill, a death sentence for Xam. Xam Kel had never fully regained consciousness, but voices still rattled in his mind. Millie shouting at the Trill representatives, impassioned pleas by the Exeter's Captain and loud weeping had traveled with him through lifetimes. Kel finally let his head fall on his arms in front of him and the tears flowed. There had been other lovers, friends, even a husband, but never another Millie. And here she was, achingly close. By now Millie had been alone for over a year. Lifting his head Kel realized there might be hope. Surely this time trip was destined to allow them to be together once more.

I adore how @EgilRenot is investing time and creative energy into his PNPC Doctor Zumagi (who, by the way, is one of my favourite characters on Ops) and how the character is dealing with the aftermath of the last mission. Well done Egil! I am looking forward to reading more!

((Sera’s Quarters – Commerical District)) Giellun looked around her small apartment and watched S’Ers-a over to what appeared to be a small kitchenette and she began busying herself with…something. Her industry gave him some time to look about the small, yet meticulously maintained space. On a low table next to a couch was a green plant in a stasis unit and he walked over to observe it more closely. Giellun: Is this a Vulcan plant? Sera: It is not. It was a…gift from my XO…a…housewarming gift, I believe she called it. A Terran plant. It is an African Violet, Saintpaulia ionantha. Giellun studied the now highly suspicious Terran flora with a critical eye. It was lovely…and he hated admitting that. Continuing his perusal of her quarters, he saw a desk that was filled with equipment in various states of repair. All the components were lined up perfectly. She obviously had a most fastidious work habit. Giellun: ::snorting:: Vulcans… He looked over his shoulder and saw Sera standing at the replicator studying him in the same manner he had looked over her workspace and he stood tall, refusing to feel self-conscious at what, getting caught looking? Sera: ::motioning to the sitting area:: Please sit, tr’Pardek. Giellun did as was requested but wondered why she called him by his family name. He had given her all of them, and a Rihanha did not give a name for one not to use it. The programmed refreshments materialized. Picking up the tray she silently padded over to the low table that he sat at and got to her knees to prepare a cup of tea for her…guest. It was a ritual of sorts, and a most important one. The measuring and whisking of the crushed tea leaves and herbs, the positioning of the cups, the placement of her hands. It showed attention to detail, a preciseness which expressed a most focused intent, an honor bestowed. With the cup prepared, she picked it up with both of her hands and handed it directly to him, not placing it in front him. Her cheeks flushed slightly at the act, having never done this before. A female did not hand food or drink directly to a male unless they were family…or something else. Giellun looked at the offered cup and then to her, taking it with both of his hands in a much clumsier manner than what she demonstrated. He knew somehow this was important but did not understand the cultural nuance as he knew little of Vulcan customs. He solemnly brought the cup to his lips and took a sip, with the Vulcan woman watching on. Giellun: Aesollh! ::looking down into the cup and seeing a bluish-lavender colored tea:: It is of most excellent quality! ::with great warmth:: I thank you… His voice trailed off in the same manner hers did earlier. He had been given no name to call her by either. Sera: ::reciprocating:: S’Ers-a M’Lyr’Zor. She saw his incredulous look and although she did not express it, his response amused her. Sera: You may call me Sera. It is easier to pronounce. Giellun: ::shaking his head in a negative manner:: I am honored by your name…Saw-Ertz-eh? Sera prepared herself a cup of tea to keep herself busy for the moment. Sera: No. Seh-Ers-ah. Giellun nodded and took another sip. He hadn’t had Aesollh tea since the destruction of ch’Rihan. She could not know what a gift she bestowed upon him…could she? They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the tea. Giellun: Why did you do it, S’Ers-a? Sera was expecting the questions, so she gently placed the teacup on the table and put her hands in her lap. Sera: I…::hesitating:: Sera wanted to deflect as this line of questioning made her uncomfortable. However, he had asked a direct question, which from what she knew of Rihannsu social mores was rather...unorthodox. He deserved honesty in this. Sera: When you were pulled out of the rubble, you were...dying. I performed rescue breathing. ::seeing the question on his face:: It is a resuscitative technique. Regardless, you began breathing on your own, but your injuries were life threatening. Vulcans are taught a technique to assist others during times of injury - as I am not medically trained, I considered it...logical to attempt this technique in effort to stabilize you until you could receive the appropriate medical attention. But…my ministrations…it did not go as planned. To hear her say that, so clinically. A Vulcan would think it was logical to try to save him. Not because she cared…wait. Why did that matter? Giellun: Obviously. ::switching gears:: So…ah…your priest…fixed us, then? Sera: ::tilting her head slightly to the side:: Define, fixed, tr’Pardek. Giellun: My name is Giellun, S’Ers-a. ::leaning forward, putting his hands on the table so that his head was level with hers:: Say…it… Sera’s mouth went dry as he stared intently into her eyes. She felt flushed suddenly, at his proximity, and his command. Sera: …Giellun. He nodded and leaned back, more than a little satisfied to hear her say his name. With a small smile, he picked up his tea and saluted her, taking another draw. He had more questions but found that he was not in a rush to obtain the answers he sought. He was rather...enjoying this exchange. So instead, they sat, drinking the Aesollh in silence. Once the last sip had been swallowed, Giellun stood, and Sera scrambled to get up from her knees. Sera: I thought you had questions, tr…Giellun. Giellun: I do…but I find there is something else I would rather do in this moment. Sera tilted her head again, looking confused. He smirked at her naivety; he took a step forward, and she in turn took one back. Giellun: Are you afraid, Neiirrh? Sera: Why do you ask that…and what is a neiirrh? Giellun kept stepping forward until her back hit the wall and he reached his hands out, so they touched the coolness of the bulkhead behind her. His hands again framed her face, and the position gave him the opportunity to lean in closer to her. It was the same position they held in the courtyard…had they found themselves back in the same moment, only with the scenery changed? Giellun: Because you are acting like you are…and a neiirrh is…was a small, brilliantly colored bird of my homeworld. They are beautiful creatures…and dangerous, too. Sera: ::considering: So…a compliment? Giellun: ::his voice taking on a husky undertone:: Yes. How he said that simple word sent a frisson of something through her, even as she took the moment to study his face as it was bare inches from hers. It was a most acceptable visage. Symmetrical and strong, sharp cheekbones, and subtle ridges that formed a V of sorts on his forehead. His eyes were the color of dark chocolate, and they stared back at her in a manner that denoted something important, but she did not have a reference to infer what that might be. She could not stop herself. Sera took a deep breath, using her olfactory senses. She wasn’t certain what to expect…but this? He smelled of things that called to the hearth fire, of cedar and smoke, of incense and the tart citrus of sash-savas…it was not disagreeable. At all. Giellun noticed the Vulcan woman studying him again, and he kept his expression carefully neutral. It gave him the same opportunity, which was most…agreeable. Wait, what? By the Elements, she was tall, but it wasn’t unappealing in the slightest. He barely had to tilt his chin down to look in her eyes, and that was quite refreshing change if he was being honest with himself. Her indeterminant length dark hair was pulled back, but tendrils of it had come loose, and part of him wanted to reach back and release it all and run his hands through the silken locks. Her eyes, however, were something else. They were a light blue, an uncommon color amongst Rihannsu, and their hue reminded him of the sky of ch’Rihan. Fire burns, and air fans the flame, and she was beautiful. These were indisputable truths to him. Giellun: May I touch you? Sera: ::frowning ever so slightly:: We should not… Giellun: I did not ask if I should…I asked if I could, S’Ers-a…may I touch you? Sera shut her eyes, as if it would make what was happening disappear. She should say no. She should remind him what Nalaat told them both. She should tell him to leave. That encouraging this…whatever this was, was not logical. “I did not ask if I should…” His words echoed. Sera: ::opening her mouth to say no:: …Yes. oO Traitorous mouth Oo Giellun pushed away from the wall, standing upright, and looked down at her, almost disbelieving that she agreed. Tentatively he brought his hands up to the loose hair which framed her face and ran it between his fingers. It was soft. Feeling emboldened, he ran his fingers through hair along the sides of her head, gathering it and pulling it loose from its bindings. It fell in loose waves about her shoulders. Giellun: ::intently:: …emaehe Sera raised a brow in question. Giellun: The Elements have given you to me…as a gift…as a curse. I know not. But who am I to question their will. Sera: ::lifting her hands and placing them on his chest, in a half-hearted attempt to push him away:: A rather dramatic interpretation of events, Giellun. We must abide by what Nalaat said— Giellun: Why? The old man said many things, S’Ers-a, but he is not here. Just you…and me. Sera: ::mentally scrambling:: You are simply…feeling the residual imbalance, Giellun. We should return to our respective spheres of influence. This will settle out. Why did she feel as if she were lying to him? oO Because you are lying to him. You are lying to yourself. Oo Giellun: And what if I don’t want to? Part of her was thrilled to hear him say that. That part was quickly beaten down with a mental lirpa. No. Bad. No. Sera: Why would you not want to? You have been given a second chance in essence. You can return to your life, your duties. In time, all of this will seem like a dream. Of no import. Sera was confusing him. She was parroting what the priest Nalaat said to them both earlier, but he just knew she did not believe it. How did he know that? Giellun: Is that what you want? Sera opened her mouth to answer but found she could not honestly grant him a reply and used the moment to attempt to gain some distance from him. Giellun saw through her tactic and lightly grabbed her arm, pulling her back so she was standing before him. Giellun: Don’t pull away from me. ::pausing:: S’Ers-a, is it truly such an irrational thing to want to learn more about you? Grant me this. Sera said nothing, but Giellun felt her acquiesce. He smiled down at her, satisfied with this small victory. Sera: Very well. What do you wish to know? Giellun chuckled and smiled warmly at her. He had won this round. Giellun: Oh, that’s simple, Neiirrh…Everything. Sera: Everything? ::brows furrowing:: I am Vulcan, Giellun. We take things quite literally. I will have to formulate a strategy to satisfy the requirements of your inquiry. That could take some time… By Surak she was babbling… Giellun: ::smirking:: You Vulcans talk too much. There are other ways to learn about each other. He saw the subtle shift of expression and the flash in her eyes at his ‘insult’. There it was…she had fire in her yet. And before Sera could issue a reply, Giellun leaned forward and took the words right out of her mouth. <<End Scene>> ***************** Lieutenant JG Sera Engineering Officer SB 118 Ops J239812S14

This is such a thrill to read! I love the way @Ayiana Sevo writes dialogue. In this scene especially it's intermingled with bits of narration that keeps you on your toes, pumped for what's to come (hopefully two trains smashing into one another!) - special mention to Pira, Stoyer and Neathler as well for this exciting Skarbek away team story. For anyone unsure, the Gorkon is currently in "Skarbek" mode, which means that our characters are... slightly (or very) different, and members of the passionate Maquis.

((Starbase 118, Commercial Sector)) He was exhausted. After the assassins had been neutralized, Isaac had been re-tasked to help with the rescue and recovery efforts, which was an all hands on deck sort of mission. Everyone who was able pitched in and many were saved as a result. There were also many who didn’t make it, and the mobile morgues were taking inventory of the bodies as they came in. Eventually, the teams were relieved and new, fresh crews took their place. Exhaustion was a funny thing. After a while, no, matter how tired he was, Isaac got his second wind… in this case, it was probably his thirtieth-or-so wind by now. It took him a minute or so to figure out where to go, and once he was oriented, the walk to the turbolift was a bit foggy to him, and during the ride to the Marine decks he found himself reflecting on his arrival at his arrival on the station. Lt. Commander DeVeau had arranged quarters for him but he hadn’t had a chance to find them. In the fog of his tired brain, he didn’t even remember where they were. Thankfully, the computer was far smarter than he was in the moment, and when he asked the turbolift to take him to Isaac Green’s Quarters, the computer chirped, signaling it’s understanding and set off. The turbolift car slid to a stop and the door opened on Deck 873 North and Isaac stepped out onto the carpeted floor. There were apartments both directions from the entrance to the lift, and for a moment he stood in the hallway looking each direction as if there would be a sign with his name on it sticking out into the corridor. He laughed at himself for a moment, realizing what he must look like to anyone who happened to see him standing there with the lost look on his face, then remembered he had his PADD in the pouch on his belt. Extracting it, he scrolled to the memo sent to him by the X.O. which told him he was assigned to Apartment 36D, which happened to be two doors from where he stood. Seconds later, he stood before the door to the place he would be calling home for the foreseeable future. The small apartment was opulent compared to some of the places he had “lived” during his career. It was tiny, but that was all he really needed. It had a living area with a small kitchenette, a bedroom, and a private bathroom. None of his stuff was there, leaving the apartment feeling a bit sterile, but that didn’t stop him from using the place. The shower was his destination, then some sleep was the order of the day. Not waiting, he stripped off and climbed into the stall, allowing the sonic shower to “wash” away the grime from the past hours. He stood there through two complete cycles and still didn’t feel like it was enough. The fatigue had set in though, and without ceremony turned the system off and crossed the room into the bedroom. He collapsed on the bed and was asleep almost immediately. Isaac woke some six hours later, and when he looked at the chronometer on the bedside table he wished he could sleep more. His body wouldn’t have it though, and he rose and dressed in a tank-top and track pants. The replicator graciously generated a cup of black coffee at his command and he took the hot cup from the slot and sat on his small sofa. His thoughts went back to the last couple of days. The smoke had cleared, which only gave everyone a clearer view of the devastation the explosions had caused. A clear view of the actual damage done, not just to the buildings and infrastructure, but the impact such a tragedy has on society. Only a couple of days ago, the citizens of Starbase 118 lived in a world they considered safe. Most of these people, predominantly civilian, woke every morning expecting to have their blueberry muffin or yoghurt parfait and head off to work. Most of these people expected to return to their homes in the evening, go about the routine that had been every other evening, then retire for the night; only to do it again the next morning. A rinse and repeat way of life. Most of these people live in a psychological condition where they are only attentive to the world immediately around them. For some, that may be changed forever. For the First Responders that day, their preparation had likely been through drill and simulation, but how does one truly prepare themselves, or their crew for that matter, to be pulling the dead and dying from under still burning building debris? How does a team make themselves ready to run into the flames and smoke to save people they have never met, and likely would never have met if it weren’t for the tragedy unfolding around them? How does someone prepare themselves to make the decision; the conscious decision, to step in front of a bullet to shield another life, knowing that doing so will likely end theirs? How does someone prepare themselves to consciously take another’s life? For the First Responders of Starbase 118, that preparation comes through persistent training and incredible leadership. That leadership was apparent that day, and because of that leadership and preparation, countless lives were saved. What spanned over the course of a short time, set into motion events that will take months, if not years, to clean up. The Incident Commands will change, the priorities will shift, but the end of the event won’t come for a long, long time. To some of those directly affected by the horrors of that day, the event will never be over. Something, a sight or sound or smell, will trigger a memory of that day, which will recall a memory of the tragedies. To many, they will re-live the events in their minds as if they were happening over and over again. The counsellors were sure to be busy for the next few years, cleaning up that part of the devastation caused by the terrorist attacks. Taking a long sip of the steaming cup of black coffee, Isaac reflected on the day, taking it in and processing it. That was the only way he knew how to use the experiences to understand and learn for the next time, and he knew there would be a next time. He sat on his little sofa, coffee in one hand and PADD in the other. He tapped the information into the PADD as it came to him, documenting the events as he recalled them. He also made notes about the people he worked with that day and their common acts of heroism. There were many acts of common heroism throughout the course of the day. The ones Isaac made specific mention of in his report were the ones he had personally witnessed. Lt. Sera had rushed into danger, without thought of her personal safety, to stop the threat in that bell tower. Colonel Greaves, one hell of a Marine in Isaac’s opinion, stepped down range without a second thought. Lt. Sherlock, taking the role of Chief of an incredibly large security department during one incredibly large event, and putting herself in the line of fire to protect the base’s First Officer. A new Ensign… Isaac struggled to remember her name for a moment, then it came to him… Willow, she had followed Lt. Sherlock into the fray, without question, and did her job. All of these acts were responsible for saving untold numbers of lives. Isaac referred to their actions as “common heroism” because it was what they would do every day, regardless of the personal consequences, and they would never consider it unusual or uncommon acts of valor. It’s just what they do. Once the assassination threats had been neutralized, Isaac had offered his help with the rescue and recovery efforts. This was mindless work for him; he just took orders and followed direction of the section chiefs running the operations. The task was massive, but in the end there were a lot of people saved. Unfortunately, the searchers also recovered a lot of bodies and Isaac found himself re-tasked to help the morgue crews catalogue and tag the dead. Thankfully, his role had come to an end and he was released to secure. Setting the PADD on the coffee table, he sat back and put his feet up next to it. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, he wondered if this was what being stationed on the Starbase was going to be like… if so, he already liked it. -END- 1Lt. Isaac Green Marine Officer 292 SFMC Starbase 118 Ops R238801IG0

This was an excellent build up and a fantastic climactic moment for a story that sets up our next mission. Extremely well written @Trovek and Sydin !

Finally getting around to sharing this one - I always look forward to a sim by Caedan! Every character in Quinn's menagerie stands out, is distinct, and with Nkai's telepathy we always get an exciting insight into how he views people and the world around him and the descriptions I love everytime. @Quinn Reynolds For anyone unsure, the Gorkon is currently in "Skarbek" mode, which means that our characters are... slightly (or very) different, and members of the passionate Maquis.

From Avander Promontory, an MSNPC for our latest mission. ((Papasta’s Rooms, Maudit Hall, Gelf City, Gelf)) Grand Papasta Schtroumpf sighed. It could be the end of the world and there would still be paperwork. As evidence—his current predicament. The planet was a week off from complete devastation and he was being made to sign approval documents on an expansion of a waterworks facility for Eastern Gelftopia. Well, he was the one who had been appointed to wear the Big Red Hat, this was his duty, regardless of the monotony. And it wasn’t just plumbing permits. Oh, no! On his desk before him were a barrel’s worth of forms, documents, and decrees—all which needed his official seal. Of course, the Gelf’s had technology that could automatically sign such mundanities, but the originators of their laws had seen fit to specify that the Grand Papasta Gelfling had to sign each official edict with his own Gelfing hand! So here he sat, scribbling his signature, all the while a growing nagging in the back of his head pressing him that he should be doing more. In reality, there really wasn’t much more to do. Residents were building bunkers and relocating to remote areas of the planet in hopes of riding out the pulsar. But it was all in vain. There would be nowhere on the planet that would be safe and few, if any, shelters could prevent the radiation from seeing in and poisoning the residences. Of course, Grand Papasta Schtroumpf didn’t tell the populace any of that. No, that wouldn’t be helpful or wise. Sheer panic was already setting in, but if the people didn’t believe they had a chance at survival, well, then there’d be… unrest. But Schtroumpf knew. And the very ministers of government who were promoting the “relocate or shelter” scheme knew. Their last real hope lay in the mysterious “Federation of Planets.” Creatures from another planet with advanced technology and large, fast ships. The Gelflings had encountered these strange creatures before Schtroumpf’s tenure began. In fact, as he recalled it, it was members of the green-skinned minority who had made a first encounter—out there, beyond the solar system. Schtroumpf wasn’t prejudiced, of course, but he did think it strange that hatless green-skins became the face of the Gelf to outsiders when the majority (like himself) had beautiful sky blue skin and at least white caps. All of this was immaterial now—almost all Gelfs (95% by the latest [secret] government calculations) would be wiped out within the week—blue-skinned, gray-skinned, and green-skinned; male, female, and kahale; hatless, white-hatted, and red-hatted. All but perhaps a few Gelfanauts on their too few interplanetary ships would go to the great Gelf beyond. And no one wanted that—well, no one besides Gargamel and his doomsday death cult. They were quite excited about the oncoming disaster and claimed vindication. Their numbers were swelling by the day. In any other circumstances, that would be disconcerting. But now there were bigger issues to deal with. And still, Schtroumpf was stuck inside this room with this Gelfing paperwork, instead of out there, doing something meaningful. Perhaps he would go down to the communications center. The satellite relays had been quite expensive and they had not, in Schtroumpf’s opinion, been worth it. Hardly any messages had come through. Schtroumpf had already been down checking for any news six times this morning and all every time the technicians’ reply was the same: nothing, silence. Still, it beat signing (Schtroumpf checked the next form in his pile) the Proclamation of Gelf Ingenuity and Spirit. ((Overpriced and Underused Communication Centre, Maudit Hall, Gelf City, Gelf)) When Papasta Schtroumpf entered the room the attendant took notice and stood up, at attention. Schtroumpf: Calm your Gelf down. This isn’t an inspection. The attendant was a good lad, a white-hat, but a little stuck on protocol. Schtroumpf: Anything new to report? Attendant Gelf: Response Schtroumpf: No, I suppose it was too optimistic that something would have happened in the last 15 minutes… Still, you’ll alert me at once if we get any news? Attendant Gelf: Response Schtroumpf: Just so. Well… carry on! Schtroumpf clicked his red-covered heels and turned to exit the room. He stopped at the door when a loud klaxon sounded. oO Could it be? Oo Running back to the attendant’s console, he leaned over. Attendant Gelf: Response Schtroumpf: Well, don’t just sit there, play the Gelfing thing! A crackly voice sounded over the speakers. oO I really did pay too much for this equipment! Oo Kel: =/\= This is Federation Starship USS Intrepid to the planet Gelf. We are on a heading for your world to assist with the incoming pulsar. Please respond and give us your status. =/\= Schtroumpf felt the hearts in his feet flutter—hope at last! Schtroumpf: Can we answer them? Attendant Gelf: Response Schtroumpf: Well do that then! =/\= Are we recording? (beat) Oh! ::sound of a voice clearing:: This is Grand Papasta Schtroumpf, ruler of the Gelflings, and you are most welcome Federation! Out status is… well…=/\= Schtroumpf looked at the young white-hatted, blue-skinned Gelf at the comms station, but couldn’t place him or remember his name. oO Is he read into the situation? Oo Ultimately, the Papasta decided it didn’t matter, this was too crucial a contact to worry about messaging optics. Schtroumpf: =/\= The situation, I’m afraid, is quite dire. We have days until the end and nothing we can do will change that. It’s a disaster of Gelfic proportions! Help us Federation Starship, you’re our only hope! =/\= Schtroumpf hoped that would speed them on their way. While the communication had been straight-forward enough, the Papasta thought he ought to remain down in the expense communications suite—just in case the Federation called again. Hopefully, with their advanced technology, they might be able to magic away the effects of the pulsar and Schtroumpf could go back to… paperwork? He let out another sigh. Perhaps the end of the world wasn’t such a bad alternative. [OOC: Tag, if anyone wants to be a Gelfling Attendant and END SCENE (probably) for Schtroumpf] Schtroumpf Grand Papasta Gelf O239910AP4

The narration, the dialogue, the way Bryce aka "Croaker" is willing to put his own life on the line for a person he has never met and doesn't know. There are certain lines in this that I love, Bryce. Calling himself a drifter for example. Amazing sim & developing story. @Bryce Tagren-Quinn For those unsure, the Gorkon is currently in "Skarbek" mode. That means that our characters are... slightly (or very) different, and are a part of the passionate Maquis.

The first thee installments of this personal storyline. I'm curious to see what comes next! ((Shi’Kahr District - Outer courtyard of the Temple of Amonak)) Sera was…exhausted. Every single attempt to engage in meditation since the mission had ended about a week ago had failed, and so she could not attain enough measure of equilibrium to find sleep. Her head pounded, and she felt listless and strangely empty. She had not felt right since the mind meld. A dusty grey-faced phantom was now haunting the corners of her mind. With her eyes open, she would ‘catch’ his visage from the corner of her eye, however it was an apparition that would vanish if she focused her gaze. And if she closed them? It was intrusive. Instead of dissipating, as she expected it to, these peripheral ‘hallucinations’ were growing more insistent. It was impacting her productivity and efficiency, and now was the fourth, no wait, fifth night she had laid on her back staring up at the ceiling bulkheads into the early hours of the morning considering what to do. Sera reached the large well-oiled gates of the small temple in the ShiKahr district without conscious consideration of how she got there. She walked past the gates and entered the meticulously maintained inner courtyard that had been laid out with a precision to induce calm and allow for quiet contemplation. It was surrounded by a covered portico, its impeccably smoothed stone columns set out an equal distance from one another—framing the zen-like courtyard—and on the far side of the space was another large doorway flanked by massive doors which were opened which no doubt was the entrance to the temple proper. Taking a seat, Sera waited for Nalaat M’Hrgt’cha, the priest she had become acquainted with. After only a moment, a shadow came into view and started to grow along the smooth stone flooring to the side of her. Someone had entered the courtyard behind her, and Sera…knew it was not Nalaat. She slowly pivoted on the bench to look behind her. It was her phantom. She shoved herself to her feet and took measured steps backwards, which he countered almost instantaneously. She kept retreating until she hit a large column supporting the portico surrounding the temple, her breath leaving in a huff. He was upon her within that breath, pinning her to the column by positioning himself so closely to her that if she moved, she would have touched him. Vulcan kryptonite touch was. His hands pressed against the stone column, framing her head and he studied her with a slight tilt of his head. He slowly leaned, so close their cheeks almost touched as he spoke into her ear. Giellun: ::whispering:: It’s…you. I have been…looking… Lifting one hand off the column, Giellun reached out and lightly cupped her chin, running his thumb over the cupid’s bow of her lips. Sera thought to jerk her chin away, but the physical contact brought the connection they had shared after the destruction of the Romulan Embassy flaring back to life and Sera gasped at the intensity of it. She felt whole again in that moment; her world had righted. Oh…Oh no. Giellun pulled his hand away from her face as if he had been burned. Had he felt something too? She watched his expression darken and his free hand lashed out, gripping her by her throat and instead of fighting back, she stilled. The feeling of rightness returned…but also confusion…and…anger? Giellun: What. Have. You. Done. He pushed with his thumb, using the pressure point in her neck to tilt her head away from his, exposing he long line of her neck. Sera: Please… Was she pleading with him to stop? To continue? She did not know but she felt…strange. Giellun leaned in and inhaled up her neck and felt the female shiver. By the Elements, what was going on?! He wanted to kill her. She had done something to him…put something in his head! Ever since he saw her as he was dying, and he drank—how he still thirsted for more! She had never been far from him. A constant shadow in his mind, slowly driving him mad. He had finally managed to slip out of the Federation sick bay because he had to find her, and she was here. She was here! She. Was. Here. Giellun: ::in a strained tone repeating his inquiry:: What have you done to me? He idly ran the pad of his thumb up and down the groove in her neck which housed the vital vessels to her brain. It was a movement that Sera found most…distracting. It took her milliseconds longer than usual to process an adequate response. Sera: ::fumbling:: I…I saved you. Giellun’s thumb suddenly pressed into the groove, his nail placing a biting sting on her neck and Sera made an instinctive sound—much to her befuddlement—a trilling exhale that reminded her of a ley’matya vocalization. Nalaat: I most sternly request this interaction to cease immediately. Giellun spun his attention to the interloper, just barely keeping himself from baring his teeth in aggression. It was a well-timed interruption, however, and Giellun took stock of the position he was in with this strange woman, and pushed away from the column, releasing her throat and forcing his hands back to his sides. As soon as he let go of her, the imbalance of the meld made itself known again, and inwardly she cringed. She had just wanted to help…leave it to her to screw up yet another thing that was considered quintessentially Vulcan. Sera: ::words tumbling out of her:: I beg thy forgiveness Nalaat, I came here to seek audience with you, I require— Nalaat: ::ignoring her apology and attempt at explanation:: Please enter the temple…your associate as well. After speaking the summons, Nalaat turned and walked across the courtyard and through the opened temple doorway. Giellun: ::watching the Vulcan male walk through the doorway:: We do not have to…we…we could go elsewhere? He didn’t know why he said that, really. He wanted nothing more than to understand just what was going on here.. Sera: ::resigned:: We must. I came to this place to seek assistance with what has…occurred between us. I had only meant to stabilize you…but something…something went wrong. Giellun: ::harshly replying showing his ties to the Element of Fire:: Something went wrong? You think?! Ignoring his retort, Sera stepped through the doorway and halted her momentum as her eyes adjusted to the dimness within. The priest stepped out of the shadows in front of them and gestured with a tilt of his head for them to follow. Nalaat: Follow me. Sera obeyed and walked further into the gloom of the temple, and Sera crinkled her nose slightly at the heady scent of incense that permeated the space. She idly wondered how Nalaat functioned in such a dimly lit place as the only light sources were groupings of candles and large coal pots which gave off a rich amber glow. Giellun followed but was a step behind the Vulcan female. He wasn’t even sure why he was doing this— Nalaat: Both of you kneel. Sera complied immediately, but she…felt the male’s hesitancy. She looked up to him and he frowned at her but seeing no other option followed suit and kneeled next to her. Sera looked up to Nalaat, and the priest tilted his head in silent question. Nodding once in assent, Sera explained what she had done to him…this man…her phantom… Sera: My apologies; I do not know your name to address you appropriately. Giellun: ::retorting:: I do not see how important that is right now. It certainly didn’t stop you from invading my mind! ::his hands closed into tight fists as he resisted the urge to reach out and shake her…to bring her close—argh!:: Nalaat watched the small exchange with interest, considering how best to…mitigate the damage done here. The male was angry, yes, and rightfully so…and yet Nalaat also saw the Romulan reach out his hand to touch S’Ers-a only to pull it back and push his palm flat on the top of his thigh. Fascinating. Nalaat: I request your thoughts, Osu. <<sir>> Giellun: ::aghast:: What, so you can do something worse?! Nalaat: This female’s motivation was noble in purpose; however, her technique was obviously…subpar. I need to assess the…damage caused. I would like to help you both if I can. Giellun wanted to rant against this, but knew he had no other choice. Something was very off inside of him…had been since the bombing. If this priest could help? He would allow it. Nalaat observed the small nod of assent and stepped forward and reached out to the pathways on his face and quickly forged a link to adequately assess the situation. It was a difficult thing to put into words what he saw inside Giellun’s mind. There were healing wounds everywhere. This was a man who should not be in the world of the living and yet…he was. Because of S’Ers-a. The threads ran through him in a jumble and back to her, a Gordian knot – a problem insoluble in its own terms…but there was something else…Beyond the graft work was a spark, a small flame just beginning to grow. What a most unfortunate coincidence. Nalaat saw such an attachment as a curse in his mind. To DESIRE. Such vulnerability! Illogical. What Sera had performed was a desperate plan initiated in extremis, but she had neither the training nor control to perform such meld with success. A foolish act, perhaps, but quite selfless. Nalaat’s hand dropped from his face, and he stood between them. Nalaat: ::not unkindly:: I cannot undo this. It would mean your death, Osu. Sera looked up to Nalaat and her shoulders slunk. She looked away from the priest and her phantom so they wouldn’t see that she could not hide the stricken expression on her face. Nalaat: ::continuing:: Yet neither of you can remain in this state. Nalaat looked past the two to the shadows, silently contemplating what could be done, what should be done. He looked back down to the two kneeling before him and nodded once having come to a decision. Nalaat: Very well. There is no other logical option. This…connection must be stabilized. ::reaching out to both of their faces:: Giellun jolted backwards, falling off his knees and onto the backs of his hands and his rear. Giellun: Wait! What are you doing? Nalaat: ::looking at him with an expression he would give a small child:: What must be done. To your knees, Osu. Giellun frowned at the priest, knowing he was being petulant – but to take orders from a Vulcan! Gritting his teeth—and against his better judgement—he complied. Nalaat stepped forward in between the two and his hands reached out to the appropriate neural nodes on both of their faces. Nalaat: ::In high Vulcan:: Ra du nam-tor pa' tor veshtaya sarlah ne' s' wuh wak t' wuh palikaya, rik' rubah. Nash tor wuh Vuhlkansu khaf-spol. Nash tor wuh Vuhlkansu katra. Nash nam-tor etwel yut. Kah-if-farr… Giellun groaned in exhaustion as he fell sideways off his knees, barely getting his palms out to halt his fall in time before faceplanting onto the stone floor. He sucked in breaths but felt as if he had run for hours. Recovering, Giellun looked across from him, instinctually looking for…her. She had her back to him, looking to the priest. Sera: Why…why this? Nalaat: It was the only way to stabilize what you had done S’Ers-a-kam. What you are experiencing should level out. With separation and simple meditative mind techniques you will barely notice it after a time. You will both be able to go your separate ways without…untenable difficulties. Giellun did not know what the man was saying, but it sounded…ominous. Sera repositioned herself so that she was facing the Romulan. His confusion and…disquiet bled easily through the link they shared. It pained her to feel his distress. Giellun stood and looked down to her, extending his hand in offer to help her up. He watched her study his offered hand, but she made no move, so he began to withdraw with a small frown…and then his hand was no longer empty as her hand found his and he smiled softly at her acceptance. ((Time skip)) Giellun: I must insist on accompanying you to your quarters. Sera: Perhaps it would be more…prudent for you to return to sickbay? ::observing the medical scrubs he was wearing:: Giellun: ::looking insulted:: I most certainly will not. I have been laying around there for days, and as no one has come to drag me back yet, logically they cannot be too concerned about my well-being. ::he raised his brow in a mocking sort of manner, which completely went over Sera’s head:: Sera: but...Why? Giellun stopped in his tracks, forcing Sera to do the same. Giellun: You are seriously asking this? Why? ::sarcastic:: Because I want answers, my lady. Answers that you would not give in the presence of the priest. Sera inwardly sighed and walked the few steps back to him. She ignored the urge to step closer, to reach out and touch him although not giving in felt like a pyrrhic victory. Sera: Very well. I will answer that which I can. Giellun nodded, satisfied for the moment, as they walked across the district in companionable silence. His eyes were wary. It was a dangerous world they found themselves in, both lulled into complacency regarding the overall safety within their lives. Now, who knows what would be? Could this tale be pulled back from the brink, or was it but the first moves in a long and bloody future? Sera noticed his increased surveillance as they walked, and she could not fault his caution…but it brought forth questions in her mind. Who was he? Beyond names…what did he do…was…was he a good person? ::sardonically:: It would serve her right if she had managed to save the worst Romulan in the history of Romulans, wouldn’t it? Giellun: ::studying her:: You are…amused? Sera’s eyes met his in surprise. Sera: ::deflecting:: Does that surprise you? Giellun: I am honest when I say the last few hours with you have disabused many a preconceived notion I may have had about Vulcans, my lady. Nonetheless, you have not answered my question. This time she did sigh. Sera: Yes and no. My mistake gave a second chance of sorts…but what…what if… Giellun: You are worried I might not be of a sort that deserves such a chance. Sera’s brows rose slightly at his comment. He was very intuitive…or was it something else? Sera: Do you wish to stop and discuss this further here? Now? ::Motioning to walkway which had numerous security forces trolling about purposefully:: Giellun: ::smirking:: …I will be patient, for now. But once we get to your quarters…::stepping closer and leaning in so his soft whisper would be only heard by her:: Perhaps we shall find ourselves otherwise occupied…::looking into her eye with a subtle rise of his brow as if adding an unspoken question mark to his statement:: He chuckled at her reaction, finding it…satisfying to see her cheeks flush green at his teasing. For being Vulcan – she was easy to provoke. He liked it. Sera: Do not make me regret my invitation… ::her voice trailed off as she had no name to call him by:: Giellun: ::Filling the silence with an answer to her unspoken inquiry:: Giellun i’Ki Baratan tr’Pardek. Sera gaped at him. She might not be Rihannsu, but Vulcans also considered names to be important…and at times, quite private. However, he had just given her all of them… Sera: tr’Pardek…? She had heard that clan name before… Giellun: It is a large clan, my lady, but yes, a powerful one…::his smile faded and he looked away:: It was anyway… Sera: Tushah nash-veh k'odu. <<I grieve with thee>> Giellun: ::suddenly defensive, almost vehement:: Do you though? I mean can you even? Sera blinked at his angry countenance, unsure of what misstep she had made. Sera: Yes. Giellun: Yes, what? Sera: You asked me if I grieved – I will assume you meant on your account. The answer is yes. Then you asked if I was capable of grief. That answer is also, yes. I am capable of feeling a great many things, tr’Pardek. Her calm reply shamed him, and the scathing retort died on his lips. She said nothing more, and neither did he till they reached the doorway to her apartment. She entered her code and the door opened. Sera gestured with one hand that he may enter, and Giellun nodded at her gesture and stepped in. TBC ***************** Lieutenant JG Sera Engineering Officer SB 118 Ops J239812S14

OOC: I've really enjoyed seeing Jamie breathe life into a character that originally had something like two sentences in the wiki. IC: ((Docking Bay Entry Zone, Starbase 118 Ops)) Reunification would not be easy. Both the Free State and the Republic were aware of this. Worse, they were not the only factions in the shattered remains of the Romulan Empire. They were only the two biggest. There were half a dozen splinter groups or more that neither side had done much outreach to. And Taron suspected that at least one of the more stable splinter groups was the place that was harboring, if not directly controlled and built by – the remnants of the Tal Shiar. This has been a hazy possibility to him before these talks. But now, seeing how things played out and having a near death experience, he started to evaluate all the little clues he had encountered, and all of the small red flags that he had tried to ignore. And it all led him to the conclusion that yes, the Tal Shiar was still very much alive. And while they were no longer welcome in the Free State, that didn’t mean they were not re-amassing power somewhere in the borders of the Empire. Worse, it also meant that there were still families in the Free State that believed that their race relied on the Tal Shiar to survive. And no matter how careful and considerate of tradition Taron’s new efficient, effective policies were, he had people paying lip service to him. But at the slightest hint of things going wrong these insecure families would turn to old vectors of communication and reconnect with the Tal Shiar. Hope was hard to build when a significant portion of the ruling families were steeping in paranoia. He would have to act decisively against the unhealthy, insecure members of his own senate and leadership to prevent the Tal Shiar from taking root again. Taron: I know I will be more careful and aware moving forward. But I am also more committed to what must be done. It would be a tremendous amount of work, but it was important work. R’Val: I am pleased to hear that, Praetor. I have given your proposal much thought and I am going to endorse a mutual defense pact agreement between our people. Perhaps we will get a chance to negotiate that together? He offered her a small nod of consideration. He would like to meet again to discuss that. But this negotiation also taught him that life was unpredictable and precious. And he couldn’t predict the future. Taron: I do not know if we will ever meet again. But I hope the stars guide you on your paths. He offered her a pleasant, open expression. It was an honest wish, not just a sharp retort. R’Val: Praetor Taron. I may disagree with your political philosophy, but I do think a mutual defense pact would be a good idea for both our people and I fully intend to endorse it to the Republic Council. I hope we can count on you to agree to such a pact? He paused to consider his words carefully. Taron: I do agree. I feel that both of our factions represent the good of our people. And we know that we have enemies both outside and inside our borders that our people need to be kept safe from. Which included Terra Prime and whatever other violent group cropped up in the independent – or Klingon – territories. But it also included whatever splinter group within the Romulan territory was controlled by the Tal Shiar and other broken souls like the assassin Nniol. DeVeau: It sounds like a good starting point. R’Val: Then I look forward to negotiating further with you in the future. :: to DeVeau :: Commander. DeVeau: Ambassador. He tipped his head to the pair. DeVeau: I don’t know if we will ever meet again, but I hope we do. Taron: I can hope that should we meet again, it will be at a more pleasant time and with fewer deadly concerns to dwell upon. It would be nice, for once, to be able to connect with others without the threat of violence from scared, sick, broken people who wanted to snuff out hope for fear of change. But if he wanted to see that future come true he would have to work in this present to make it a reality. DeVeau: And I wish a bright future for you and your people. He clasped his hands together and offered her a respectful nod. Taron: And I wish you and your people hope and prosperity. Romulans were once a desperate people, clinging to a small well of resources for survival. Then they had grown, expanded and conquered an entire Empire to fill that void of desperation. To feed the starving, quench the thirst and build the shelter they had struggled so hard to have. But maybe the formation of an Empire from the foundation of desperation and fear was a very poor way to build an Empire. His people never really lost that fear as they spread out into the galaxy. Even though they had enough food, they had enough resources and they had built safe defenses they still worried about who would come and take them from them. And it was very difficult to change that cultural perspective. But Taron was going to try to shift the window, at least a little, towards a place of confidence. DeVeau: Thank you, Praetor. I wish you a safe journey. Taron: May the stars guide you and keep you on your path, Commander. And with that he allowed his nephew to usher him onto his shuttle and he bid farewell to StarBase 118. Who knows what the future would bring? Whatever came, Taron was now looking forward with his eyes wide open. ~*~ ~Fin~ ~*~ MNPC Praetor Taron Leader of the Romulan Free State

I have not yet had the pleasure of writing with @Anthony Meeks yet, but I wanted to highlight this scene in particular. AIne's frustration is something I honestly expected her to keep her mouth shut about (and gulp down with a bottle of whiskey), and it was a surprise to see her actually articulate it. At the same time, it says a lot about Green that he looks out for her. He's a bro, and I love that!

I desperately want to give @Kali Nicholotti's Ash MacKenna a hug and tell her it'll be okay. ----- ((Operations Center, Deep Space Thirty Three)) Ash had just finished offering her thoughts and observations to a very irate station commander, and while the pieces didn't exactly connect - yet - it seemed like her thoughts had finally gotten through. Despite the most unpleasant interaction, the redheaded intelligence officer could at least return to her travels knowing that the station was a bit safer than it had been. At the very least, maybe no one else would go wandering into areas that apparently until recently needed eva suits to be in. Stergis: Your insights are noted, Commander. Progress was progress, and that was plenty enough of it for one day. She wanted nothing more than to return to the Arrow and decompress for the next six months. Or perhaps longer. MacKenna: Am I free to go, or do you need to call Captain Shayne? The woman in front of her seemed even angry at that. Ash made a mental note to make it a point not to run into her again if at all possible. Stergis: That'll be more than enough, Commander but you can be certain your CO will be hearing from me shortly. Raising an eyebrow, Ash's mind was racing to put together all of the parts of the conversation, trying to figure out what had gone left when it should have gone right. Her eyes found anything but the woman who was very visibly upset. Feeling trapped, Ash wanted out. MacKenna: Alright. She wasn't about to ask the woman for anything else, not an explanation, more information, or anything. And she definitely was not going to offer more observations. Stergis: I wasn't quite done. Until further notice, you are barred from this facility. Now, get the hell back to wherever it is you came from and stay there, you are no longer welcome on this station. At that, Ash's jaw dropped. The shift in her visage was only there a moment before the masks went back up. She couldn't manage words at that point; the flight instinct had fully taken over and all she could do was offer a bit of a nod before making her way as quickly as reasonable to the lift, without looking like she was running. As the doors closed, she didn't even bother to turn around. No, she wasn't about to chance seeing the woman looking back at her again. It was only as the lift started moving that she turned and let out a breath. ((Short Timeskip - Intelligence Suite, USS Arrow)) The darkness was always where she returned to when her social batteries had run out of charge and she'd managed to royally screw up whatever interactions she'd just had. As a child, she'd run to her horse and take off into the nearby woods, escaping both the sun and any signs of civilization as it was known. Now, with her horse and her home gone, the darkness she found in her home for the moment aboard the Arrow was the next best thing. Curled up into a ball, arms wrapped around her knees, and only her toes and back touching the chair in front of the console, the long red hair fell around her face and blocked the view to the screen. All she had to look at was the endless replaying of the conversation from earlier. Key words and phrases started to pop out. Perhaps the strongest of all was the notion she'd somehow publicly insulted the station crew. Now it was up to her many memorized social puzzle pieces to put together a path to that sentiment, from what she had said. Humans, as had always been, did little digging into intent, often characterizing what one person said through their own perceptual lenses. It was a process built into their brain, having been at one point something that helped them survive. Now, as the future loomed, it remained the task of those who lacked such built in ability to ensure the message was received as intended. In this case, it was now painfully obvious that it had not been. What's worse, she had been banned and created more trouble for the captain and crew of the Arrow. She shook her head. This was why she didn't share her observations unless asked. This was why she remained so quiet. It was safer that way. Safer, and easier for everyone. And while that would be a path to look at moving forward, Ash still had to figure out what to do about the here and now. TBC -- Commander Ash MacKenna Chief Intelligence Officer USS Arrow R238605KN0

((Transporter Room, Deck 7, USS Intrepid)) Petty Officer 3rd Class Connor Aiden Sedgewick was not perturbed by much. He was in Starfleet to do a job, not to go on adventures or make new friends and thus far, he had succeeded in avoiding both. Some jobs required a level of meticulousness and lack of imagination and Connor had that in spades. He reported every morning to his duty shift at 0900 sharp and ran the standard diagnostics on the transporter controls. Yesterday, the crewman he had relieved had tried telling him that there was no need—the Gamma Shift operator had just run one—but that wasn’t protocol and Connor would not skip protocol. There were reasons things were done a certain way. Especially with a dangerous piece of equipment like a transporter pad. He had heard stories. Oh, there were stories. Transporter clones, transporting to a mirror dimension, transporting two individuals into the same body. Well, not on Connor’s watch. He would do things by the book. So, he ran his diagnostics. Every morning. It was a solitary job—most days passed without anyone calling down, let alone coming in to be transported—and Connor preferred it that way. He wasn’t good at “human interaction” and did not care to get better. He was perfectly contented doing his job, then retiring to his quarters for a single malt and a nice historical holodoc. If he was lucky, his roommates wouldn’t interrupt him and try to get him to socialize with them in 7-Forward. What a waste. Recently, most of the crew had gone down to a shore leave planet for a ceremony and dinner and Connor had had the cabin to himself. That was a good night. Today had begun like most other days, but then, despite his efforts to avoid it, adventure found Connor. He, along with the crew of the ‘Oumuamua, had seemingly been transported in time and space to the 23rd century and a Constitution-class starship. However, there had been no swirling lights or energizing sounds of a transporter effect, Connor was sure of that. And his uniform had been changed. It irked him, a little, to be pulled out of his normal time and place and redressed, but in the mind of Connor Aiden Sedgwick, Petty Officer 3rd class, it changed nothing. He still had a duty to do. So while some crewman had run around the ship, looking for someone to tell them what was going on, Connor had reported to the transporter room. There was no one to relieve. Sedgewick: *Hrumpf* Someone had obviously lost their cool and abandoned their post. Well, Connor wouldn’t. That’s how accidents happened. He ran his diagnostics, as was protocol, and settled into his duty station. Transporters hadn’t changed much in the last 150 years and, besides, he was well acquainted with every model of transporter that Starfleet had ever used. It was, in his mind, simply part of the job. The first part of his shift passed in relative peace. No one came in, no messages from the bridge. Whatever the larger situation, it did not call for transporters. But if it did, Connor would be ready. And if it didn’t. Well, that was fine too. He would hold the line. The second half of his shift had a little excitement. The wall intercom sprang to life and projected a voice from engineering. Arlill: =/\= Engineering, Lieutenant Arlill to main transporter room =/\= Sedgewick: =/\= Transport control, Petty Officer, 3rd Class Sedgwick on duty. =/\= Arlill: =/\= please transfer controls to engineering (beat) :: looking at the console number a few feet away :: console 18402. =/\= Connor made the adjustment and transferred control to console 18402. Sedgewick: =/\= Control transfer Lieutenant =/\= Whatever was going on or needed, must have been sufficient, because there was no additional follow-up communication. Connor Sedgewick moved back to the main console—now without control of the transporter function—and continued to man his post. [[End scene for Connor Sedgewick]] Petty Officer, 3rd Class Connor Sedgewick Transporter Operator USS Oumuamua O239910AP4

Epilogue, not prologue, but a great closing for the NPC! ((Rator III)) Havran was excited. Though the excitement was tempered by other feelings. Feelings he was always taught would come through the will of others. Her name repeated over and over in his mind during the whole trip back to Rator III. I was serious when he told her that someone had to lead their people into the future. He didn't think of himself as some sort of revolutionary or leader. But then again, those that often found themselves in those positions in history didn't aspire to them. Enroute, he had sent out messages all over the planet. He let everyone know what had happened on StarBase 118. He also let them know his opinion on where they were heading as a people. And his intention to reunite the Free State and the Republic. And that he would not stop until it happened. There was an old Romulan saying that if you wanted to make one's enemy laugh, show him your intentions. But there was another that said to do the unexpected. And this was most unexpected from one of his stature. Few if any in the upper classes of Romulan society would dare speak out like this. He'd even received messages back. Some were hateful. Some were praising his courage. It was the latter that would be his "army" in fighting to reunite his people. Their voices would be their weapon. As for J'Lynn, he would see her again. And the next time, they would not meet as enemies. There was so much he couldn't wait to tell her. The shuttle from the orbiting ship to the surface of Rator III landed near the Praetoriate grounds. He had demanded an audience with the Senate and they had granted it. When he departed, he was greeted by his father, a man of great influence. And one he was sure would oppose him. And though it may drive a wedge into their family, it had to be done for the better of all. S. s'Rehu: I have seen your words, Havran. s'Rehu: Then you know where I stand, father. My generation is the future of the Rihannsu, and we will take our future into our own hands. S. s'Rehu: It was not prudent to voice your opinion so loudly. Havran scoffed at his father. The old man was delusional. Havran hadn't been "loud." He was deafening. Deafening to those who wanted to force the Republic back into servitude. s'Rehu: Well, now you hear us. S. s'Rehu: Not just me. Havran's father raised his hand and snapped his fingers. There was a shimmer at both edges of Havran's visage. Two Romulans decloaked at either side of him. They were dressing in sleek black armor, armed with disruptor rifles. They lunged at Havran, grabbing his arms. He struggled against them but could not break loose. S. s'Rehu: The Tal Shiar heard you as well. They are still listening, my son. You will go with them. You will be ::long pause:: "re-educated." s'Rehu: Father, father! Havran yelled out and his father looked deep into his eyes. He could see that his father was expecting him to beg for mercy. Havran let his muscles relax, he stopped resisting. He chose his next words carefully, for they could mean everything. Whether he lived or died. Whether others would come for him to help him spread the fire he'd lit. Or whether he'd become another cog in the wheel of the Free State. s'Rehu: You... His father looking back at him, he could see a hint of sadness in his father's eyes. He didn't know if he felt his son betrayed him. Or perhaps it was that Havran seemingly gave up fighting. s'Rehu: ...will hear us. Loud. Until the day comes for your empire to come crumbling down. You will hear our screams for freedom. A green shimmer filled Havran's vision as he knew he'd been transported away. To where he was going, he didn't know. The last glimpse of his father he saw something he'd never seen before in the old man's eyes...fear. End Havran s'Rehu Praetoriate Council Assistant Romulan Free State R239712AS0

Some final sims as the mission comes to a close. We had a sort of "Romeo and Juliet" concurrent plot and @Gogigobo Fairhug and @Lt Aine Olive Sherlock did such a great job with it! ((Romulan Embassy Starbase 118)) J'Lynn: We are not as different as we are led to believe. She was talking about the Rihannsu people on the whole…or was she? s'Rehu: It would appear we are more alike than different. At that moment, she did something she would have never even considered possible before today. Looking into Havran's eyes, she knew he felt the same, but his upbringing would never allow him to make such a bold move in full view of so many people and so, J'Lynn did it for both of them. She didn't care and she wasn't afraid. Rising up slightly on her tiptoes, she kissed him, once, softly on his cheek. J'Lynn: You are a good man, Havran s'Rehu. s'Rehu: Only because I was shown a better way by a better woman. J’Lynn couldn’t help but smile. Of course, Havran was not used to such openness, maybe he never would be, but that wouldn’t stop her. He cleared his throat, seemingly in an attempt to regain his composure. s'Rehu: Come, let them take a look at that. J'Lynn: Yes. Thank you. She smiled again as they continued to walk, then her expression changed to a more pensive one. What had happened here today was horrific, but maybe she had been right. Often, it took great tragedies for things to change. While it would be no comfort to those who had perished in the bombing of the embassy, or their loved ones, perhaps their deaths would not be in vain. The wound would take a long time to heal, change would not come easily or overnight and there would still be those who would resist, there always would be, on both sides, but J’Lynn clung to the hope that this cataclysmic event would change enough peoples’ minds to make a substantial difference. They approached a Starfleet medical officer and Havran explained that they had not been in the embassy and that J'Lynn's injury was sustained during the rescue efforts and the medic went to work to heal the wound. While the Starfleet officer worked, Havran spoke to J'Lynn. s'Rehu: I've been thinking ::beat:: about what happens after all this. J'Lynn: What do you think needs to happen? She was genuinely curious. Havran had seemed open-minded from the start, but J'Lynn had witnessed that open-mindedness grow to genuine curiosity and eventually a resolve to change. What he said next would reveal just how willing to change he was. s'Rehu: Choices need to be made, by me. J'Lynn: Would you come back to the Republic…? She wanted to add "with me", but stopped short. The implication was there, nonetheless. s'Rehu: That is one possible choice. Judging by the tone of his voice, she knew there was a "but" coming. J'Lynn: But not the one you're going to make. s'Rehu: Who would go back to the Free State and tell people the truth. The truth of what happened here. The truth of where we must go in the future. He was right, of course. Change had to come from within. But not just within the Free State. J'Lynn had learned so much from this experience, too. The two major factions may have many differences, but they were still Rihannsu. They had to learn to focus on their similarities in order to meet somewhere in the middle. Sitting on some of the rubble that had been the Romulan Embassy on Starbase 118, while a Federation doctor tended to her, J'Lynn reached up to touch Havran's hand once more. J'Lynn: This is not the end. It is only the beginning. Once again, she was talking about the Romulan people as a whole, but this time, she was very much talking about herself and Havran, as well. Unbeknownst to J'Lynn, her father sat unharmed aboard their ship. He had beamed up before the attack and the lock down had meant he was unable to return, but things were never going to be the same for either of them. She loved her father so very much, but she had made room in her heart for another this day. (OOC: This feels like a natural place to wrap this up. It has been my sincere pleasure writing for J'Lynn with you all. Thank you to Amanda for inviting me to guest in this mission and thank you to you all for welcoming me and giving me such a great story to read and take part in. :)) END =/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\= J'Lynn Future Romulan Republic Politician As simmed by Marine Captain Gogigobo Fairhug The Lightning Aldabrans Denali Station E239411GF0