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The subtelty of the writing, Nkai's inner thoughts, the brushing of Cheesecake's wet nose against his hand 🐕 just a lovely read! @Quinn Reynolds Lt. Commander Caedan Nkai - A Cheesecake and Her Muffin Are Not Easily Parted

Part 3 of the Twibble Saga ... ============= (( Shattered Halls of Cata Maran )) The halls seemed to go on forever, like a labyrinth of the same stone worked to resemble the familiar corridors of the ship she’d called home for so many years. Except, as they progressed the stone was more cracked, more sparks showered them as they passed, more passages that had collapsed entirely. Wyla was finding it harder to focus on everything. They had been in so many fights. The darkness all around them just outside her protective light had repeatedly managed to send shades through. Harming themselves in the process just to get to her. Her brave, wonderful protectors through all of that were still with her. Even after they’d nearly lost Ribble to a swarm of shades because he stood between her and them, tearing the shadows apart while they reciprocated. Libble had healed him as she did, only for Swibble to smack him, then hug him, then tell him that she still had a higher total of vanquished shades than him by two. These protectors didn’t lose their joy and hope. It helped her to keep on, even though all she could do was lay there on Twibble back. Her poor Twibble. Even his beautiful fur was showing signs of the battles fought. Some of the shades had started to manifest magic during their last battle, they hurled orbs or beams of darkness that oddly burned when they hit you. A few patches of fur were singed slightly but the powerful lion still carried her on. Pwibble: There! The exit of the Halls! The navigating twibble proclaimed, their anchor pointed in the direction ahead where a faint light bloomed still. Wyla smiled a bit and looked up at the exit. Maybe they were close to the artifact now! Avae: Good news! Thank you Pibble, you did so well to get us through all of that. The twibble beamed a smile at her and the others rushed with vigor out of the open doorway. The light grew brighter for a moment so she shielded her eyes and when her vision cleared again she looked about. Where she had hoped to see a bright open sky was that ever present and oppressive darkness. Only her own light showed the terrain around them. Sand? She heard the crunch of sand beneath Twibble’s claws as the troupe continued onward a few meters from the exit to the Halls. Wyla looked back, seeing an oddly Akira shaped mountain side, with several peaks broken and piled like hills of rubble. Swibble: Finally! Warmth! Ribble: Thou art nary going to letteth that rest, are thee? Swibble slowly turned back to Ribble and blepped ever so slightly, their tongue stuck out just enough to get the point across before the pair exchange childish gestures with one another. Wyla couldn’t help but giggle. The sound must have been odd, or something because she felt all of their eyes on her and she blushed a little. Avae: W..what did I do? Twibble: You laaughed Wyla. The fiirst time since we found you. Libble: He’s right. It’s a great sound. And see, the light is brighter! She was right. As Wyla looked up she noticed her illuminatory bubble had extended a little bit. Letting them see more of the terrain. They were indeed on a beach. The sound of heavy rolling waves filled the air, and she could smell the sea. But it was otherwise eerily quiet. There were no birds. And the sand looked black, but it squeaked when they walked. For a moment, it reminded her of the party on the caldera. With sand so soft it squeaked too. She missed being able to feel the sand under her feet. To be able to curl her toes into it. The light flickered. Twibble: Wyla…Wyla…aare you alriight? Sickly groans echoed around them as the sand shifted, bubbling up or rising as figures, dozens of them emerged from beneath. Bodies. Glowing red eyes. Corpses. Libble: Oh no…I know where we are. Swibble: Well, tell us!! She demanded while holding her blade in hand. All of the twibbles readied themselves and moved to defensive positions around Wyla and Twibble. Libble: The Bay of Sickness. (( Bay of Sickness )) The horde of risen corpses shambled towards them all, their clothes tattered mixes of gold and red and blue and teal. Ribble, Sylara and Swibble covered the left flank, fighting with blade and fist, claw and beak. As each zombie fell, four more rose up. Ribble had started using the pair of climbing axes that, to this point, had just hung from his belt. The incorrigible pair called out each felled enemy, adding to their tallies. Pwibble swept aside several in front of them with each swing of that anchor, but more just rose up behind them. Libble bolstered them all with her medkit and patched up wounds. While Kwibble fought hard to cover the right flank, that sword cleaved several. While Twibble spun in place, slapping, clawing, biting and roaring at each zombie in turn. They moved down the beach, a constant slog of a battle but they were moving forward. Not losing ground. A bright burst of dark fire erupted suddenly in between Ribble and Swibble that sent both of them into the air a few meters before they hit the sand again. Singed. All eyes shifted ahead to a tall figure, skeletal, eyes glowing bright red but more crisp than the zombies. Wyla squinted to see them and could swear that they were made of metal bones. The right arm was a large crossbow, with bolts that seemed to magically replenish and burned with a dark green fire at the tips. The left hand glowed with an orb of darkness, more magic. Skeleton: Fools. If we fall, we will always rise again. They gestured and the dark orb burst dozens and dozen of black tendrils that struck the already defeated corpses. Each one touched was enveloped in the tendrils that wrapped around them, being lifted back to their feet, their eyes aglow once more. Swibble: ::She picked herself up off the sand:: Fvadt! Wyla cringed. Her brave protectors got back up, stood around her and readied for more fighting. For the first time since she woke up here, they’d stopped moving forward. She saw the skeleton’s ballista arm point in her direction and fire. It flew so fast towards her she didn’t realize she’d yelped until it exploded a couple of meters in front of her. She winced and waited for pain that never came. Bravely she opened an eye and saw the most beautiful shimmering dome of energy around them all. Vibrant blue that had coalesced around them somehow. Kwibble: Yes!!!! I knew she’d make it! Wyla looked to Kwibble who excitedly gestured with the ancient sword of hers to an outcropping of rocks by the shore to their right. Standing atop it was a lone twibble in blue, with similarly pointed fur to Ribble and Swibble though she had a cute little fur ponytail. She held a small talisman in hand that glowed with light, rectangular-ish in shape that looked like the newer Tricorders. Their other hand outstretched towards Wyla’s group, the limb also aglow with the same blue energy as the barrier around them. N: I would have been here sooner but I had to find a replacement. ::She held up the talisman:: Kwibble: You’re in twibble now you shiny metal monster! ::She called out to the skeleton ahead:: Wyla smiled at Kwibble’s enthusiasm, despite the terrifying sight around them. The shield eventually lowered and the mage with the ballista arm turned its focus onto their new arrival. Avae: ::she whispered to the lion she clung to:: Who’s that? Twibble: Niibble. She blinked. Avae: Are you asking me to nibble you, or that you’ll only tell me if I let you nibble me? Or you’ll tell me after you finish nibbling on that zombie? I’m confused. There was a rumbling chuckle from the lion, which was a little awkward given that he had a zombie in his mouth at the time. Twibble: ::He spit out the zombie:: Nibble’s her name. She’s our Sage. The Antosian’s mouth opened into an ‘oohhhhhh’ and she nodded. Now they had magic of their own. Maybe they could get through this after all. To be continued…. ================================== Lieutenant JG Wyla Avae Chief Nurse Keeper of Twibbles as unconsciously simmed by Lieutenant Commander Toryn Raga Second Officer/Chief Tactical & Security Officer USS Astraeus NCC-70652 Astraeus Staff Member Writer ID: A239410TR0 https://wiki.starbase118.net/wiki/index.php?title=Toryn_Raga

Those first few scenes as a new player are always intimidating and, in this case for Mr. Hobart, doubly so because he's on the Bridge a few hours after showing up. Still he manages to jump right in and contribute with some wonderful characterizations and observations, along with some follicular humor, starting our Act 3 off on a great note. Well done Ensign! ======================================== ((Deck One, Bridge, USS Arrow)) Commander Niac leaned back in discomfort in the command chair on the Bridge, before rising to survey the assembled and assigned crew. Hobart in his own kind of discomfort, tucked away into the proverbial corner of a round-ish room, fell back onto his accidental mantra. It was something he took to saying in Academy simulations, when he found himself in a place like this. The simulations were all contrived to find a way to make cadets of varying specialties all act together as bridge crew. Every bit of his training, every component system he memorized, every tool he learned, had him situated if not in the beating heart of Main Engineering, then somewhere in a Jefferies tube, which from inside felt a bit like a ship’s digestive tract. But every major simulation had him situated right where he was, at the stern of the bridge, looking at a screen, his hands very much grease-free. Every time, Nolen's expression became a little more exhausted, a little more exasperated. But here, on the Arrow, where the stakes were real, he couldn’t muster such chutzpah. Accordingly, he only mouthed the words: "But what does an engineer do on the bridge?" He was about to find out. Niac: Lieutenant Commander Collins, Lieutenant Jg. Ayemet, you're going to be our eyes and ears while the away team is offship. I need you to squeeze everything you can out of our passive sensors. I want to keep track of the team and I don't want us to get snuck up on. Any questions? Collins/Ayemet: Response As Niac began his round of the bridge crew, Hobart stared at the panel in front of him. Thrusters only, shields offline, weapons powered down, life support and air circulation at a minimum. It was a blessing that the lights and displays themselves wouldn't create too much "noise," so they could be left un-dimmed. The air was still fresh enough, but Hobart knew as they settled in, things would begin to get stale. With any luck, the Captain's excursion would be brief. oO And “successful,” of course. Don’t forget “successful.” Oo Niac: Understood, give me as much warning as you can. Karrod nodded and turned his attention towards their helmsman, Cadet Jenna Perim. Nolen wondered which sadistic instructor assigned her to this ship for her cruise. Niac: Cadet Perim, confirm we're in position relative to the asteroid and the facility. Once we're set, I want you to start plotting warp trajectories out of the system and back to the Proteus ring. ::Karrod tried a reassuring smile:: You think you're up for that, Cadet? Hobart's black eyes danced around the map of the ship as he mused to himself about which sections were about to become very cold, and which very sweaty. The Bridge, he estimated with relief, would be closer to the former. As Nolen's father put it: you can always put more layers on. He did not envy Lieutenant J/G Dewitt, though, nor the smell that would undoubtedly await him on his return to Main Engineering. In the brief span of time between his arrival on the ship and his assignment to his current station, Ensign Hobart had only barely had a chance to drop off his belongings in his new quarters, drink a glass of water, and briefly meet a very busy man who seemed to have only just arrived out of the Academy a week or so before he did. The fact that Dewitt had already secured his half-pip was bewilderingly impressive, and Nolen wondered exactly where the Lieutenant got off setting such impossibly high standards for the rest of the crew. Perim: Response Karrod fought to keep a smirk off his face and turned his attention towards the last and newest member of their team, Ensign Nolen Hobart. The hairs on the back of Nolen's neck tingled as an image of looming anthropomorphized facial hair in a command uniform filled his mind. Niac: Ensign Hobart, welcome to the bridge. You'll be responsible for monitoring our power systems and making sure we're not leaking any detectable emissions. We don't want to trigger those facility defense batteries. That said, I want us ready to power up and get underway on a moment’s notice. Think you can handle all, Ensign? Hobart: ::raised voice:: Aye, sir, not a scrape nor squeak, Commander Bea— ah, Commander Niac. Sir. Hobart kept his back to the ship's Executive Officer, ostensibly to continue to monitor the ship’s systems. Had the ship's lights been dimmed, he imagined that his face, glowing as hot embers, would have drawn more attention no matter which way he stood. In this precise moment, he envied Lieutenant Dewitt a great deal. Karrod straightened up in the Chair and tapped at his commbadge. Niac: =/\= Niac to Shayne. Captain, we're all set up here. =/\= Shayne: =/\= Understood. Standby for our launch. =/\= Niac: =/\= Aye sir, good hunting. You're clear for departure. Arrow will be standing by waiting for you. Good luck, Captain. =/\= Shayne: =/\= Thank you, Commander. =/\= The comm closed and Karrod turned his attention back towards the bridge. The viewscreen showed the barren, pitted surface of broken stone stretched off into the darkness all around them. After a few minutes of relative silence, Karrod spoke aloud, half to himself and half to the bridge as a whole. Niac: Guess I should've brought a deck of cards. This caused Nolen to turn around, his face finally under control and un-blushed. Out the main viewscreen he saw the vast surface of their shelter against prying Sheliak sensors, a slash of barren rock against the dark void of space, and felt for a moment as if he was back home. An Engineer on the Bridge, he realized, if nothing else, got a real good look. Collins/Ayemet/Perim: Response With his eyes finally filled, Hobart turns back to his station, focused on making sure things stayed good and quiet. He tapped, rhythmically, cycling through the different powered down systems, arranging them for reactivation in the most efficient sequence possible. Somewhere from the dark recesses of his mind, antiquated cultural artifacts echoed. Hobart: ::whispering absentmindedly, with a Scottish lisp:: One… ping… only… Any: Response Tags/TBC — — — Ensign Nolen Hobart Engineering Officer U.S.S. Arrow (NCC-69829) A240001NH3

((OOC: A great sim from Emma that just socked a lot of us in the feels.)) She had taken the opportunity afforded to her to rest for the briefest of moments, downloading a series of schematics and information from her personal servers, that could provide useful. She noticed the small onyx like box that had been mysteriously handed to her when on a shore leave , and she had struggled to open ever since. Scans had shown little information, but from them, and the data on El-Auria she had downloaded whilst at Odyssey Station, she had come to the conclusion that it was El-Aurian in composition, but quite why it had been given to her, and what it contained, were still a mystery to her. She sighed as she changed her uniform and combed her hair, trying to mask the signs of both emotional and physical exhaustion that sought to overwhelm her. At one point her and Gorva had planned to open it using her burgeoning psionic abilities, but that was when she had been terrified that there was a deep uncontrollable part of her waiting to be unleashed. Thanks to R’Ariel she had discovered that this was not the case, but merely the results of psci-dolescence, adolescence but for those with psionic gifts, and hope had resurfaced. She had looked forward to having someone who not only knew, but understood to talk to, but as so often, life had taken R’Ariel elsewhere, at least for the moment. She let out another breath, her right hand falling flat against the smooth surface of the box. Click. Her eyes opened. Whir. She looked down at the box as a small seam opened along the top of it, the whirring rising in volume as its’ sides began to turn and expand outwards. She picked the box up, it’s’ volume seemingly two or three times what it had appeared to be when closed. The sides were now extended outwards to the left and the right, giving the impression of books stacked previously on top of each other. She peered inside, tentatively at first, half expecting some creature or beam of light to come spilling out. It smelt…old, dusty, like a house that had laid unattended and cared for over decades. Inside were.. She half laughed. There was a small wooden wind instrument. About five inches in length, with small holes running down its’ side, and an obvious mouthpiece at one end. She picked it up, and gingerly blew into it. It was like the wind blowing through the trees, ethereal, lonely, a melancholy that spoke to some great sadness lost to time. She put it down, feeling like she had intruded on something precious and deeply private. She took the next object out, a small beaten soft toy in the shape of what humans might call a rabbit. Parts of it were faded, and it’s’ left ear fell loosely to one side, but it was soft, warm, and as Ayemet gel it carefully in her hands she felt comforted, like it brought back almost memory. She smiled stroking the small plush as she placed it down on the desk. Next was a book. The language was something she instinctively recognised; El-Aurian. The symbols filled page after page, hand drawn illustrations interrupting the paragraphs every so often. It looked like some kind of notebook. History? Biographical? A diary? She wasn’t sure, but it was certainly something that needed, no insisted, on further careful study. The final item was a clear bag with several smaller pockets within it. In each pocket was a myriad different seeds and pulses, all carefully placed so as not to be contaminated by either the other seeds nor anything outside the bag. She looked at the colors and shapes. There must have been at least a dozen different seeds. Seeds of plants that once grew in El-Aurian soil. Tears formed in her eyes, her hands moving gently over the contents of the box, a smile on her lips . Home. Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of her communicator calling for her return. She places each of the items back into the box, which closes once more, and turned to leave her quarters, taking a brief moment to look once more at it as the doors closed and she took the unusual step of locking it . She turned and ran straight into someone, colliding with them, and falling ti the floor. Any Response: Jacin: Yes. Totally my fault. I’m so sorry. Any Response: Jacin: No it:beat: it’s something for another time. Any Response: Jacin: nodding: On my way. With that she turned and hurried towards the turbolift. TAG/ TBC/END? Lieutenant Jg Jacin Ayemet Science Officer USS Arrow A239810JA2

((Circular enclosed courtyard with benches and a small water fountain at the center – Shi’Kahr District)) Sera had found herself wandering after the New Year’s party on the SS Belladonna had wound to a close. She wasn’t quite certain how exactly she found this small courtyard in the Shi’Kahr district, which was quite a ways from her quarters. However, the feeling of it reminded her of home, and she took a seat at one of the benches spaced equidistantly apart surrounding the bubbling fountain in a perfect circle. She stared at nothing really, though her eyes were generally fixed on the flowing water. The chocolate had not been one of her more logical…or perhaps intelligent decisions, as the euphoric effects were wearing off and she was left with a sense of profound…emptiness. Sherlock had spent half the party explaining Terran traditions regarding this particular celebration, and Sera soaked it in – finding some of the customs most interesting, if inexplicable. However, part of learning was comparing past experiences or knowledge to find a meaningful way to categorize the new information, and pulling up knowledge of her life on Vulcan, in this current state…well it made her feel things. Isolation…loneliness…longing…grief. They were old friends, in a way, following her since leaving home and entering a new life as an academy cadet…and they were still here. Oh, she had become quite proficient at subsuming them, locking them away in a box that was conveniently shoved into a mental closet marked, “OFF LIMITS – DO NOT OPEN.” Nonetheless, here they were, in the forefront of her mind, filling her soul with something that caused discomfort behind her breastbone, a dull pain that made each breath a miserable chore. A rustling of clothing jolted her from her musings, and Sera reached up and wiped at her face, unsure of why it was wet. Nalaat: ::In a crisply accented Vulcan that spoke of growing up in Gol:: It is quite late to sit in such contemplation... Sera’s head whipped to the voice, and she caught herself with her hand on the bench seat as the motion held a little too much momentum. She looked up to see an adult Vulcan male, with slight salting of his hair around his brow line, wearing robes of an indeterminate color…it was quite late, wasn’t it? Sera: It…the courtyard is quite placid at this hour. Nalaat motioned with his hand, asking permission to sit, and Sera nodded once, giving assent, and he settled a respectful distance from her on the stone slab. Nalaat: I have never seen you here before, miss… Sera: ::sighing in a very un-Vulcan-like manner:: S’Ers-a Nalaat: Ah…S’Ers-a. Your accent, it is quite unique. I have never heard one like it. Sera looked down to her hands which were gripped tightly together in her lap. Her anxiety speaking with one of her own was visible in the whitening of her knuckles, and she forced them to relax. Sera: I was born in Jia'anKahr. She turned her gaze from her hands to the profile of the stranger sitting next to her and waited. Nalaat: That is far south. Very remote if I recall my geography correctly. Sera blew air out of her nose at his self-deprecating statement. Of course, he would recall it correctly – every Vulcan had been taught about the Lyr’Taya region…and what peoples hailed from it. Sera: A different world, one might say… ::wincing, knowing that the use of idioms would not serve her here:: The man tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating what she said. Or perhaps he was thinking of a scathing remark to be delivered in a quintessential Vulcan manner that would cut her deeply, but only if she admitted she had such feelings, which tonight at least, she didn’t have the control to deny herself that. Sera: For the sake of efficiency, I am m’Lyr’Zor. oO There. That should end whatever this is… Oo The man turned to look at her fully and raised a brow. Nalaat: Stating that your home is in Lyr’Taya all but guaranteed that. ::regarding her in a manner that indicated that he too was thinking of how to be efficient:: Do you believe I am…scandalized, knowing this? Sera gaped at him, and as her face felt utterly bizarre, perhaps she actually was physically expressing her incredulity. Sera: Every Vulcan I have ever told has never…not been. Nalaat nodded considering. Nalaat: As you are here, on a Federation installation, in a simulated Vulcan portico, very far from Jia'anKahr, I will postulate you have not chosen a profession that feeds into the rumors and innuendos regarding your clan’s unsavory dealings. Sera ducked her head in an attempt to hide the single laugh at his rather 'diplomatic' observation. Sera: That is quite astute of you...? She studied him, waiting for the inevitable rebuffment that she had experienced outside of her clan's landholdings. Nalaat: Very well, S’Ers-a M’Lyr’Zor. I am Nalaat M’Hgrtcha. Are you new to the district? Sera breathed out slowly, regaining some semblance of control before answering him. Sera: No. My quarters are…some distance from here. Nalaat: Starfleet then. It is hard to determine such things when one is not wearing their uniform. She ducked her head in response to his humor. He was not incorrect…it was hard to tell when one was wearing a netting dress that was decidedly un-Vulcan. Nalaat: And your mate? Is he here with you? Nalaat: And your mate? Is he here with you? Sera started at his question, her mind immediately going back to the memories of…him. It was suddenly as if she were drowning all over again. The discomfort within her chest exploded into burning pressure, and she felt as if she couldn't get air into her lungs. Her hands grasped the edge of the stone bench the edge of the rough stone bit into her palm, pulling her out of the panicked state she had started to fall into. Nalaat saw the change come over her and realized he had made a grievous error. This young woman appeared to be undone, her shoulders and arms trembling as her breath echoed in a harsh whisper. His initial response was to turn away, to allow her a moment to regain her composure in an obvious lapse of emotional control…but…from what she had just shared with him, he considered doing so would show an unforgiveable indifference to her suffering. Reaching out he placed his hands atop her trembling one and sent calmness through the link that opened between them. He was most careful to not take anything from her, and this was an easy thing given the years of training he had in the mind arts as a Priest of Amonak. He remained by her side, stoically composed as he waited patiently for the woman to regain herself. She felt the calmness being projected to her and she focused desperately on that, forcing her breaths to slow and the frantic thrumming of her heart to ease. She dropped her head and shut her eyes, ashamed of her actions before a stranger, and a Vulcan no less. Nalaat: There is no shame, S’Ers-a-kam. <<Kam denotes affection/caring>> My question was obviously indelicate. I ask your forgiveness. Sera sat, unmoving for a moment, but she was not ignoring Nalaat…she was simply trying to find the courage to face him. Sera: There is nothing to forgive, Nalaat. It is I who am… ::mouth moving but no further words coming out:: Nalaat: I grieve with thee. Sera body shuddered, as if shaking off a deep chill, and her composure had finally returned to its proper place. She delicately pulled her hand out from under his, and as soon as the movement was perceived Nalaat courteously withdrew. Sera: There is nothing to grieve. It was kal-if-fee. Nalaat reared back slightly, her statement so unexpected that he was unable to contain his surprise behind his neutral façade. oO So young! Oo Nalaat: ::switching to formal Vulcan:: Was the one thy were bonded to at Koon-ut-la such an ill-fitting mate for thee? Sera’s expression shifted to that of incredulity, but she did not turn to look at this stranger. It was a very personal question, and she should find this entire exchange unacceptable…but she had never told anyone…and no one had ever asked…and now here she sat on a stone bench, next to…::studying the sigils on his robes::…a Priest of Amonak? Sera: ::hesitant:: My clan…adheres to older ways. I informed of my family’s choice with only a short time to prepare. Nalaat could only shake his head in disbelief. His estimation of Sera increased greatly. Nalaat: And you managed to procure a champion for thee in such short time? Sera exhaled through her nose at his statement. A champion…if only. Sera: I was my own champion. I fought for my life and bought my freedom by his death. It was a pyrrhic victory. Nalaat: ::raising a brow:: In what way? Thy call it a pyrrhic victory – costly, yes, but did thee believe the loss incurred was not worth any gain? Sera finally risked looking at him and raised a brow weakly in question. Sera: ::softly:: I could not…go through with it, so he had to die?…and for what…to find myself here, having made irrational choices, intoxicated to the point of inability to control my emotions…telling a stranger my deepest shame…::shoulders slumping:: …T'nash-veh kashek nam-tor sa'awek - tra' nam-tor rim ik thresh ish-veh. Nalaat studied her defeated form – seeing her lapse in control as a physical symptom of psychological pain. Isolation was detrimental environment for a Vulcan. To be physically alone was one thing – but to be telepathically alone? Vulcans required bonds to maintain stability. Bonds with family, bonds with associates – or friends, bonds with mates…It was never spoken about because it simply…was. They were touch telepaths, yes…but close contact with other Vulcans formed subtle links – that were often strengthened through melds that occurred – when the situation appropriate. If she was here, unbonded – with no meaningful connections with anyone else…why, it was amazing she had maintained stability as long as she had. Nalaat: ::in a fatherly tone:: when have you last shared thoughts, S’Ers’a-kam? Sera: ::defensive:: I…melded with a half-human/half-orion woman the other day. What was this becoming…a confessional? Sera finally braved looking at his face, and his concern was expressed all over it. He was a Priest of Amonak after all…he was trained to listen and offer guidance. Normal Vulcans did this…they confided…gave trust…asked for and received assistance. It was an alien concept. Her family was calculating…cold. It was an unheard-of thing to confess such as she was to another. However, she was drunk and just couldn’t stop herself. Nalaat: For the purpose of closeness…of connection? Sera: ::gesturing with her head in a negative motion:: No. It was to educate, exchange information. Nalaat: And that inability to meld in a proper manner…? Sera:: It…pained me. Nalaat tilted his head to the side in compassion. Nalaat: S’Ers-a m’Lyr’Zor Tan-tor nash-veh nahp. <<give me your thoughts.>> ::raising his hand up and out to half the distance between them. Sera’s eyes widened and she sat up straight and then leaned her head back slightly to give him correct access to the side of her face. His warm fingertips touched her face, expertly sliding precisely over the cranial nerve pathways. Sera shivered all over uncontrollably once, and then became perfectly still. Nalaat: T’nash-veh kashek tor ish-veh kashek…T'nash-veh nahp tor nahp <<My mind to your mind…my thoughts to your thoughts>> She was always filled with astonishment to feel the breath of another’s lungs, to see herself through another’s eye, to sense that there was no beginning or no end…Sera reached back out to him, allowing him the same transcendent gift that full meld bestowed. Nalaat: …Etwel nahp nam-tor veh <<Our thoughts are one.>> Yes. This was what was missing in the meld with Shevon. Beatific. <<Small Time-skip>> Two shadowed figures remained silent and still on the stone bench for a long time. The simulated darkness began to wane, and a subtle red began to build in the ‘dark sky’ of the dome as the day cycle was initiating. Nalatt removed his hand from her face and opened his eyes. Sera, meanwhile, considered never opening her eyes as that would mean she would not have to look at the face of the one who now knew her better than anyone else she had ever known. She had never given into cowardice, and she was not about to now, so Sera opened her eyes. Nalaat: Was that acceptable, S’Ers-a-kam? Sera: ::Softly:: Yes. There was more to be said, but Sera was not ready yet. It felt as if a festering wound had been lanced open, and now the infection would have to drain out before it could be cleansed and sown shut. Nalaat nodded with a sage expression on his face. Nalaat: You may return any evening you are not on duty. I will be here. We may continue, if so desired. Sera looked about the flamelit courtyard and realized she was in a portico to the grand entrance of a temple. He was a priest of the temple…ah. Sera stood gracefully and looked down to the Priest of Amonak. She tilted her head to the side in a gesture of acknowledgement of what told her. Sera, however, did not agree to his offer. She didn’t want to promise anything – they were prisons. Nalaat saw her ‘answer’ and nodded once, standing as well. She would return when she was ready to. Nalaat: ::raising his hand in the ta’al:: Peace and long life, S’Ers-a m’Lyr’Zor. Sera: ::reciprocating in kind for the first time since leaving Vulcan to join the academy:: Live long and prosper, Nalaat M’Hgrtcha…and…I thank thee. Nalaat: Unnecessary. I come to serve. [End Scene] ***************** Lieutenant JG Sera Engineering Officer SB 118 Ops J239812S14

This is a continuation of a sim by @Toryn Raga that I previously posted here, and it just gets better and better. ========= (( Shattered Halls of Cata Maran )) The darkness was utterly oppressive around them as Wyla and her small troupe of twibbles progressed away from the isolated room they’d found her in. It felt like hours, but as she thought about it, there was little here that made it easy to tell the passage of time. And she’d been distracted by the soft fur of the lion beneath her while the other twibbles flanked them. Thankfully the hallways were wide enough for all of them to walk side by side. Swibble and Ribble had spent much of the journey so far nudging each other and taking turns teasing or one upping one another while the cute bird on Ribble’s back just stared at them like a guardian that had long since tired of their foolishness. They were to her left. Pwibble was just ahead of Twibble and her. While Libble and Kwibble flanked her on the right. She noted that all of them seemed to be uneasy, despite their lighthearted natures, particularly when they passed through chambers large enough for the light emanating from her medallion to not completely illuminate the space. And she couldn’t blame them, in those chambers she could see the defined borders where the shadows pressed against the light. Like greedy hands trying to push through a wall or paper mache. The corridor they were currently in opened up to another of those large chambers and she gripped the fur of Twibble’s mane a bit tighter. Whispers echoed throughout this chamber and made her shiver slightly. Separating the ventral and dorsal roots. Heart rate and respiration remain within acceptable parameters. She felt an ache in her back then and a soft whimper escaped the paralyzed Antosian clinging to the lion’s back. The whimper drew the attention of the others who moved closer and place a hand on her legs or arms and gave her reassuring looks. Libble: It’s alright Wyla. This is part of the journey! And we’ll do everything we can to protect you. ::She said reassuringly:: She smiled and nodded at Libble and then they pushed forward. The chamber made her uneasy, aside from the whispers an occasional spark burst from a wall or ceiling beyond the bubble of light she made, that let her see the surfaces. A mix of panels, bulkheads and loose optical cable but all stone. Separation complete. ::beat:: Doctor Solok, go ahead and sever the brainstem. Wyla gasped from the tug she felt to her back but when she looked behind or reached behind to rub her back she couldn’t feel anything different. A faint glow ahead looked to come from another corridor up a few meters ahead. And she felt a little better. Brainstem is severed. Placing the Cerebral Cortex on life support now. Primary brain dysfunction in four hours. Vitals holding within normal parameters. Avae: H..how long until we reach the artifact? Pibble: Well, uh, no one knows! We know where it is, we just don’t know when we’ll find it. That didn’t make her feel any better. Making the incision. The whispers returned but this time there was a lingering echo that was unlike the others. These were malevolent. The shadows pressed more aggressively against the light she emanated and a low growl rumbled from Twibble. The troupe all stopped and she realized why. The light from the next corridor wasn’t visible anymore. The twibbles all spread out from around them, each either drawing their weapons or taking up defensive postures. Wyla whimpered. Avae: What’s wrong? Twibble: The daarkness doesn’t want us to progress. Hold tight, Wyla. All around them the shadows pushed, hammered, pierced the light until several passed through the border. Burning and trailing smoke as if in pain from the light of her medallion, but they charged at her. Shrieking at her. Wyla gasped as one of the shadows got within a few feet of her before a lion’s claw slashed it asunder. Avae: My face….wh…why did it have my face? She asked, shaken from the sight of a barely humanoid form, with her visage but twisted and terrifying. Twibble: They’re trying to snuff your light Wylaa, don’t let theem get to you. Ribble: Back, ye foul monsters! Ribble cried out punching and kicking shadows that passed within reach of him while Sylara bit or clawed at shadows that attempted to descend on them from above. What started as a handful of shadows soon swelled to dozens and the Antosian gripped the mane she held onto and tried to make herself as small as possible while the melee went on around her. Swibble cleaved several shadows with her blade like a whirling dervish. Libble had her medkit out using it to block or smack the passing shadows, between moments of calling on its powers to mend the wounds her fellow twibbles sustained. A shadow clipped Ribble, which sent clouds of stuffing onto the ground. But soon after the wound mended from a glowing light from Libble’s medkit. Kwibble held an ancient looking sword that she had told Wyla was called a Chon Blade. Apparently it had, at one time, been able to open magical portals to allow instant travel across great distances, but the magic had long faded and only worked in specific shrines. It sliced through shades easily enough. Pwibble fought back against the shades both with the tiny runabout that flew around as his command, firing little beams of light, small orbs of orange that burst in minute puffs of magical power and even rammed shades on occasion. And by fighting similarly to Ribble, punching and kicking with skill or with the handheld anchor that they wielded. Wyla felt helpless as her brave twibble guardians fought all around her and held tightly onto the lion beneath her that slashed and bit and roared. Then she felt the abrupt cold chill on her body. She gasped from the sensation and shivered. Her head snapped to her side and she stared into the face of a shade. Her face. It shrieked and she felt life slowly drain out of her body. The light of her medallion flickered all around them. Blood pressure seems to be falling, Doctors. Slowly, steadily – but falling. The lion roared and a hoot sounded above her before Sylara swooped down and clawed the shade off her. Another pair managed to grab her, making her cry out in a whimper of pain and sorrow before both were destroyed or knocked away from her. Administer the Leporazine. Fifteen ccs. Twibble hissed at the shades like a hypospray and several began to fall. The battle raged for minutes? Hours? Eventually, no more shades breached the light bubble, which was a little smaller than before. Each twibble seemed out of breath, even Libble, who took a moment to go around to each and heal them before healing herself. After Wyla was mended of course. Avae: I..I’m alright, Libble. Thank you. Libble: Of course! You’ll get through this, just hang on a bit longer okay!? She could only nod and lay against the lion’s mane as the troupe headed into the next corridor after a brief rest. A final whisper, unheard by Wyla or the others, sounded from the chamber behind them as they left. oO Please stay with me. Oo To be continued…. ================================== Lieutenant JG Wyla Avae Chief Nurse Keeper of Twibbles as unconsciously simmed by Lieutenant Commander Toryn Raga Second Officer/Chief Tactical & Security Officer USS Astraeus NCC-70652 Astraeus Staff Member Writer ID: A239410TR0 https://wiki.starbase118.net/wiki/index.php?title=Toryn_Raga

Love the big Teddy Bear energy from the big bearded @Karrod Niac here. ((Security Complex, Deck 3, USS Arrow)) The probe continued to stream in valuale intelligence data but the discovery of weapons emplacements had alarming implications. Fortunately, the team was quick to discover an opportunity that could be exploited. Serinus: A firestar 23 Mark 8. Good eye again, Ensign. This has got to be the weak spot that Engineering reported. Niac: We should be able to tweak the shuttle's shield harmonics enough to slip by on low power but that leaves us the question of where to have them put down. Ideally it's a spot that gives them some cover on the way in but doesn't leave the shuttle too far away in the event they need to make an expedient exit. Tarisai: I suppose that depends on how they're moving their quarry inside. Perhaps we could slip in with the next load. Serinus: Tactically, it makes sense. Brilliant sense. Strategically, unless we can get their delivery schedule, we might not be able to wait. Karrod harrumphed at the simple reality of it. Niac: Captain's not going to want to wait and neither do I. Longer the Arrow lingers here, the more chance we have of getting into a direct confrontation with the Sheliak. We have to find or make a hole in their sensor coverage, insert our team, then be ready to exfiltrate them and fall back to safer territory. Tarisai: Response Serinus: We do have a whole Marine team dedicated to search and rescue ops, perhaps Chief Jones can be of some assistance. Karrod nodded, annoyed with himself that it hadn't occurred to him. His lack of familiarity with all of the Arrow's assets was driven by his new posting but he wouldn't allow himself an easy excuse. They were sending people into harms way and he needed to give them every advantage. Niac: Excellent, contact the Chief and have him put a detachment together. Advise him that we'll be jumping off in the next few hours so he's not going to have a ton of time to prep. Ensign, begin transferring our probe data to holosuite one and have the computer being rendering the environment as accurately as we can get it. Tarisai: Reponses Their Chief of Security seemed completely conscious of the seriousness of the situation and inclined his head gravely before tapping at his commbadge. Serinus: =/\= Serinus to Chief Jones. =/\= V. Jones: =/\= Response =/\= A shadow of something passed across Lt. Cmdr. Serinus's face as Karrod watched the man speak on the comm. It was fleeting but it spoke to some memory that Karrod guessed was less than pleasant. He turned his attention back to the probe, trying to tease out anything more he could from the data. Serinus: =/\= Please report to my desk asap.=/\= V. Jones =/\= Response =/\= Karrod had fixed the image of the structures airlocks on the display and something about them gnawed at him. Memories from Horvu, the young Ensign who had been Niac's shortest host before meeting an untimely end in the opening days of the Dominion War, asserted themselves strongly. Karrod's eyes went wide. Niac: According to the slug ::Karrod poked at his midsection with a thumb:: those airlocks were standard pre-fabricated models provided to Federation colonists more than 40 years ago. Serinus/Tarisai: Reponses Niac: Well the good news is we'll have the specs in the computer. Our team should be able to pop the doors from the outside without the Sheliak knowing. It'll give them even more time to work their way into the facility before being noticed. Serinus/Tarisai: Reponses Karrod stood back from the console and regarded the two of them seriously. Niac: Alright, I'm going to find your team a medic and then I'm going to brief the Captain. Get your team ready, Mr. Serinus. The two of you know what's at stake...so good hunting, bring our people home. Serinus/Tarisai: Reponses Karrod turned to leave but paused at the threshold and turned his attention back towards the youngest officer in the room. His memories of Horvu, of the anxiety and fear that came with being an Ensign, encouraged him to offer Ensign Tarisai a few kind words. Niac: Your insights were valuable, Ensign Tarisai, and I can see why Mr. Serinus here thinks you've got potential. Good fortune to you. Serinus/Tarisai: Reponses Karrod nodded curtly and turned, heading into the hallway while digging a padd out of his uniform jacket. He was already tapping out notes by the time he'd walked into the turbolift. Tags/End Scene for Niac! ================================ Commander Karrod Niac First Officer USS Arrow - NCC-69829 Captain Randal Shayne, Commanding V239509GT0

((Gator Deck - Deck 3 - USS ‘Oumuamua)) This past mission had affected Jack in ways he had not expected and he did not like it. The loss of the USS Caboto and his parents reported M.I.A. had stung him hard. He had let his emotions get the better of him on the bridge during the mission and as a result owed some apologies to Vomek and especially Promontory who he had snapped at during a more tense moment. Something a senior officer should never do to a junior officer and Jack deeply regretted that moment and lapse in his judgment. Jack needed to better himself, to strengthen his core mentally and to become better at handling crises on the bridge. He needed to expand his training and needed to become a better example and leader. So far, since he joined the USS Thor and now the ‘Oumuamua, the man that he needed to turn to for this help was the one man he knew had been through what Jack was going through and could lead him to being a successful officer. As such he was headed to Deck 3, the ‘Gator Deck’. This deck housed the ship's complement of Starfleet Marines and according to the ship's computer was where Lieutenant Colonel Greaves was currently at. The turbolift doors hissed open and Jack stepped out into the corridor. The last time he had been on this deck it had been bustling with activity but today the main corridor was nearly empty and Jack only saw one Marine walking his way. Kessler: Excuse me, can you point me to Colonel Greaves? Marine: (pointing down the corridor) He’s in the Armory. Kessler: (nodding) Thank you. He started down the hallway and came to the entrance to the Marine Armory. The doors hissed open and he stepped inside where there were a number of Marines along with Greaves apparently doing some type of weapons audit. The room was impressive and defensive weapons the Marines boasted were equally as impressive. Jack smiled at the thought of all these ‘cool toys’ and then realized that virtually all work in the room had come to a halt and all eyes were on him. That was just a little unnerving. Kessler: Colonel Greaves (trying to be more official) Do you have a moment sir? Wes had been holding a type III rifle upside down with his finger tracing out the serial number when the doors had opened to reveal Lieutenant JG Kessler. Of the two lance corporals with him, one held another rifle in a similar fashion while the other held a padd. It was their monthly serialized inventory, an especially important function for the armory to make sure none of their weapons had suddenly disappeared or were unexpectedly damaged. While in only required a Staff Sergeant or above to conduct the inventory, Wes liked to do it himself. It was one of the few links he still had to working shoulder to shoulder with some of the Marine Detachment. With the tactical officer standing unexpectedly in the doorway, the three Marines continued to watch the man, until he spoke. There was something in his voice, with a look on Jack’s face that said this was important. With a smooth motion Wes rotated the rifle back to it’s approriate angle and slid it back into the wall rack it came from. Greaves: Sure, (looking to the junior Marines) Go ahead and take a break. I’ll come grab you when we’re ready. The pair of junior enlisted both immediately nodded, the hint of a smirk on their faces. One which Wes chalked up to being thankful for getting out of work. With the two stepping out into the corridor Jack visibly waited until the doors to the armory whooshed closed and the two of them were alone with the weapons. Kessler: Colonel, I need your help. The Lieutenant Colonel raised an eyebrow, not sure how to take the statement, but sure that whatever Jack meant had more to do with something personal than anything in Tactical. He strode just past Jack and hit the door lock to make sure they wouldn’t be interrupted. That done, he leaned against one of the closed wall racks and crossed his arms, studying the man’s face. Greaves: Of course. What can I do for you? Kessler: To be honest sir, I have a couple of requests. The first, is I would like to know if you would sponsor me to enter the Command Training Program? Jack knew Greaves had enough trust in him to make him his Acting Chief Tactical officer so hopefully the Colonel had seen or found value in Jack’s abilities. Greaves: Huh. Color me surprised. I figured it’d take you a while longer before you asked about that. Wes grinned now, though it didn’t seem like Jack was reciprocating the warm feeling. He was still deadly serious, and Wes’s grin slowly faded. His arms uncrossed and landed on his hips as his body pushed off from the wall locker so he was no longer leaning. Greaves: I think you’ve got the potential to be a solid command officer, but why so sudden… and serious? Kessler: The Caboto (beat), the UDP, the Gamma Quadrant. (double beat) I need to be more than I am. Wes thought it might be something like that, and he wasn’t exactly sure how to interpret it. Greaves: You know Jack, the CTP isn’t a joke. It’s damn hard work. Lot’s of studying and a lot of exams. Even the written ones are hard, and that’s the easiest part of the program. The practicals are even harder. When it comes to command there are no right answers. Only wrong ones. Poor marks go on your permanent record. Enough failures and you can eventually be barred from the program forever. Wes watched Jack’s face as he spoke, looking for any sign of reluctance or hesitation. Any break in his grim seriousness. Kessler: You, the Commodore, (beat) Starfleet are going to need strong command officers in this quadrant. I want to be one of those officers and I have no doubt I can do it. You won’t talk me out of it. Jack knew what the Colonel was saying was the truth. The CTP was not a joke or something to be taken lightly but the decision to join Starfleet and to get into the Academy and then graduate was equally challenging. The CTP was to Jack just the next step in the evolution of his career and this event with the UDP and the Zet had just set his mind to it all the more relentlessly. Greaves: I’m not trying to talk you out of it. I’m just making sure you know what you’re asking for. It’s not something to dive into rashly. It's not an emotional decision. Kessler: Isn’t the request to better yourself always emotional versus institutional? The Marine sighed heavily, his hands releasing from his hips. For a moment he didn’t acknowledge Jack’s comment and instead looked about the room for something. When his eyes finally fell on the padd the junior Marine had been holding, Wes moved past Jack and picked it up. The inventory was still displayed, well over 100 serial numbers in a long list with a few dozen highlighted already as accounted for. With a flick of his wrist Wes tossed the padd to Jack and didn’t wait to see if he caught it. Instead he took several steps back to the open wall locker and withdrew a phaser rifle. With another smooth motion he spun the weapon end over end until it was upside down where he could see the serial number. The PADD sailed at Jack and thankfully with as much luck in the catch, the PADD did not hit the floor. Jack spun the PADD until it was oriented so he could see what he was looking at but by the time the Colonel was rattling off a serial number. Greaves: Beta-Mike-Kilo-Three-Three-Eight-Niner-Four-Seven-Zero. There was a moment of silence and Wes’s eyes moved away from the serial number to see Jack’s reaction. Jack traced his finger down the inventory list trying to orient himself to the data layout and find the serial number. As he found it he read the number aloud back to the Colonel. Kessler: Beta-Mike-Kilo-Three-Three-Eight-Niner-Four-Seven-Zero, confirmed. Content, Wes spun the weapon back and slotted it into the wall locker, withdrawing the next one and repeating the movements. Jack tapped the confirmed button indicating the weapon had been visually accounted for and as he did Greaves rattled off another number. Greaves: Beta-Mike-Kilo-Three-Five-Eight-Six-One-Seven-Two. (Pause) What’s this really about Jack? Why do you want this so badly, and right now? Kessler: (locating the weapon on the data line) Beta-Mike-Kilo-Three-Five-Eight-Six-One-Seven-Two, confirmed. The two prong question was expected and Jack turned the PADD on it’s side and stepped closer to Greaves. Kessler: I’ve always known I would want to command (beat). I thought I had prepared myself to start that process but this last mission showed me how unprepared I am. Jack stepped around the room for a moment looking away from Greaves to the other weapons lockers and then turned back to the Colonel. Kessler: The loss of the Caboto and her crew affected me in a way that it affected how I reacted with two junior officers on the bridge. I snapped at Ensign Promontory, I almost snapped at V’Airu and I showed them that I was not in control. The Marine nodded, withdrawing another weapon after a moment of silence. Greaves: As for as screw ups go, that’s pretty minor. Kessler: I understand that but I was the second senior officer on the bridge and I failed to give the proper presentation for those junior officers. The CTP can give me that training to be the command influence that you and the Commodore need me to really be (beat) to be the officer I want to be. Jack paused and watched the Colonel. He hoped Greaves could understand where he was coming from and if he did not want to sponsor him, he at least hoped the Colonel would give him the guidance that he needed to better himself in front of the junior officers in a crisis moment. The older man sighed once again and slid the phaser rifle back into the rack, turning to face Jack once again. Greaves: I don’t know if you knew this or not, but I was enlisted before I became an officer, still a Marine though. Kessler: (shaking his head slightly) I was not aware of that. Greaves: My first real time leading folks during an actual mission was back then. I was younger than you are now, just a new Corporal. We were raiding a pirate hideout and I was a team leader. The details aren’t really important. What’s important was a decision I had to make. As a leader. As a Marine. Wes crossed his arms again and leaned against the wall locker door, studying Jack’s face. The memory of the raid wasn’t a pleasant one. Even a year or two ago he probably wouldn’t have been comfortable talking about it at all. Moving on from it was a part of his own command training, although not formally or even as he understood it at the time. Greaves: A couple of pirates surprised my team. Pinned us down and tossed a photon grenade into the middle of our group. We’ve all seen the holovids where the hero jumps on the grenade, right? That’s not just in the vids. Back at The Basic School, walls are lined with pictures of the heroes who did just that. Jack’s breathing unknowingly started to slow as he thought about the implications of giving your life to protect those of your teams. Kessler: (softly) You didn’t jump on it? Greaves: Nope. Arguably should have. I was in charge. They were my troops I was leading. I was responsible for their lives. It was the right thing to do… but I didn’t. I chose another option. I kicked the grenade down the hallway back at the bastards. Ok, split second decision. Jack could see the tactical advantage of sending the enemy's weapon hurtling back down the hallway at them. Kessler: So you used their weapon against them? Greaves: Tried to. Remember when I just said in command, there’s no right answers, just wrong ones? Kessler: (puzzled) That was a wrong decision? Jack didn’t understand how that played into the wrong decision category. Greaves had protected his men and used the enemy’s weapon against them. Shouldn’t that have been the right decision? Greaves: I’m still not sure if that was a wrong decision or not. See, this was an asteroid hideout we were on. On the surface. I could see the stars through the windows in the corridor. Turns out those windows don’t react too well to explosions. Especially from the inside. I kicked that grenade right next to the window. The visual of what that meant slammed into Jack’s head and resulting chaos that must have ensued after the explosion would have been bad, very bad. But the Colonel was here so somehow he managed to survive the ordeal. Jack paused and looked at Greaves trying to read the emotions carried in the Marine’s eyes. Kessler: You made it out but not all of your men did? Greaves: Pretty much. One of my Marines got sucked out during the decompression. Jack thought about the decision and the results. In his mind the decision was a two-edged sword. One way someone died instantly, the second option had a variable to it that was unseen. Did that make it a wrong decision? Jack personally did not think so but he could see how the families of the fallen might and thus the mental question Greaves carried about the choice he made. Kessler: You are here, you brought the rest of your men home and how many Marines have come home because you are here? Because you made a decision in a split second that would have resulted in death one way or another? I don’t see that as a wrong decision, just a bad kick. Jack smiled lightly trying to relieve the tension of the thought of death that hung in the room. Greaves: True, and I’ve come to terms with that. My point is it took me a long time to move past that decision. What I realized through that process is we do the best with what we have at the time. When a crisis confronts us, we react with who we are, not who we want to be. As long as we aren’t negligent or immoral, we learn from our wrong decisions and move on. Jack watched Greaves as he spoke. Although younger, Greaves spoke much like Jack’s father with regards to command, actions and consequences. There were subtle differences of course but the experience of time and command gave Greaves the same strong foundation that Jack saw his father stand on and give advice from. Kessler: Then I need to better who I am at handling my responses when someone touches a nerve. I need to better my understanding of how to handle those instances so I do not have that emotional mistake again. Greaves: You say that on this mission you made emotional mistakes. I say you reacted well in line with what I’d expect of someone with your grade and level of experience. Arguably better in fact given how personal the stakes were. Listening to Greaves Jack did not feel the Marine would say something like this just to help lift his spirits. Greaves struck Jack as a no hold back Marine who offered praise or compliment only when it was earned so having Greaves voice this made Jack feel better about his performance and a little less like he had made the wrong moves on the bridge. Kessler: Thank you Colonel. That means a great deal coming from you. Greaves: Take it from someone who spent too long focused on the past. If you’re looking to enter the CTP because you’re focused on past mistakes, you’re doing it for the wrong reasons. Command of his own ship had been a dream of Jack’s since he first sat foot on a Starship. He remembered the first ship his father was assigned to; well not the class of ship or what it looked like from the outside. From the inside it had a draw to it that for a kid was a magical feeling. The ship had a hum, a very soft hum in the walls. Windows as tall as young Jack was allowed his larger than life imagination to stare out into the universe where his own childhood missions were carried out. Jack was not focused on past mistakes as much as he was focused on not making the same ones again. He could better himself without the CTP but his road to the command chair had been laid out in front of him years before. Kessler: My father told me once he wanted me to be whatever I wanted to be. I told him that I wanted to command my own ship. (beat) I was little at the time and he smiled and said, well, you have a long time to make up your mind. (double beat) I’ve never wanted to be anything other than a starship Captain and now seeing what we face here in the Gamma Quadrant, I know this is the right choice. One day you and I, we won’t be defending Starfleet side-by-side on the same bridge. We will be standing on our own ship's bridge defending the Federation's ideals and policies. My decision just became more clear on this mission. Wes nodded along as Jack spoke. He could see the resolution in the man’s eyes. There was passion and history behind the story. Greaves: Okay, that’s a start then. Good. Kessler: So then let me prove my determination and drive to you. (beat) The ‘Oumuamua is currently without a Security Chief. Give me the Asst. Chief of Security role on top of my Asst. Chief of Tactical responsibilities. I will head up both departments until we get a Chief of Security. Until then, that will help me in leadership of multiple departments. The Marine broke into a wide grin at the audacious request. It was a bold move and he respected the play, in more ways than one. Still, that wasn’t his decision to make. It was the Commodore’s. Greaves: (Lightheartedly) Whoa, slow it down. I’ll bring it up to the commodore at the next personnel meeting, but it’s not something you need to prove. You're already leading Tactical. Let’s start with the first module of the CTP instead and we can touch base again after you complete that. Maybe you’ll decide it's still too early for you, or maybe you won’t. As long as you finish the module there’s no harm in it. Kessler: (Allowing a slight smile to crease his lips) Fair enough. I can do that. He nodded, the Marine’s voice growing more serious for a moment. Greaves: Expect me to be a tough tutor. Don’t gaff off your studies. You’ll need it. Jack allowed his slight smile to grow into a larger grin and nodded to the Colonel. Kessler: I wouldn’t have it any other way sir. Jack was still not happy with the way he had performed on the bridge in front of the junior officers but that was in the past and he was looking forward, looking to what he really wanted and what would benefit him the most. His goal was clearer now than it had been and with Greaves at the helm of his training he knew that he would succeed, there was no question in his mind. Kessler: On a personal note. I will be switching quarters to a set of family quarters on Deck 4 to help accommodate Krystal until my parents can be found. I do not see any reason to send her back to Earth where she has no family. I want you to be assured though that having her aboard will not interfere with my duties or training. Wes turned his back once again to the young officer and drew a rifle from the rack once again and resumed the inventory as he listened. As Jack’s comment turned toward reassurance rather than simply a statement, the Colonel looked over his shoulder with a slightly amused look. Greaves: We’ll see about that. I’m sure you’ll do your best though. How’re you handling the revelation? It’s not everyday you find out you have a teenage sibling. Jack took a slightly deeper breath than he had been. This entire ordeal had been so unexpected that he had not really given himself time to process all of it. He had immediately gone into being in ‘family mode’ and everything had been moving since then pretty fast. Kessler: It’s a little weird finding out your parents adopted a child without telling you, but at the same time; knowing what I do now. It does not surprise me. (beat) My mother loves big surprises. He nodded once again. Wes had dedicated his life to the Marine Corps. Sure there had been flings along the way, but he’d never even really considered settling down. Children had been the furthest thing from his mind. He didn’t know how he’d feel if suddenly he were faced with the prospects of taking care of a teenager. Phaser rifle still in hand Wes turned back to face Jack again. Greaves: I’d like to say I can imagine… but I don’t know if I can. Adjusting is probably tough for her too. Kessler: (smiling with a slight chuckle) You’ll have to meet her. She’s a bright kid. This time Wes openly chuckled at the comment. His mind went back to the station and the slave market that Krystal had been sprung from. Then he thought to the arboretum when he’d questioned the kids for more information on the station’s security in preparation for the raid. He was well aware of what Krystal was capable of. Greaves: She’s a tough kid too. Bright like you said, but resourceful and tough. I busted her out of that slave market… or rather it’d be more accurate to say I helped V’Len do it. Kessler: (grinning broadly) I’m sure he gave you a choice. Jack knew full well that if V’Len decided to do something his mind was set and there was probably very little the Colonel could have done to stop him. Wes motioned toward the rifles with his chin, the conversation now winding down to small talk. Greaves: You’re welcome to stay and help me finish the inventory, but I’d wager a bet you’ve got more interesting things to do on your shore leave. Let’s meet tomorrow morning at 0900 and I’ll get you set up with studies for the first block of the CTP. Kessler: (handing the PADD back to Greaves) I actually have a personal project in the mission pod I need to keep playing with. Thank you for your time and help Colonel. (beat, turning towards the door) I’ll send you Marines back in. Jack nodded to the Colonel and then exited the room. The doors hissing closed behind him. He paused and took a deep breath. The first step in his journey was made and now he needed to commit to the tasks at hand. ========================= Lieutenant Colonel Wes Greaves Executive Officer Marine Detachment Commander USS Oumuamua NCC-81226 E239702WG0 & Lieutenant jg Jack Kessler Asst. Chief Tactical Officer USS Oumuamua T239901JK1 =========================

@Doz Finch -- each of your sims just blow me away and this latest one, complete with a flashback (a great look into your amazing, well-developed character) and the thoughtful contemplations of home, was really well done!! :) ((Cyrithra Forest, Palanon)) The party continued to swell, filling the canopy with its bombinating sounds; glasses filled with neon-orange liquids clinked with other glasses, fires crackled pointedly towards the sky, and the almost static wings of insects flapped ambitiously in their bids to steal whatever sugary morsels they could. It was delightful—ushering in the new year and century on a planet that she hardly knew, and yet many of those around her knew it intimately, even viewing it as a second home. Not a bad second home either, with the strange plumes of the trees, the texture of the soil beneath her, the palatable taste of the atmosphere. The Caitian woman, L’rann, told them a deep and personal story about what had happened to M’Rish, and why she had come to end up in L’rann’s care. Doz harkened the details of the story and noted the almost ambivalence in the younger felinoids' face; though emotion wasn’t always easy to read in a Caitian’s face—at least that was her own experience. Watch the tail, M’oa had told her in the past. The tail tells you everything you need to know. But who needed watch a persons tail when the story said all it needed to say. That little girl had been let down by the one person she should have been able to trust, and that was unforgivable. But thank god for L’rann. For a moment her cottony caterpillar brows kissed each other as she dissolved into thought. Her career had spun over decades, and through it she had had many of her own second homes. But allowing herself the grace to think of them as homes at all, now that was another matter. Purposefully distracted by her work, she rarely allowed herself to think of the ships as that. Home, she supposed, once felt like something that resided in people, rather than places. She knew all too well how quickly a home could change based on who was in it. Her home in Birmingham all those years ago, when her hair was wild and curly and brown, lost its appeal the moment her brother Wallace left, and she had been left behind with her miserable mother Iris. Doz didn’t like herself for thinking it, but that was just how she had felt. As if all of the home had drained from the house, and all that remained behind was a hopeless wilting bouquet, and a naive girl trying everything she could to water it back to life. ((FLASHBACK)) ((In the dining room, the Finch’s, Birmingham, Earth — 43 years prior)) Doz: You’re not leaving me behind with her. Wallace: ::he frowned:: That’s our mother, that, Doz. Doz: Some mother. She hasn’t said a word to either of us in weeks. Hauled up in her bedroom, staring at the walls feeling sorry for herself. ::she crossed her arms and sulked:: No, I’m sorry Wally, but I’m not having it. Wallace: It’s already done, Doz. Contract is signed. I go to Mars tomorrow for training—oh be positive, won’t you? This is supposed to be an exciting time for me! Doz: Yeah. For you. Meanwhile, who's left behind to deal with everything? Who's cleaning the house when the service-bots break down, who’s the one cooking her dinners, replying to her mail, making sure she doesn’t just waste away to nothing. Because given half the chance, she would. Wallace: You can fix the bots! Doz: ::she pulled a face:: What? Wallace: I gave you that manual a few weeks ago. It shows you how to repair the bot if it breaks down. You read it, didn’t you? Doz: I read the bloody manual and nearly launched it at the wall—forget it, Wally, you swan off like the other two did. I’ll look after misery-guts on my own, since apparently that’s my lot in life. Wallace: Oh don’t be like that, Doz— Doz frustratedly headed for the door of the room, sighing hard as it whooshed itself open. She gasped; stood there, pallid and watery-eyed was their mother Iris who had been listening on the other side. They all stared in silence—the deafening sort that seemed to go on forever. It was a painstaking moment that Doz quickly shook off as if she herself were an insect shedding an exoskeleton, rapidly clapping her hands together and ushering her mother into the kitchen, replacing the quietness with a loud tangent about service-bot manuals and how little sense they made, eager to distract her mother and frankly—herself. ((END FLASHBACK)) Alieth: Have you had a chance to take some downtime since the start of the reconstructions? L’rann: Not really, no. I’ve been keeping busy piloting shuttles on supply runs and things like that. Finch: I said to Mister Gnaxac and Ensign Vylaa, they may well have taken the industrial replicators down there. It might have saved you some hassle. T’Lar: Response Alieth: I see, these celebrations are therefore a perfect period to relax, then. I suggest you visit Yarista if you get a chance; it is certainly a remarkable location. L’rann: That’s why we’re here. Also, it’s not every day a new century begins. Finch: No, you’re quite right. It isn’t. T’Lar: Response Cheesecake, Alieth’s excitable four-legged mastiff, hopped into the conversation as soon as the new century was mentioned, as if she herself was its mythical harbinger. Though apparently it was more than that, as their pointy-eared colleague excused herself a moment later, no doubt to top up her liquid-youth. Alieth: Excuse me, I suspect I am required elsewhere. I trust that you will have an agreeable night. L’rann: Pleasure to see you, sir. I’m sure M’Rish is thankful for the candy. M’Rish: Thank you. Finch: I enjoyed the catch up, Commander. Alieth gave the familiar Vulcan gesture before dispersing into the crowd. That left M’Rish and L’rann with T’Lar and Finch. L’rann: Were you two involved with the rogue planet teams in some fashion? Finch: In every fashion, believe it or not. I piloted the Azetbur, didn’t I. Took them some medical supplies, and other things desperately needed. And then I helped evacuate the civilians and the officers—they were basically trapped inside an old non-functioning Cardassian ship. Something of that measure; it’s almost a blur, because that much happened in a short space of time. I don’t recall seeing you, though, T’Lar— T’Lar: Response L’rann: Thankfully, no. I was flying shuttles across the area trying to deliver supplies and medics to damaged ships. It was extremely difficult with all the gravity waves the planet gave off. Finch: I can attest to that. ::she pointed a finger in agreement and side-eyed T’Lar, nodding:: the clouds at one point were kaleidoscopic. Very rarely have I had to pilot anything as big as the Azetbur, and through all those waves—you can only imagine. It was bedlam! T’Lar: Response L’rann: Fortunately, M’Rish knows to either lock herself in our quarters or go to a nearby shelter area. I admit it hasn’t been easy to care for a child on a ship that has so many dangerous encounters. Finch: I’ve yet to work on a ship that doesn’t have a surplus of dangerous encounters, if I’m being honest. She looked serenely up at the sky; its brilliance tickled by the slow undulation of overhead branches. Finch: But if we didn’t love it, then we wouldn’t do it, would we? ::she smiled and pointed her words toward M’Rish:: there’s always things to be done on a ship as big as the Gorkon. Pipes that need resealing, coolants that need replacing. You could be an engineer, if you wanted to, one day. T’Lar/L’rann: Response Finch: Is that so, yeah? and how often? T’Lar/L’rann: Response Finch: Not me, Counsellor. I wouldn’t step foot in that suite of yours even if my life depended on it, and I say that only with respect and admiration for what you do, because god knows I couldn’t do it. T’Lar/L’rann: Response -- Ensign Doz Finch Engineering Officer USS Gorkon C239809SH3

Great sim from @Toryn Raga. Prepare for laughs. 😂 ======== ((Surgical Suite 1, Deck 12, USS Astraeus)) The moment was finally here. Her surgery. It had been a week, or two since both she and the Chin’toka had been broken. Many days of fear, sadness, brief flashes of anger, depression and a refusal to accept her fate. She didn’t want to be, no, couldn’t be paralyzed and the love the crew had shown her had kept her from falling into that dark pit of despair. And hope. A flicker of light in the dark that her best friend Liz had given her. But now, staring down at the floor of the Sickbay knowing that in a few minutes once the sedatives kicked in, that she’d have her spine removed was terrifying. At least, until everything went black. (( A Dark Place )) Wyla sat on the floor. Or what she thought was a floor. It felt like stone and was cold. Her legs limply laid across it with her back up against the wall. She shivered and rubbed her arms with her palms. Avae: Why is it so dark? Don’t worry! We’ll protect you! Aye, verily you shall have my strength and my fists! And my blade! And anything we need, I can get it for us! And I can guide the way. We’re family, Wyla, we’ll look after you! You are strong and tenaacious! The voices emanated from the darkness and she startled at their abruptness, but there was something soothing about them all. Avae: Hello? Who’s there? She called out, slightly afraid because she couldn’t move. She was paralyzed. Even in her dreams now, it seemed she was useless. Then there were eyes. Several eyes. Softly shimmering like little black beads. A faint flicker of light backlit them all and Wyla’s eyes widened in surprise for standing before her were Twibbles! Libble: Don’t worry! We’ll protect you! Twibbles she had in her quarters or that had been standing watch over her in her isolation room. The first one that had spoken was in medical teal uniform from the Kirk era of Starfleet. It even had an old medkit hanging from it like hers did. But the voice sounded feminine. Ribble: Aye, verily you shall have my strength and my fists! The second was two plushies in one? Or so it looked. It was the Twibble she had with the 2398 uniform. Red collar. But at first glance it had wings, which it wasn’t supposed to have. Then she realized the Sylara plushie was sitting on its back. Swibble: And my blade! Another Twibble in red, but with long, dark hair on its head and the fur on the sides of its cute fluffy little face was slightly pointed. Wait, so was the last Twibble too! Kwibble: And anything we need, I can get it for us! This Twibble was in gold, 2398 version as well, with a cute little toolkit slung over its body but it had bright, ocean blue fur on the top of its head. Pwibble: And I can guide the way. We’re family, Wyla, we’ll look after you! This Twibble was also in Gold, but had a tiny little Runabout hovering in front of it that seemed to be wanting to fly away in a specific direction. Twibble: You are strong and tenaacious! This Twibble was identical to the very first Twibble she’d ever seen and collected. . They stood with the others as adorable as she recalled when she first saw it and it had a warm smile. They all were smiling. Avae: You’re all Twibbles? ::She asked hesitantly:: They nodded in unison. Avae: Oh…well, um, why are you all here? Twibbles in unison: To help you walk again! The Antosian blinked and stared at them. This was definitely one of the weirder things she’d ever experienced. Avae: How? Ribble: By with an epic quest, of course! Pwibble: Yes, follow me. I can guide us to the ancient ruins where the artifact lies! Avae: A..artifact? The same Twibble nodded. Pwibble: Yes! The Spine of Paralysis Removal! The Antosian giggled at the silly name and looked at each of the adorable fur covered beings. It was certainly surreal. An epic quest sounded like a lot of fun. And for a moment the light in the room brightened. But as realization hit and she glanced down at her legs, unable to move them she frowned and the darkness started to oppressively push back in towards her. Libble: Wyla you mustn’t let the shadows consume you! We can help! We just need to get moving. She looked up and still frowned. Avae: But how? I can’t move. The original Twibble stepped forward. Twibble: Then I’ll be yourr legs. The Twibble stepped forward and that cute ball of fur in a red uniform changed, growing much, much larger until she was face to face with a massive lion. The face looked more like the new Twibble that Liz had gotten her, but it towered over her on all four, powerful legs. Part of its mane and fur around its front legs was the same red as the uniform save for four perfectly spherical patches of gold where pips should be. She couldn’t help but stare at the big cat. And had to fight back the urge to give him scritches. He leaned his front half down in front of her to let her grab onto him. Twibble: Cliimb on, Wyla. The Antosian nodded and nervously grabbed fur. It was so soft! She eventually managed to pull herself up, with the help of the other twibbles who moved around to help push her up onto the lion’s back. She took a moment to lay there and nuzzle the fur. Avae: So soft. Twibble: Of course. The real thiing is much better. A soft giggle escaped Wyla and she noticed the room got brighter, or more specifically, the light emanating from her pushed back the shadows. It was then that she looked down and saw a heart shaped medallion with an image of the Chin’toka inside of it. At the moment it was glowing as brightly as a warp core and she could see the whole room. An empty stone room with one door. As she settled the lion looked up at her and she nodded. The Twibble all gathered around them with the one with the shuttlecraft in the lead. Avae: So, uhm. What do I call you? Twibble: Whateveer you want. We’re your guardiians. It’s up to you to name us. She looked at each of them in turn starting with the one with the medkit. The voice sounded so familiar. Actually, they all did and some were feminine and others masculine. Avae: Libble. ::She pointed at the one with the medkit:: Libble: Libble it is! She noticed the twibble with the dark hair and fur pointed like ears also had a dangerous looking blade on their side. She grinned and pointed at her. Avae: Swibble. Swibble: Fvadt. Sure, Swibble. The other twibble with pointed ear like fur and the wings on their back laughed at Swibble, so she pointed to him next. Avae: Ribble!!! He immediately stopped laughing and looked at her, then received a punch from Swibble, who’s turn it was to laugh. Ribble: Verily? Well then fine, but I betteth though hast a worse moniker for mine companion! He gestured to the large owl that climbed up onto his head and looked at her. She grinned and shook her head. Avae: Nope! She already has a name. That’s Sylara! A soft, but powerful hoot sounded like a laugh and Swibble was literally rolling on the floor. It was entertaining seeing the round twibble laughing like that. She looked to the next twibble, the one with the ocean blue fur and gestured. Avae: Kibb….Hmm, no. Kwibble! Kwibble: Oooh, thanks! The Antosian had two left to name, so she looked at the one with the tiny runabout and giggle. Avae: Pibble! Pibble: Oh, okay. And lastly she looked down at and curled her fingers into their fur. Avae: Easy for you! You’ll always be the original Twibble! ::she giggled softly:: Her only response was a rumbling chuckle and a roar that echoed in the whole room. Avae: Well, I’m ready. Let’s go! The Twibbles all assembled, though it took Swibble and Ribble a moment to stop nudging each other before they filed in beside the lion and Wyla. Libble: Oh, one important thing Wyla. That medallion is your light. No matter what, we can’t let it go out. Avae: ::She looked at Libble with concern but held the medallion in her hand:: What happens if it does? Twibble: Then the daarkness will claiim you. As ominous as the lion’s deep voice made that sound she managed to hold it together and nodded. Avae: Okay! I guess, let’s go. With that the door opened. Not into some bright light or some wide open expanse or whatever she might have expected. But pure darkness, that was only pushed back a hundred meters from the group thanks to her light. A ten foot wide corridor of stone, worked in a way that reminded her of starship corridors. She felt an uneasiness welling up inside of her but the presence of the thick, but soft fur between her fingers calmed her. She sat on the back of Twibble, her legs hanging useless behind her on his back. Let the quest begin. ((ooc: I decided on something silly, but oddly appropriate for Wyla, given her nature and obsessions to show her side of things during the surgery. Expect more parts as I can manage to write them.)) ================================== Lieutenant JG Wyla Avae Chief Nurse Keeper of Twibbles as unconsciously simmed by Lieutenant Commander Toryn Raga Second Officer/Chief Tactical & Security Officer USS Astraeus NCC-70652 Astraeus Staff Member Writer ID: A239410TR0 https://wiki.starbase118.net/wiki/index.php?title=Toryn_Raga

((Forward Observation, Deck B, Mission Pod, USS ‘Oumuamua)) There were many places on the ‘Oumuamua that you could find some sort of seclusion if needed. Jack’s personal quarters usually were fine but when he wanted to really just think and escape his favorite place to work was in the Mission Pod of the ‘Oumuamua. Very rarely was anyone ever up here unless he had directed a Tactical or Engineering team up here for maintenance. Nothing was scheduled for the area so this was a great opportunity for him to finish up some light work and do it from the observation area in the Mission Pod. His thoughts were on his parents and the USS Caboto. The UDP and the Zet. An attack that for all intents and purposes was provocation by the Zet to gain technology they had no business getting their hands on and if it had not been for the UDP giving a pre-warp civilization warp technology, they would have never had the means of such an attack. Jack stopped what he was doing and began to stare out the observation window thinking about how many lives had been lost or worse, sold because the UDP had given the Zet warp technology? It was a disturbing thought and what more was the thought that his cousin, now his adopted sister was among those about to be sold. He leaned forward on the console in front of him with a gut ache and slight feeling of nausea as he realized how close they had come to missing out on that rescue. Yet how many others had already been handed off in such a manner that they had missed. Jack slowly shook his head from side to side at the disgusted thought and then, there in the reflection of the observation window stood a familiar figure. Surprised that he had not heard anyone enter the pod Jack spun on his heels and looked up to the catwalk above. Lieutenant Commander Brodie stood leaning against the rail and was glancing down at Jack. Brodie: I had a feeling it might be you. Kessler: Sorry doc, I did not know you were up there. You waiting for someone? I can clear out. Brodie: No…I was watching, not waiting. ::He turned towards Jack:: I get the distinct impression you’ve been doing the same? The man was perceptive and a good ships counselor. Was he here to do what Jack was, reflect inwardly on some specific matter or was he here checking up on Jack? Brodie was a good man and in Jack’s eye, his father and Brodie would get along great. Two Scotsmen who loved to talk and share a drink with a friend. Kessler: (stepping up the stairs to the catwalk and looking out into space) It’s a nice place to come and get lost in thoughts. Brodie: I can go, if you’d rather have privacy. Kessler: (glancing over to Brodie) No, I could use someone to talk to. (beat, looking out at Seytoxal) What are you watching from our watchtower up here? The reference was meant to lighten the mood a little. Jack knew he was probably looking rather out of sorts himself as he tried to real in his thoughts and emotions. Brodie: ::Far away voice:: The USS Esperanto… ::Turning to Kessler, more focused:: Sorry…it’s an old reference…Esperanto was a universal language…it translates as “one who hopes”…I suspect you can relate? Jack nodded, he could relate to that but there seemed something more that the Doc was dealing with himself. Jack turned slowly and gently to Brodie. Everyone in the crew came to the ships counselors, they must need an outlet themselves like everyone else. Maybe this was Brodies or maybe, he thought to himself, he was Brodie’s outlet right now. He knew the counselor had a daughter close to Jack’s age, maybe this was his fatherly side trying to find it’s way out or maybe Jack was just reaching for something himself in a time as dark and distraught as this one was. Kessler: Yeah, I just don’t feel like shore leave is the right answer for me. I can’t just drop all this and go have fun, not right now. Not while there’s still unanswered questions about my parents and the Caboto. (beat) It’s too heavy of a weight right now to try and push aside. Brodie: Have you found anything yet? Anything. Anything would have been great. Anything would have lifted that level of hope up higher. Anything would have been preferred to the nothing they had. Kessler: (lowering his head and sounding more defeated) No. I keep scouring the data feeds from that social media thing Vomek linked into but nothing useful. What about you, have you heard anything different? Brodie’s empathy was genuine and Jack felt that. The man had suffered loss as well and Jack could see that in his response, he could feel it in his response. Brodie: Nothing that I’ve heard. They’ve had a few vessels sweeping the area but so far; nothing. You’ve done the security training, what is it they teach you. Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence? Kessler: (look up slowly to the view port and the planet below) I keep telling myself, keep hoping that I am wrong but after what we have seen and dealt with out here, I can’t get the fact out of my head that they are already dead. Brodie: I’m not going to lie to you Jack, it’s highly likely. Jack tilted his head sideways and looked over at Brodie. He did not try to baby you, he was there to give support, but he was holding the door of reality open, keeping it from slamming in your face. Jack appreciated the honesty and the bluntness of it. Kessler: (softly) I know, (beat) that’s where the weight of hope becomes heavier to carry. Jack looked back out into space and leaned against the catwalk railing. His hands gripping at the rails with anger, fear, rage, confusion and so many other feelings intertwined. He could feel the blood pulsing in his fingertips at the thought of what was a more than likely outcome for the Caboto crew based on what they currently knew. Truth be told, Jack was strong enough that he knew he would be able to get through this with or without Brodie’s help. What he could not understand was how he was going to get through this and help Krystal get through it at the same time. His own emotions he could deal with and grieve in his own way but he now had this young girl who had already been through so much trauma to help. Kessler: (looking back to Brodie) I can carry that heavier burden of hope knowing that the outcome is most likely the worst case scenario. What I do not know how to handle is Krystal. If the worst case should be true, this is going to destroy her world. (beat) I have no idea if I can give her what she needs. (backing away from the railing) I know I will do everything in my power for her but it’s not like I have any experience in helping her understand this type of loss. Brodie: Response Jack nodded slowly as Brodie spoke. He knew the entire crew would come to aid Krystal if needed, especially his crew. Many were survivors of the USS Thor and all had seemingly become much closer having gone through that horrific ordeal. Jack knew he was not alone in giving her the help she would need if this indeed went to the worst case scenario. At the moment though, even with Brodie standing right there, Jack still felt a million kilometers away from everything. Kessler: I don’t mind telling you Alex. This is one of those moments where Starfleet thinks they have trained you for this and in reality (beat) no one can prepare you for this. Jacked leaned against the back railing of the catwalk, facing forward and folded his arms across his chest and just stared out into space. The planet in the background seemingly not even important anymore. His mind just started drifting into the void of space staring at the empty solitude of blackness between each glistening star. Brodie: Response Tags Lieutenant jg Jack Kessler Asst. Chief Tactical Officer USS Oumuamua T239901JK1

@Gogigobo Fairhug as usual is killin' it over here. I've been waiting for the pirate thing to happen, and I was not disappointed. Yes. I love a pirate. 10/10.

I really enjoyed reading this sim. It's a wonderful read about a surgical procedure being done to restore mobility for one of Astraeus' nurses who was left paralyzed following the previous mission. Well written by @Elizabeth Snow & @Solok. I am posting both parts here for continuity. Part I ((Surgical Suite 1, Deck 12, USS Astraeus)) After slipping into her surgical scrubs and sterilizing, Elizabeth stood next to her best friend as the woman drifted off to sleep. When the Antosian woke up, she’d be a different person than what she had been during the days after the accident. oO If she wakes up. Oo She sighed. There was still that fear of ending her best friend's life lingering in the back of her mind. The constant battle. oO She will wake up. Oo Elizabeth was determined not to let that fear become a reality. Solok stood at the foot of the surgical bed, dressed in standard-issue Starfleet scrubs. He was aware of the personal connection between the CMO and the patient, and although this was typically reason enough to seek out another physician, planetside, Solok knew altogether too well from his own experience how differently things played out in Starfleet. He had operated often on colleagues – on friends – in the past. It was, quite simply, part of the job. Stenner: She’s fully out, Doctors, and her vitals are stable. Solok nodded acknowledgement of the nurse’s report, then turned to Snow. He was there to assist his superior, as best he could. Solok: Shall we proceed, Doctor? Elizabeth looked at Doctor Solok and she nodded. oO You’ve got this. Oo She took a deep breath before speaking. Snow: Let’s begin. Solok: Mister Stenner, remain vigilant in your observation of the patient’s – ::he glanced very briefly at Snow:: – of Nurse Avae’s vitals. Stenner: ::nodding:: Yes, Sir. As Stenner kept an eye on Wyla’s vitals, Elizabeth tapped a few buttons on the cover that was slid in place on the biobed covering her back. Snow: Separating the ventral and dorsal roots. Solok looked over at Stenner, then to the readout of Avae’s vitals over the surgical bed, and then back to Snow. Solok: Heart rate and respiration remain within acceptable parameters. It wasn’t an easy task to be done and took all of Elizabeth’s concentration. If she didn’t get the right area she could do more damage than good; setting them back a ways. Snow: Separation complete. ::beat:: Doctor Solok, go ahead and sever the brainstem. Solok, standing on the opposite side of Avae’s unconscious body, leaned forward with a look of utmost seriousness on his face. He was almost always expressionless, by non-Vulcan standards, at least. But this was something else: not the absence of expression, but the expression of absolute focus. He had never severed a brainstem before. The medical ramifications of the act were, of course, profound. But in practice, it was a relatively simple procedure. Solok: Brainstem is severed. Once the brainstem was severed she heard Stenner call out. Stenner: Placing the Cerebral Cortex on life support now. Primary brain dysfunction in four hours. Vitals holding within normal parameters. oO Good. Stay with us, Wyla. Oo They moved the cover out of the way and Elizabeth took the exoscalpel from Stenner. Snow: Making the incision. Solok watched Snow as carefully as she appeared to be watching Avae. Part of his job in the operating room was to insure that Snow remained up to the task. But she was clearly a skilled surgeon, and the Vulcan saw nothing to make him reconsider his assessment. Solok: A masterful cut, Doctor. Although I am puzzled as to why you opted to make the incision by hand. Would not a computer-operated scalpel have been more reliably precise? Elizabeth looked at Solok and smiled. Sure she could have used the computer to do it for her, but some things she just liked doing herself. Snow: Thanks. I could have, but I guess I’m a little old fashioned sometimes and prefer to do things myself once in a while. Solok nodded. Solok: I understand. I am of a similar opinion, when I must treat my slug. It showed just how Vulcan he really was, that he was the only one in the room – or in the tales that were told of this moment, later on – who did not understand why what he had said could be construed as unusual or humorous in any way. Elizabeth smiled and heard a slight chuckle come from Stenner. She had to say she has never heard that one before. Snow: Slug? They were interrupted – mercifully, perhaps – by Stenner. Stenner: Blood pressure seems to be falling, Doctors. Slowly, steadily – but falling. Solok turned back to Snow. Solok: Standard medical protocols would indicate treatment with Laporazine until blood pressure could be stabilized. But this would require at least temporary cessation of the procedure. ::Pause.:: How do you wish to proceed? oO Slow and steady wins the race, right? Oo Though she wasn’t thrilled at pausing the procedure, it was something that had to be done. Hopefully, they wouldn’t encounter any more hiccups as they progressed, but the way Wyla’s immune system was going to react to the new spine was another concern at the back of her mind. Snow: ::nods:: Administer the Leporazine. Fifteen ccs. Solok: Mister Stenner. At Solok’s order, the man prepared a hypo with the required drug. Solok watched Avae’s blood pressure continue to drop, but did nothing to rush Stenner’s work. Better slower and accurate than faster and – Stenner: Fifteen ccs Leporazine, Doctor. Solok took the hypo from the nurse, pressed it against Avae’s neck, and administered the drug. All three of them seemed to be staring at the data monitor, watching her blood pressure, almost willing it to stabilize and rise. Time passed. Eventually, Stenner was the one to speak first – almost elatedly, but certainly with relief. Stenner: Blood pressure is stable, Doctors. Stable, and rising to normal levels. Solok turned to Snow. Solok: We shall be able to proceed shortly, Doctor. Once Nurse Avae’s vitals are within acceptable parameters. If you wish to use this time in some other way, I will remain here to observe the patient and can alert you when she is ready to continue. Snow: Thanks, Doctor, but I’ll remain. Sickbay would be just fine and if they needed her, they knew where to find her. She wasn’t leaving Wyla’s side unless there was a very great reason to do so. ((Time Skip – 20 minutes later)) Now that they had Wyla’s blood pressure under control. Elizabeth and Solok carefully removed Wyla’s spine and placed it, carefully, inside the genetronic replicator and she activated the scan. As she waited, she looked back at the woman laying on the table. This was one procedure she never thought she would be doing. Especially not on her best friend, but here they both were. Now they were approaching the part that concerned Elizabeth the most. She said a silent prayer to the four deities that the woman's body wouldn’t reject the new spine. oO Please stay with me. Oo Solok: Fascinating. Solok’s description caused Elizabeth’s head to snap towards him with a look of bewilderment. Wyla was lying on the table with her spine removed. Of course she knew that Solok and Wyla weren’t close like she and Wyla were, but what could he possibly find fascinating about any of it? Snow: Hardly. Solok: I do not wish to offend, Doctor Snow; I am aware the patient is a friend of yours, and of course, a colleague to us all. ::Pause.:: But this procedure, despite being entirely unorthodox, is a remarkable thing to observe. Simply from a scientific perspective. How does it work? Although not technically an emotion, wonder was something Solok strove to keep from inflecting his voice. Snow: Well, the genetronic replicator scans the object placed inside. Then, once the scans are complete, it replicates the object and then it’s grown into a replica after it is placed inside the body. Solok: A complete replication of biological material. A perfect substitution. It is an elegant solution to an ancient medical problem – perhaps the most ancient medical problem, that the body sometimes fails beyond our ability to repair it. ::Pause.:: Apparently, there are many developments with which I must become familiar, outside of my own specialty. Part II ((Surgical Suite 1, Deck 12, USS Astraeus)) {{Time Skip}} The beeping of the machine caught her attention. Now that the scans were done she hit the button to start the next phase. Stenner: Two hours and a half until primary brain dysfunction. Snow: Mr. Stenner, go ahead and inject her with twenty-five ccs cervaline. Solok: You anticipate rejection? Snow: I have taken that into consideration. Hopefully, the injection will help her body to accept the new spine. But I am prepared for it if her immune system decides to get aggressive with us. Solok: A logical course of action, Doctor. And what is our recourse to be, should her immune system reject the new spine? Snow: We’ll have to get aggressive with immunosuppression. There were, he thought, only two real options: even more radical immunosuppression than would be produced by the cervaline, or to find some alternative to the new spine. But it did not seem Avae had many other options than this one, if the goal to be achieved was restoration of ordinary movement. Solok: Understood. I am prepared to assist, whatever the outcome. Snow: ::nods:: Thirty more minutes and then we can begin the implantation. Solok nodded. He turned to Stenner. Solok: How are the patient’s vitals, Mister Stenner? Stenner: She’s stable, Doctor. Doing fine. The Vulcan turned back to Snow. Solok: How long do you wish to wait before determining whether cervaline therapy will be a viable solution? Not having performed a transplant of this magnitude, I am uncertain as to how we should proceed. With less significant internal tissue grafts, it is customary to readminister cervaline approximately every four hours. But this is no simple tissue graft. Snow: We should know once the growth process begins whether or not the body is willing to accept it. At least we have a head start in suppressing the immune system if it does decide to reject it. If that happens, we can administer the cervaline in smaller doses every couple hours. Solok: A perfectly rational plan of action, Doctor. Let us proceed. {{Time Skip - 30 minutes}} Solok: Any time you are ready, Doctor. As Solok held the container, Elizabeth carefully took the noodle looking spine of the container with her instruments and placed it inside. After it was adjusted into its place, they carefully slid the cover back into place. Snow: Closing the incision. ::tapping a few buttons:: Solok looked to Snow and nodded. After the computer closed the incision it was time to begin the growth process. Soon they would have the answer to whether or not the implant would be rejected or not. Of course she was praying that things would go off without a hitch. Snow: Ready to begin the growth process. Is everyone ready to proceed? Solok: I am ready as ever. Stenner: So am I, Doctor. What do we do? Snow: Just keep monitoring her vitals and let me know the second something happens. Elizabeth tapped a few buttons on the cover and the growth process began. Solok faced Snow, prepared to assist. Solok: I come to serve, Doctor Snow. He paused, as there really was nothing more to say. As so often in complicated medical procedures, the team of highly trained, highly capable physicians just had to wait. It wasn’t long after that Stenner called out what Elizabeth had felt was coming. Stenner: Showing signs of rejection and vitals are showing a slight drop but are still within normal parameters. Snow: ::nods:: How long has it been since the last Cervaline injection? The Vulcan did not need to consult a chronometer, as he had a well developed chronological sense. He spoke evenly, dispassionately – matter-of-factly. Solok: 22.543 minutes, Doctor. Stenner: Should I terminate life support? Snow: We’ll wait until her vitals are stabilized. The computer emitted a brief alert. Solok: Mister Stenner? Stenner: Her blood pressure is falling. Seventy over forty and falling. Snow: Twenty ccs Laporazine. Solok prepared the hypo himself. He spoke as he pressed the hypo against the side of Nurse Avae’s throat. Solok: Twenty ccs Laporazine, Doctor. Administering now. {{Time Skip - 40 minutes}} It had been a long battle trying to stabilize Wyla, but they had managed to finally get her stable and remove the woman from life support. It was the worst and slowest forty minutes for Elizabeth as she wasn’t sure whether Wyla was going to make it. Thankfully, the woman had and the Cervaline was now doing what it was meant to. Snow: Thank you, Mr. Stenner. Have her room prepped and ready. I’ll take over vitals. Elizabeth took Stenner’s place as he went to tend to the task she had given him. Solok: Commendable work, Doctor Snow. On Nurse Stenner’s part – and your own. Snow: You did a great job, Doctor Solok. At least now her body is starting to slowly accept the new piece of it. Though we’ll need to keep her on round the clock supervision. I'd say with a few more treatments of Cervaline that she will be okay to begin physical therapy next week. Fingers crossed things continue to improve. The Vulcan glanced from the CMO’s face to her hands, but did not see anything unusual about the placement of her fingers. Solok: Continued improvement seems likely, with an at least 82.4% chance of full recovery. ::He paused.:: In sickbay, perhaps even more than in Engineering, the odds do not frequently climb higher than that. That was true, but there were always those few cases that went above those odds. It might have been wishful thinking on her part, but Elizabeth felt certain that Wyla would be one of those cases. Snow: Sometimes people have a way of surprising you. ::smiles:: Solok nodded, then turned and departed the operating theater – leaving Snow to attend to her patient – but more than that, he surmised. She would be watching over her friend. Thinking on this, he prepared to resume his duties in sickbay – but also to contemplate the question, whether anyone might feel inclined to watch over his bedside were he in a situation comparable to Avae’s. He doubted it; it was, after all, most illogical. Most illogical, indeed. {{Time Skip - 20 Minutes}} (( CMO’s Office, Sickbay, Deck 12, USS Astraeus )) Now that they had gotten Wyla settled back in her room, Elizabeth sat at her desk to finish the report. She could rest a little easier now knowing that the worst of it was over and that her best friend was on the mend. Though Wyla still had some work to do before she was back in action, Elizabeth planned to be at her side every step of the way. ============== Lieutenant Commander Elizabeth Snow Chief Medical Officer USS Astraeus NCC-70652 D238803EH0 & Lieutenant Solok Medical Officer USS Astraeus R237908S10

Going to kick off the new quotes thread for the Astraeus with one from our Vulcan doctor, @Solok. I just love me some dry, Vulcan humor 😂

The pacing of the second half of this sim was outstanding. Real heart-pounder here by @Addison MacKenzie.

(( Chief Science Officer’s Office )) Out of all the days to be called to the principal's office, today was not a good one. Even though the full effects of whatever happened on Daaka had passed. Her mood was still in the trash. So, when she received her schedule and found the first thing would be visiting the Chief Science Officer for a one on one, Shedet wanted to call in sick…but that meant talking to Cade who she had called old. Rather deal with the Chief. The Orion girl made sure that the uniform fit her well but not snug, preferring to stay away from the truly snug that she liked…at least for now. Impressions were needed for a cadet. She blinked and realized that she was sitting in the office and he was actually talking to her. Davis: … I figured it’d be good to get some time together, me being the Chief Science Officer and you being an officer-in-training under my command. Plus a chance to give her a pep-talk and/or a speech about acting a little more maturely. The Orion blinked. Then blinked again. What was he talking about? Shedet: You’re the Chief Science Officer, sir. You lead and I follow as they say. He picked up “his” PADD from his desk and tapped it absent-mindedly in his palm as he did a mental check on his to-do list while talking with her. Davis: As I’m sure you know, most of science is waiting around. Turns out most of being a department head is checking in on lab spaces… to see other people waiting around. Was he explaining Science 101 to her? The Orion tilted her head slightly and raised an eyebrow in a distinctly Vulcan way. Shedet: Yes, I’m well aware how science works, Commander. Goddess, she was digging her hole but the attitude was still present and it was starting to take a mind of her own. She wanted to be a scientist again, didn’t she? Be in starfleet as an office? oO Then shut up and stop talking back. Oo Davis: I know, but it’s just this afternoon and then it’s done. And then the grump spoke. Shedet: The commodore wanted us all on shore leave, Commander. This appears to be more than…needed right now. He could empathize with her desire to not do any more work during shore leave, but this kind of response was exactly the problem. Davis: I *do* decide the duty rotation, you know. People still staff the ship when she’s docked. His tone was playful with a hint of warning in it. He knew he wouldn't use punitive staffing, but maybe don't talk to your department head like that? Oh, ho. He was going to be like that was it. Shedet eyed the curly haired man. Was this the game he was planning to play? Really deep down, the Orion girl was begging herself to just shut up but her mouth had a mind of it’s own right now. Shedet: Whatever you say…”Commander”. He cocked his head at her quizzically, processing and reprocessing what she said and how she said it. He studied her for a moment, trying to read her expression and body language. Was there something else going on? How silly to react that way. Davis: ::stifling a confused chuckle:: Is there… something on your mind, Shedet? Shedet: Oh, nothing. Just trying to point out standing around doesn’t get the job done. Anyone can stand around. *You* could stand around…sir. Suddenly the PADD felt heavy in his hand so he set it facedown on the desk, and sighed. Davis: Shedet, I– He looked at her steely gaze again and changed his mind. Instead, he picked the favorite PADD back up from his desk. Davis: Let’s just get started, shall we? He motioned to the door. With nothing much else to do or say (at the moment), Shedet stood and followed him out in to the main corridor. Davis: I like to work furthest from my office to the closest. So that means we start with the Implant Research Labs on Deck 38 and work our way up. ((Timeskip, about an hour, Cybernetics Lab, Deck 13)) The time in the Cybernetics lab was actually interesting but it was not something that Shedet was going to admit at the moment. She had been actually focused on one of the readouts when she heard his voice to her side. Davis: We’re about halfway done. And you’re getting a hang of this now, eh? Shedet: Obviously. Davis: Mmhm. He was trying, really trying, to get to know her better and to establish a stronger rapport. But it just wasn’t happening. Everything he said, it felt like, was taken as an affront. What had he done to offend her? Shedet: You want to take a look at that secondary reading, Commander? Seems to be saying something “important”. Maybe if he showed her that he cared… not just about the people under his command, but her specifically. Perhaps demonstrating some cultural awareness? He had picked up a few words. Davis: Oh? Let me see, morl-etu. Honestly, Shedet should have been impressed with the fact that Commander Davis had gone out of his way to use an Orion word. That was something not very common since universal translators were ubiquitous. She should have just smiled at him, appreciated the effort and continued on. What she should not have done was hyper fixate on the fact that he missed the slight hesitation between the noun morl for comrade and attached the suffix -etu which was only used to refer for a beta. What she should have done without hyperfixation is actually let him know what the word usage was and give him a little Orion history on the pheromone difference between an alpha and beta Orion. How their species were always matriarchal and their genetics evolved in a way that alphas became planners and leaders while betas became doers and solvers. Shedet should have taken the time to explain how alphas and betas needed each other that an Alpha would feel incomplete without a beta and vice versa but also been wise to explain the past where Orions used to really get hung up on alphas were better than betas and how they had fought that prejudice and how she should not have reacted so poorly to a function of their language. She should have done a lot but she didn’t do it. Her blue eyes became ice as she tried to kill him with her piercing gaze. All she could think was: oO Did he just call me a beta? Oo Shedet was an alpha. It should have been obvious to him as the essence of her pheromone scent, even suppressed by her medicine, told Orions what she was. How dare he consider her a beta. Was he trying to insult her? She fought hard to prove she was an alpha all her life and this was how she was being treated? (( OOC: Shedet is referring to a social structure that has been dissolved but still permeates their culture down to their language. Normally she wouldn’t have reacted this way but being off her meds doesn't help. It is no excuse for her actions and she has no grounds to act this way. The following responses and reactions being done has been planned out in advance by the writers of Shedet and Lazarus. A reminder of the old adage in simming that might be new to our newbies but “IC actions have IC consequences'')) Shedet turned away from him to try and melt her screen with the anger that she was feeling. She didn’t even bother to respond to him. Lazarus stood there, slowly realizing that his attempt to show her he was genuinely trying to connect was ineffective at best. Likely worse–he knew she heard him, but when he looked up at her she was facing away. Damn. ((Timeskip, about 45 minutes later, Sensor System Lab 2, Deck 9 )) The doors peeled open to yet again reveal a lab space with a few people moving about to check on this or that. Davis: Ah, this one will take a moment longer. You see that? ::He pointed to a device in near the back left corner of the space:: The device was roughly cylindrical, about 2 meters tall, with sidecar recorders and processing units. Typical redundancies for experiments that might not be readily repeatable. No doubt it was finely calibrated, so careful data collection ensured they would get results each time while awaiting a recalibration. Shedet: It’s a doo-dad. At this point, he was unfazed by her attitude and was determined to press on. Davis: It’s an exotic dark matter detector. It works by measuring Higgs fields or some such. I couldn’t tell you much more because I'm not that kind of scientist. Shedet: uh huh. The Orion’s mind was still on the completely innocent remark of a man who was trying to relate to her and was fuming deep inside from the comment. She noticed they went over to a wrap around set of panels large enough to fit six people in if they were all working on at once. Shedet stepped up to tap on the panel knowing he was planning to show her. She brought up the data and as soon as Commander Davis walked over, she transferred the panel to the other side. Shedet: Oops. Slippy fingers me. I locked it out on that side. Can you release it, Commander? He raised an eyebrow, but decided to not be suspicious. Mistakes happen. Davis: Of course. As he approached the other side and reached out, she transferred it back to herself. As he was coming over, she waited until he was three-quarters of the way back when she transferred it again. Shedet: Oops. Lazarus sighed. The determination he felt moments ago dissolved into defeat. Why couldn’t he get along with her? Why was she so difficult? She did it once more before finally locking it in place. Shedet: Sorry about that, Commander. I guess that’s what you’d expect for a morletu. Davis: Your displeasure has been registered, Shedet. Can we please just finish this? He didn’t want to think about it any more, at least right now. Disciplinary action? That seemed a bit extreme for a bad attitude. He’d have to talk to Jalana… “Oh gee, Jalana! I’m having trouble with a member of my staff,” he’d say. “I see, dear Laz. What’s the issue?” “Well ma’am, it’s a cadet.” “A cadet? You can’t handle a cadet?” “No ma’am.” He sighed again, just imagining that interaction. How humiliating. Shedet: Sure. Whatever. She turned to reorient the axis of her screen just to get this done but that didn’t appear to be what was going to happen. Davis: That’s *enough, cadet.* Well, she knew that tone and internally kicked herself. Again, she had gotten on someone’s bad side and she was the jerk. She knew it deep down but this was already a hole she had dug so might as well bury herself. He felt the eyes of the other scientists in the lab train on him after he raised his voice, and his ears flushed red. Davis: Ahem, excuse me. ::Lowering his voice back down to usual levels. The intensity of his voice only increased, though.:: Shedet, you are dismissed. Enjoy your shore leave. He pointed to the door. Shedet: Dismissed? You said– Davis: *Now.* With a huff, she spun on him, threw her blond hair over one shoulder in a gesture of dismissive disinterest and strode out wishing she could just slam a door. As she left, and the doors closed behind her, he set down his PADD on a nearby station and rubbed his temples, while gently shaking his head. Well, that got out of control. (( Two days later, Office of the Chief Science Officer )) Two days to cool off, reflect, and collect themselves. He ordered her to his office, with the intention of having her explain herself. He sat behind his desk, looking at her, and lazily tapping a stylus against the edge of a nearly empty mug of cold tea. When Shedet had received the summons to the CSO’s office, she assumed she was either in deep hekvet or there was more work to be done. She had already had a chance to stop by Doctor Foster’s office to discuss her medicine and even though she had her dosage, it was not really helping her mood. As she approached his office, the Orion promised herself to behave and apologize and that was exactly what she was going to do until she walked into the office and saw him sitting there. That plan went out the proverbial window. It would have been obvious to him when she crossed her arms across her chest and canted her hip to the side in a pose of irritation. Her nose wrinkling at the feeling of irritation. Shedet: Bad day, huh? Davis: And that’s all you have to say about it? *A bad day?* Shedet: What else is there to say? The accent returned, the longer vowels, the more fluid way she connected words. A trait that only those close to her knew was her being stressed and trying to rely on old habits. She waved her hand dismissively as if she didn’t care though her gut was already dropping down towards the floor. Davis: Shedet, I want you to know something. Your personnel records– Shedet: ::glaring:: What? Couldn’t figure things out on your own so you decided to dig into my records? Wanna figure out how a twenty-seven year old is still a cadet? Is that it? Though her voice was measured, the venom was obvious. She had come to the point of letting the language slip go but rooting around in her old record, the past she wanted to never hear about again, just rankled her. Davis: No, I was going to tell you I *haven’t* looked at them. And I don’t intend to. I’m not interested in your past so much as I am interested in the present. And presently, you’re being a tremendously difficult person to work with. Why? Shedet shifted hips and continued to speak as if she had calmed down though inside was still raging. Another thought had come to mind. Shedet: Cause I’m Orion. I’m a pain in the galaxy’s ass. That’s what everyone expects, right? Before he could speak, her eyes glanced at his cup, then towards the replicator and schooled her impression while she continued to talk. Shedet: Refill of your tea? Davis: Uh, yes… Thank you. Before he could do or say anything, she scooped up his cup and strode over to the replicator. She continued to talk so that he was focusing on her words and not her fingers. Shedet: I don’t conform easily, Commander. It’s been the bane of my existence. I was born to be wild, to live free of rules which then I got to actually put into practice. Having finished changing the recipe temporarily to include triple sugar instead of his usual amount: none. She turned with the replicated cup with a smile and walked over. Shedet: I can’t be caged. Hopefully the speech worked. As she watched him sip the tea and realize what he did after a mouth full. The cloying, viscous liquid slide over his tongue and down his throat. His perfectly fine–superb, in fact–tea was now a confection. He was no stranger to sweet tea drinks, but the wild gushu raw pu erh in his mug did not call for that treatment. He was surprised by it, but soon registered what had happened. He shot a glance at her as he set the mug down on his desk unceremoniously. Shedet: ::Grinning:: Oops. Davis: Ok, fine. ::He said with frustrated resignation. Perhaps candor is in order.:: What are you trying to accomplish here? Do you *want* me to call you a pain in the ass? Your own little self-fulfilling prophecy? He heard the frustration in his own voice, and it saddened him. He took it a bit too far. As much as one side of her wanted to free him from the mess he was in, Shedet was still in a very bratty mood. Shedet: I mean, you wouldn’t be wrong. Davis: Look. I understand that it’s possible you’re upset at me for something I did, but I have to tell you I have absolutely no clue what’s going on or why. Now he was almost pleading with her. If she didn’t want to help him understand, then that’s on her. But he had to try. Damn it, if he’d only gotten to know her better… She did so well on Endassi, but then he didn’t really invest in their relationship. And now this was happening and he had nothing to pull from. It might be the wrong choice, but he needed to do something bold and decisive. And that was to pull her closer instead of giving her distance. He needed to show her she was trying. Leaving it unaddressed was clearly only making her more upset. Shedet: Mhmm. I’ve gathered. He raised his hand, gesturing her to pause for a moment. Davis: I have an order, and a request. Shedet: Yes, “Commander”? Davis: At 2000 hours today, report to Sensor System Lab 2, Deck 9. That Higgs dark matter detector test is being run and we’re going to observe. That’s the order part. The Orion sighed and blinked her eyes at him. For a moment, she thought to make things a bit more complicated but relented. She was being a pain in the ass to begin with and she knew it. Shedet: Fine. What’s the request? Davis The request is that when we meet there, we try to give each other a second chance. We don’t have to pretend to be best friends, just… can we be cordial while we work with the belief that we’re both interested in solving this *thing* between us? Shedet: ::sighing:: I’ll try. ((2000 hours, Sensor System Lab 2, Deck 9)) The experiment was set to run at 2030, so by the time he had arrived the final checks were underway. The reports from the lab leader said they had been hard at work for the past 6 hours or so, calibrating this and that, checking and re-checking the equipment. It was all a much bigger to-do than the typical experiments run on the Conny, but not without precedent. As to why the Conny, there was some kind of benefit of running the experiment on a ship with a QSD. Something about the QSD created a local effect on quantum foam to make it easier to account for. Quantum mechanics were sometimes even more confusing than temporal mechanics, but he trusted the experts. He had entered the lab, said his hellos, but then stayed on the perimeter with “his” PADD in hand. He was absent-mindedly running his fingers across the slightly bent seam along the back from some impact or another. He had the report he needed to fill out for the experiment pulled up and ready to go. The door peeled open, revealing a certain cadet. He mustered a smile and a kind tone. Having changed into a new uniform and at least tried to be presentable, Shedet had spent the hours between working on her mood. Yeah, she was still a bit grumpy, her emotions were jumping all over the place but this time, she was going to actively not try to plaster Lazurus across the science lab walls verbally. He gave her a smile and surprisingly, she was able to muster up one in return. Davis: Welcome. They’re just finishing setting up. Shedet glanced over to the strange device that she had seen (and ignored earlier) and folded her arms. Breathing in and out a few times, she turned back to him. Shedet: Okay. What is it? He leaned over to talk to her in a somewhat hushed tone, trying to not distract the busy technicians and scientists putting it through its final paces. Davis: It’s an exotic dark matter detector, somehow using or relying on Higgs fields? I’m sure you know more details than me. I’m a research psychologist. Shedet: ::slightly snippy:: My science degree was in archeology. I…::breathing:: only have the basics of most of the other professions. Davis: Well then, we have plenty in common. ::He pretended to not notice her tone.:: Science officers out of their depth. The Orion looked at the strange contraption that they were supposed to monitor and shook her head slightly. Shedet: Shouldn’t we get like…professionals? A technician approached the two of them. Cadet Shedet relaxed slightly. There were the professionals. Technician: We’re about to start the power-up sequence. It should take about 15 minutes, then we’ll run our final checks. Davis: Sounds good, thank you for the update. ::He logged the information and time in his log.:: The tech gave a thin, polite, professional smile and returned to work. Davis: ::to Shedet:: The funny thing is, as I understand it, the experiment itself lasts less than 15 minutes. All of this work for just 15 minutes of data collection. Remarkable, eh? Shedet: Maybe? Sounds like a waste of time to me….::quickly:: but I’m no scientist yet. Which was true. She had only grabbed the archeology degree because she knew a lot about it and would have helped her get through the Academy faster. She hadn’t actually planned to use it but here she was. Davis: I’m just glad we’re not antagonizing each other. Thank you for taking me up on my request. Shedet: You’re welcome. ::smiling:: but the night isn’t over. One of the techs suddenly called someone over to check something. They seemed worried, and were working quickly. Lazarus stayed silent but trained his attention on them, ready to react as needed. There was a whole hell of a lot of power running to that apparatus. It didn’t take a genius to sense that the room had shifted and the green woman shifted also to watch. Shedet: Is…something up? Technician 1: Whoa-whoa-whoa, hang on! Technician 2: We’re in the yellow over here with the Higgs chamber! Suddenly the console in front of the first technician burst into a cascade of sparks. The technician shielded their eyes and backed away, seemingly unharmed, but the sparks continued. This was quickly devolving into panic. Davis: Stay here, cadet. He handed her his PADD and crossed the room to the apparatus. Shedet didn’t respond. The soft hairs on the back of her neck had begun to tingle and her brain was screaming a warning that she had yet to figure out. Davis: What’s going on? Technician 2: I don’t know, everything was fine and then suddenly it’s going off the rails. The Higgs chamber is overloading, but that ::they pointed to the sparking panel:: was where the cutoff was. There was a loud pop, and plumes of vapor erupted from the sides of the main apparatus. Technician 3: That’s the coolant! We need to cut all power. Davis: How? The technician pointed to the sparking panel. Davis: Backups? Technician 3: There’s a manual cutoff inside a panel on the main apparatus. He looked at the main apparatus, but it was obscured with coolant and sparks. Davis: Get everyone clear. He marched right into the cloud, and began feeling for the release latch on the panel. The apparatus began to hum and throb with almost unthinkable quantities of power flowing through it. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck were standing on end. Release latch, where was it? He had to go by feel alone, and the cacophony of the various systems failures was reaching a fever pitch. He turned around to make sure everyone was clear, but all he saw was the cloud and the sparks - and now arcs of plasma - from the console. He found a seam! Now he just had to run his fingers along it until–yes! The latch! He popped it open and before he could pull the lever, the apparatus let out a thunderous clap, and the sparks ended. He pulled the shutoff for good measure, and the machine went dormant. Everything went from simply being a routine experiment with a side of harassing the Chief Science Officer to her gut telling her that something had majorly gone wrong. She only stood in place for a few moments before charging forward to one of the secondary panels, piping the live feed information to her computer and began to read it. Switching it to wave form, she understood it a bit better and though her knowledge of the science was low, the spiking waves were obviously the problem. Shedet: Hey! There’s a major shift in the build up of your bosons. Aren’t they supposed to be stable in the field? Technician #3: Yeah! I don’t know why it’s going crazy but it’s going to start a cascade and blow out three decks if we can’t get the power under control. Shedet’s mind quickly spun through everything she remembered about quantum mechanics. Luckily for her, she had a remedial class on it and an instructor who was a nightmare. Shedet: Look! There! The screen had shifted slightly and she brought up the second layer. Shedet: Did you take into consideration gravimetric pressures? Technician #3: Yes! We plotted the gravity pressure around the Constitution. Shedet: How about the station? The man froze for a minute, his own brain working. Technician #3: No, no. That shouldn’t have any effect. This is a small field and we’re only setting up the experiment to flash the higgs boson to get more data on it. Shedet: It’s Quantum Physics! You’re affecting the dark matter around us. We need to close it off or :: pointing to Davis who was talking to the other scientists and looking at the experiment:: they are all going to get fried. She ignored his protest as she immediately opened up their algorithm that was running and began to load programs on top of it, literally changing the experiment as it was running. Technician #3: What are you doing? Shedet: Those particles need to go somewhere. I’m applying the Schrödinger–Pauli equation to them and then going to slam them through a controlled wave function collapse. Technician #3: All you are going to do is force the matter to materialize as… The man’s eyes widened and Shedet nodded. Shedet: Yes! The Pauli equation will allow it to become anti-matter. We have chambers here to capture the small amount that we store. When the power is killed, we shunt it all to the container and all we do is generate a few ounces of fuel and cause the quantum layer to burp. Simple. It was not simple. Technician #3: This hasn’t been. Shedet: We either do it or punch a hole in the Connie’s power grid and possibly fry everyone in this department. Standby on transporters. As soon as you see it materialize, you beam that slekta to the containers. GO! Her fingers flew as fast as she could with her brain watching the system harmonize and the alert that someone was entering the zone and heading for the power. oO Here goes nothing. Oo As the power was pulled, Shedet activated the collapse and within the milliseconds of the antimatter forming, it was safely transported into a storage container. Shedet wiped the sweat from her head and gasped out the breath she was holding. Technician #3: Well, we’re not dead. Shedet: Hijacking an Intrepid Class starship was easier. Technician #3: Wha… Shedet: ::quickly:: Nothing. Through the thick cloud of coolant, a figure emerged. Ada: I’m alright. Is everyone else–why are you all looking at me like that? The voice was different but the speech, the cadence, the personality was the same. As the emergency systems pulled the cloud of coolant away, Shedet’s eyes grew wider. Shedet: Oooooooo. Helfa. Ada: What? ::She looked down at her torso to make sure she didn’t have a conduit sticking through her or something.:: I think I’m fine. I think everyone’s ok, right? I got to the cutoff. Shedet: I…didn’t calculate the quantum…burp. Ada: Shedet! Really?! YOU did this?? You could have killed us all. That was far enough. First the little gimmicks, the tea, the “faulty” panels… those were all things she could take in stride, but sabotaging a delicate experiment for laughs was too much. Definitely time to go to Jalana. The technicians were murmuring at the perimeter of the room, looking very uncomfortable. Ada: And why is everyone being so *weird* right now?? Shedet: Commander Davis. Um...You just walked into an unstable higgs boson field...that I just used a Pauli equation to stabilize and a controlled wave form collapse to clean it out. Ada: I–I–wait, no one calls me that, Ensign. ::Her tone was more baffled than anything else. Shedet never knew her by that name.:: Hold on, hold on. You did what? Shedet: and what happens if...another experiment was happening at the same time and we both shoved two bubbles of quantum reality together? Azura looked around the room. It was exactly as she remembered, minus everyone staring at her like she had two heads…. Or like they’d never seen her before. She felt the blood drain from her face as the realization settled in. The environmental controls cycled the plumes of coolant out of the room, but it was eerily quiet. Azura Ada, standing in a room of familiar strangers. Ada: Oh shit. Shedet: (sheepish wave) Welcome to the other side of the bubble? Also ::pointing to collar:: It’s Cadet. Ada: I… think we should go talk to Jalana. Shedet: I think…you should stand there until security gets here and they can escort us to Jalana. I done one goof up. Let’s not make it two. Ada: That is… ::she ran the calculus in her mind:: reasonable, yes. Just no restraints, please? Shedet: Sure. Let’s go with that. Shedet reached for her commbadge. She didn’t know if there was an “accidentally crossed the borders of reality” protocol so she was going to make it up as she went. THIS was going to be a difficult report for Shedet’s academy record. —— Lt Commander Azura Ada Second Officer Chief Science Officer USS Constitution-B C239510LD0 (she/her, character) (she/they, writer) & Cadet 2nd Class Shedet Science Officer USS Constitution-B NCC 9012-B V238008N10 he/him & she/her (player & Character)

One of the awesome things about our format here is how it allows us to explore an evolving dynamic between our PCs and NPCs. And one of my absolute favorite dynamics has always been the burgeoning relationship between @Randal Shayne and @Kali Nicholotti's Ash MacKenna. This piece here is just one example of a whole slew of truly striking and sweet developments that I've been rapturously following between the missions. Please enjoy! /////////////// ((Off the Grid, Raft-One)) Shayne: I don’t know- shall we? He was actually asking. This was somewhere he was most definitely not in control, and his thin thread of self-trust rested entirely upon her slim shoulders. They continued forward, the sounds growing louder. The light was closer now, though not much more distinct. Shayne still had to squint in the low light still, but more as a result of what he saw as opposed to what he couldn’t. The primary source of the light was above the scene; a chandelier with lit and melting candles. Burnished bronze that looked both dispensed with and intricately added to the area, bent and warped reflections. Rich wood furniture- tables and chairs and short stair cases to an upper level- were accompanied by a bar. The scent of foods, both familiar and not, lingered in the air, and the place was reasonably filled with people- Federation species and others mingling, talking, drinking, playing kal-toh and poker and kotra. Wait… kotra… that was a Cardassian game! And sure enough, one of the players, now looking at Shayne and Ash curiously, was very distinctly Cardassian. What was this place? As for Ash, she simply moved in and about as if she’d been there many times before. Of course she hadn’t been but once or twice, but there were more than one of these so-called refuges around the galaxy. She had simply been a little surprised to have found one there, at Raft-one. Though perhaps she should have been, given the history of their administrator. Offering an unfocused nod in the direction of the questions left unspoken, Ash led Shayne to an out of the way table. MacKenna: Don’t mind them. After all, it was in the very nature of a spy to be wary and questioning, even in places where protections allowed for most of their guard to be down. Shayne: You know these people? He followed MacKenna’s lead as best he could, but couldn’t keep the look of surprise off his features. MacKenna: Not as much. I know what they are, not necessarily who. The table, made of hard, solid, and real wood, polished to a shine that helped to reflect the low lighting in a private sort of way, was almost welcoming as they took their seats. Looking up, she let her eyes settle in his for the first time since they’d entered. Now she could relax as much as being out among people would allow her to. Shayne: I’m… I don’t understand. This place can’t be on the primary directory. I would have noticed it. A rather dapper looking fellow appeared, dressed to the hilt with a small towel across one arm and provided them each with an actual menu. With a slight bow, he rattled off a few of the specials and then retreated. On the thick paper, embossed with shimmering black and gold inks, were listings of exquisite entrees that might have even made Quentin blush. From one of the rarest fish on Risa, prepared traditionally and served on a bed of oskoid, to aged beef from the one cow slaughtered that year from the first herd transported to Mars, what could be acquired there, was not like anything that could be acquired elsewhere. MacKenna: It’s a haven. We don’t really talk about it, we just enjoy the momentary ability to breathe. She paused a moment, looking over the menu. MacKenna: Anything look interesting to you? Shayne answered honestly, but his eyes were darting around the room. Shayne: Yes. Everything. The redhead couldn't help but grin across the table at the man she loved. Setting the menu down, she stood back up and reached over for his hand to lead him out from the table. In any other setting, at any other time, she wouldn’t dream of this, but in such a haven, where the shadows allowed some obscurity, there was a sense of empowerment. MacKenna: Dance with me. Not far, on the outskirts of the room, shadows teased of dark places that made all within the room feel at home. Ash found such an edge that happened to be also a part of the not-empty, but not packed dance floor and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Shayne nearly blanched. Shayne: Here?! With them?! He kept his voice to a low hiss. He wouldn’t say no to even this immediately- Ash deserved better- but his dismay was absolute. This wasn’t like her. Everywhere, and nowhere, the sounds of live music - just the type you’d expect in such an establishment - drifted around them like a lazy river. The curious looks of others had long since faded, and the shadows kept them from any sort of spotlight. Leaning her head against his shoulder, Ash knew that regardless of what else came, this was the night they needed. He wanted to panic. If not panic, then startle, or detach from the moment in a display of misplaced tactical acumen. But the head on his shoulder, the hair that laid on his tux, belonged to the woman he had learned to love the long way around. He felt her heart against his; it always beat a little quicker than his own, and yet here… here it was slow. Calm. Soft. She was safe here. Not as a fact. As a truth. She was safe here. And if that was the case, so was he. His questions ran rampant, his need for answers was unabated, but in this enclave between worlds, in this twilight zone of what might be, he decided to simply hold her tight, and dance, long into the night. The answers would wait. He had a dance to attend. END – Commander Ash MacKenna Chief Intelligence Officer USS Arrow R238605KN0 and Captain Randal Shayne Commanding Officer USS Arrow NCC 69829 G239202RS0

This is my first appreciation post here, so I am pretty new to this A couple of days ago, the Arrow's XO posted here with the appreciation of an MSNPC. He built one of his own and I get strong Ethan Phillips vibes from this one. I loved how it played out in my mind. Great sim, Brian! ((Control Center, Cargo Freighter S.S. Sabrina's Delight, In the Alpha Isles)) Shayne: =/\= Freighter, this is Arrow. We’re beaming your wounded aboard now. The presence of your captain is also requested. =/\= Gaudemus puffed himself up to his full if less that impressive height and plastered on what he considered a fairly sincere smile. Bail: =/\= More than Happy to, Captain! I'm sure we've got quite a lot to discuss! =/\= The connection closed and his false smile immediately turned back to a scowl. His ship was a wreck and having to leave it like this was a bitter pill, but he knew that half the crew had already been beamed away to get treated in the Starfleet sickbay. As he waited for the beam to take him away he looked to his first mate. Bail: Remember, big reward. That's our ticket. This'll be our best run in years! Sm'uf shook his head and grimaced at a painful wound on his scalp. A moment later, the Starfleet transporters took hold and carried them away. ((Transporter Room, USS Arrow)) Appearing in the cramped Starfleet Transporter room to find much of his crew milling around listlessly, but more or less intact, Gaudemus turned his attention to the one Starfleet crew person in the area. Bail: Ah, hello, hello! You did a splendid job transporting me, absolutely splendid. Usually I get an uncomfortable tingle in my back when that one ::He vaguely waved towards Sm'uf:: transports me but yours was smooth as could be. ::At the woman's nonplussed look, he started over:: But of course, you don't know me, I'm the Captain of the Sabrina's Delight, chartered to your very nice Federation for this...very important aid mission! And now my ship is badly damaged and my crew are...I mean, just look at them. Terrible looking, all of them! I demand to talk to your Captain right away! Why isn't he here rig... MacKenna: Captain Bail? He'd been building a good amount of momentum but the sudden appearance of this crimson haired woman almost derailed him. Instead, he turned his attention towards her, as she appeared more important than the woman standing behind the transporter console. Bail: Captain Gaudemus Bail, Owner and Operator of the Sabrina's Delight, at your service. Quite literally, got a Starfleet contract and everything! You could say you and I are on the same team! Allies doing important work out here in the...Beta...Archipelago...or whatever. MacKenna: I am Commander Ash MacKenna and this is Ensign Tarisai. Welcome aboard the USS Arrow. Bail: Ah thank you, thank you, I'm sure this is a big thrill for all of us! Can you take me to see your Captain? Is he this way? Without being asked, Bail began walking towards the doors of the cramped transporter room and into the hallway beyond with no real destination established. Tarisai: Responses? Bail: Oh I'm just saving time...is that a turbolift? No? Well, where is it then! I've got...vital..ish information...probably. Your Captain is going to want to hear it! MacKenna/Tarisai: Response Bail: I'm sure he's a very busy man but I'm sure he'll want to hear what I have to say immediately. ::He looked down at his torn garment:: That is, unless you think I should change first? MacKenna/Tarisai: Response [Tags/TBC!] ============================== Gaudemus Bail Owner & Operator S.S. Sabrina's Delight V239509GT0

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

MSNPC's are such a vital part of our narrative structure - they can add so much flavor and gravitas to a mission when done right and I think this is a great example! In introducing their character and the situation, @Quentin Collins III has done a great job of contributing to our missions tone and I can't wait to see what we get next! Also, anybody else getting some Andor vibes? And I mean that as the highest compliment! ================================================================== ((Interior. ???. Sheliak Mining Camp, Hab Block 6.)) Two-thousand, one hundred and ninety-one days read the fuzzy display of Arianna's barely functioning visual display. Not that she needed the reminder. Basic training had all but hammered a finely tuned internal chronometer into her chest. She had felt and clocked every day here since the first. Just like Basic. Then it was Reveille at the crack of dawn, stringent PT throughout the day, insertion and TAC training throughout the night. Up, down, left, right. She had loved it then. Clung to it even, in some of the lowest moments. The routine, the repetition toward something greater. It was everything she had always wanted. But her life now? If one could even call it a life...it had the very same repetition. The very same routine. But it was cruel and twisted. Deadly even to some. She flexed her tired joints and swung her legs up and off the dirty standing cot that she shared with seven other "miners", four of which were already on shift and gone. Wiping a film of dust from her exposed eye and polishing as best as possible the implant ocular display on the other with the tail end of her tunic, she peered up and through the holey, corrugated wall of the Hab. Her flickering display concurred with her eyeballing. It was just about dawn. She had another few hours before she would be corralled with the rest of her shift. She finally stood, placing her aching feet carefully into her boots but not lacing them. Sleep had been but a memory for a while now, but she was really just trying to get through what she considered the worst part of her day. Crossing slowly, she started the day as she always did, trying to will feeling and strength back into her limbs. A nearly impossible task thanks to the meager food and water rations the Sheliak allowed them. But she started her walk anyway. Up and down once more the whole length of the Hab, as she had done many, many, MANY times before since her arrival...wherever this was. She used to do yoga, running drills, and war games with people she loved and respected. Now she had to shuffle up and down a rusty shack to indifferent, almost hostile glances from her "roommates", catching contemptuous looks at herself, from herself in the few mirrored surfaces of the Hab. Usually scraps of broken glass and smooth trisilicate shards smuggled into the Hab from shifts. Most days she figured it was what she deserved. Others, she couldn't even think about it at all. Those days, secretly, were the worst. Because that meant she was getting closer and closer to giving up. Closer and closer to acceptance and apathy. Something that would have been akin to blasphemy two-thousand days ago. A voice from that storied past found her again. Almost starling her as this had been the first thought not in her own voice for...too long she decided. "Nothing wins like time." By that metric...Time had had a stunning victory in sights for a while now. Maybe it was time for Arianna to accept that. Her body clearly had. Her once lustrous and sparkling hand circuitry and the lithe silver filigree that had run from her arm up into her cortex unit had chipped and dulled. Spriggy farm rows of thatched auburn hair had matted across the junction lines of her headpiece while the other side hung dirty and clumped nearly down past her shoulders now. Making her look like a half burned toy. She didn't even bother trying to maintain it anymore. It didn't get in the way of work, so why should- A rusty SHUNK-ing sound frightened her more than she expected it to. A far cry from the woman she once was, a sudden and jangling realization that just pitched her despair darker. The bad feeling continued as she realized who was standing in the now open doorway. Azo. Her "Shift Manager". A hysterically mundane moniker for what he really was. One step down from a slave driver. The equip belt hanging dumbly across his rippling form. The mag-stick was already in his...flipper? Blob? Arianna still didn't really understand Sheliak psyigomy. She just knew their capacity for cruelty and corporal punishment. Azo was...particularly skilled at both. But he was nearly a full two hours early. And seemed...oddly upright for his usually hunched and squelching gait. Sokova: What's- Azo: Out. On ssssshift. Sokova: I'm Second Shift. First isn't even done y- The mag-stick thrummed to life and Arianna felt as if a million tiny needles were prying up her hand circuits, pulling her forward even from her stance halfway across the Hab. This was painful, obviously, but it was also...new? That was...something. Something Arianna immediately filed away. She didn't like the idea of being pulled off of Grumm's shift, her only real contact to the before times... But...Azo not even teasing a carrot this time...and going for the mag-stick instantly to bully her back into the pathway toward the pit, slinking forward behind her like a slug. Old instincts flowed back into her as she darted her eye and optical scanner across the whole of the upper surface of the "mine". That same ripple on Azo was crinkling across the rest of the "Shift Managers", all of whom seemed to be driving their charges just a bit harder than usual. Yet another morsel of new that she filed away. oO They are nervous. Since when are the Sheliak nervous? Oo And then...for the first time in two-thousand, one hundred and ninety-one days, Arianna Sokova felt something else new...something that seemed far away and impossible... She felt something like hope. To Be Continued... Lieutenant JG Arianna Sokova Sheliak "Miner" As simmed by -- Lieutenant Commander Quentin Collins III Chief Science Officer -- U.S.S. ARROW NCC-69829 ID: E239512QC0 -- F.N.S. CONTRIBUTOR (SB118 Forums) ARROW WIKI OPERATOR

(( Had to share this great sim from Lieutenant Amuro McKnight, as he and his wingman flew in their Valkyrie fighters and created a wonderful fireworks display above the Astraeus' saucer as a New Year's celebration occurred! )) (( Main Arboretum, Deck 7, USS Astraeus, 239912.31, around 2350 hours )) After Amuro accepted his award, he quietly stepped away from the crowd and nodded to his lady, who was already waiting for him near the entrance. As everyone else was distracted, the two made their way to the shuttlebay and into their fighters where the others were waiting. In total, he got at least 5 of them for the demonstration. Amuro caressed his fighter with his hand and stopped at his personal emblem, a Knight on a horse. Then, he hopped in. McKnight: =/\= Alright, love. Let's dazzle them. =/\= Zarax: Powering on his Valkyrie, Amuro took a breath, he synced his craft up with the others. An upgrade from his last ship, the ship's complement of fighters were the latest Valkyries. A good way to ring in the new century by showing off some new toys. McKnight: =/\= Everyone good? =/\= He listened to the others chime in as they prepare for launch. Zarax: McKnight: Alright, love. Let's go. Control, this is Spartan Zero-One. Taking off. Zarax: The 5 fighters came soaring out of the shuttlebay before getting into formation. They came about and headed straight for the ship. McKnight: =/\= McKnight to Serala. We're coming in, Commander. Everyone better look up. =/\= Serala: On cue, the Arboretum's windows changed so the attendants could view the space outside and see the approaching fighter wing. McKnight: It's fireworks time. Getting very close to the ship, Amuro held his course until the last second. McKnight: Steady....and..break! Break! Almost too close for comfort, the fighters went up and over the ship's saucer, skimming along the hull as they deployed their "fireworks", creating trails of epic multi-color displays across the ship's outer surface. Amuro's fighter did a bit more showing off by spinning around in a barrel roll as he flew over the ship. Normally such a demonstration would take weeks to months of practice for even skilled pilots, but Amuro was able to quickly plan a complex but simple flight path for the fighters' computers to follow. They were mostly on auto-pilot and would only take control for the more hard turns. Syncing all of their systems is critical for this to work correctly, less they start getting into each other's flight paths. McKnight: We're doing good. Keep up. Zarax: Once over the saucer, 2 of the fighters broke off and remained close to the hull. They began to circle the ship from the tip and made their way around, flying in opposite paths, one clockwise and the other, counter clockwise. Amuro's flight path made sure the two would not cross and endanger the pilots or the ships. Once their circles are complete, they would meet at the top and fly straight up, deploying more fireworks. From inside, the crew can see the demonstration in full with external images looking outward and from many angles so they can get a full picture of what is going on, with the computer changing viewpoints to keep the audience engaged in the spectacle. McKnight: Time for the finale. Amuro in the lead with the other 2 fighters came back towards the ship after the first pair had broken off and made their circles. The 3 deployed something that gave the effect of "smoke trails" in space, each with different colors. As they flew past the top of the Astraeus, the "smoke trail" began to sparkle and started to dissipate but Amuro turned his head to look back for one last thing to top it all off. McKnight: Missile away. Amuro's fighter fired a flare that flew towards the smoke cloud. It was harmless and designed to explode, igniting the "smoke" above the ship to create one last great fireworks display. McKnight: =/\= This is Lt. McKnight to Astraeus. Happy New Year's, everyone. =/\= As the fireworks started to burn out, Amuro smiled a bit at a job well done. McKnight: Alright, gang. Fun's over. RTB. Zarax: And with that, the fighters returned to the shuttlebay to conclude their performance. Lieutenant Amuro McKnight Security/Tactical Officer USS Chin’toka D239302AM0

The simple little joys of a child (new) life 🥰 I need more of this 3 @Jo Marshall& @Quinn Reynolds ((Personal Quarters, USS Gorkon)) They normally used the squat table with a rich mahogany-style finish and ornately carved legs as a perching post for Lena's boots while she reclined after a hard day's piracy, only this time it was a sight to behold. Scattered upon its surface lay a myriad of half-eaten plates, each one a culinary delight from the far-flung reaches of the galaxy. Savoury stick dishes from Cardassia, spicy-sweet creations from the Klingon Empire, and a few exotic delicacies in bright blues and purples that looked as though they hailed from distant worlds. Each plate had been ruthlessly devoured, leaving only a few scraps and crumbs to tantalise the senses of the unlucky soul who had to clean it up later. Under blankets on the sofa, Bear, Lena and Jiran nestled in the dim light, watching the stars through the large window. Bear, arms wild and full of gestures, belly half composed of kilm steak and menju nuts, leapt into the next story with abandon. O. Marshall: Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, there was a dynamic duo of space pirates, Ollie and Lena. ::He glanced across the boy's dark head of hair to Lena with a grin.:: They were the most notorious and feared pirates in all the land, known for their bravery and cunning. Together, Ollie and Lena set out on their ships, the Swishbuckle II and the Do' joH, into the vast expanse of space, searching for treasure and excitement. Jiran's dinner-plate eyes widened as he clung to the small Cardassian stuffed hound, icing from the most recently demolished ikri bun sticking to his child chops. O. Marshall: They stole treasure from rich merchants, raided enemy ships, and outsmarted their foes at every turn. But their greatest challenge came when they faced off against the evil, ::he emphasised the word with narrowed eyes and a low rumbling stage whisper,:: space pirate Skipper Scurvy, who had been terrorising Captain Lena for years. Unable to keep a straight face, and not inclined to do so even if she could, Lena grinned along. Cosy under the blanket, a stomach full of good food breeding contentment, she leaned conspiratorially toward their young charge. Josett: Captain Lena knew she was going to need help, even more help than the dashing Ollie and his Swishbuckle could provide. There was only one person she could turn to—::she filled the dramatic pause with a flash of a grin toward Bear::—Space Ranger Jiran, and his faithful hound. Recognising his name in the flurry of words, Jiran clutched at the plush stuffed Cardassian animal with delighted glee. Jiran: That's me! O. Marshall: You're da—::course correction,:: gosh darn right it is, kid. Ranger Jiran's hound, a loyal and brave wolf, would do anything to protect Jiran and keep him safe. One day, Ranger Jiran received a distress call from Captain Lena, her ship the Do' joH had crash-landed on a nearby planet! Full of the drama, Bear flew his hand into an invisible planet and blew his hands up and out in a gesture to resemble a fiery explosion, complete with ample sound effects of both the landing and the inevitable crash. Playing along, Lena gasped and threw her hands up in the air, waving them around as though she were falling. Halfway through, arms still above her head, she paused and leaned toward Jiran. Josett: It’s important to note the crash was in no way a reflection of Captain Lena’s piloting skills—which are excellent, by the way—and entirely down to Skipper Scurvy’s dastardly sabotage of her ship. ::She grinned at Jiran and his nonplussed squint.:: Anyway. Resuming her “falling”, she finished her play-acting and slumped back against the sofa, sprawling her arms either side. Josett: Trapped by the crash, all she could do was wait for Space Ranger Jiran to come and rescue her. Which he did, of course, being the hero he is. Bravely bounding through the forests and across the plains, his hound by his side. He arrived, seeing the smoking ship—and spied Skipper Scurvy landing nearby! O. Marshall: He saw Skipper Scurvy and some of his crew disembark from their ship, stomping—::he thumped his boots on the floor in time to his huffs,::—down the ramp with their weapons wielded high. Ranger Jiran and his mighty hound had to save Captain Lena before Skipper Scurvy got to her, and he had to stop Skipper Scurvy! Grabbing the used utensil from the table, still covered in remnants of cake, Bear brandished it like a weapon, a fierce look in piercing blue and beneath the grizzled blond beard. Jiran jumped, shock and surprise in his Cardassian ridges as he felt for Lena, one hand curling around her shirt. She grinned, covering his hand with hers, and leaned her shoulder toward him in solidarity. O. Marshall: Grasping his mighty fork of doom, he and his hound stormed toward the pirate's ship. They were too smart for Skipper Scurvy's crew, using their cunning and quick reflexes to outmanoeuvre everyone on board. With a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, Lena leaned down and whispered in Jiran’s ear, simultaneously slipping the fork out of her husband’s hand. The youngster looked up at her wide-eyed, and she nodded, her grin wide. After a second of hesitation, the boy launched himself at the blonde with a roar, plush hound savaging Bear’s throat with a soft and downy tickle of fur. Josett: Get him, Ranger Jiran! O. Marshall: ARRRGHHHGHHGH! Attacked and not resisting it, Bear caught the boy as he leapt forward, the toy mercilessly ravaging blond stubble and human Adam's apple. Kicking his legs, Jiran laughed through his assault as Bear leaned back on the sofa, accepting his fate with all the drama and convulsing simulated death one might have expected from a Cardassian hound pummelling. O. Marshall: Skipper Scurvy… reaches up with his hand… ::His finger pointed at Jiran, eyes wild.:: "You have bested me for now, but I will have my revenge, Ranger Jiran!" Hooting with laughter, Lena slid off the couch. Crouching, she scooped Jiran up from his fallen foe and established him on her shoulders. With one hand looped behind to hold her charge secure, she planted a victorious fist on Bear’s chest and grinned at her husband. Josett: With Skipper Scurvy defeated, Space Ranger Jiran and Captain Lena repaired her ship. They lifted off—::she jumped upright, causing a waterfall of giggles from the young boy::—and jetted off into the stars, searching for a new adventure! Making unashamed engine sounds, Lena wove her way around the room, threading between furniture, Jiran cackling and whooshing on her shoulders. Bear leaned back to watch as the two scoundrels raced around their small quarters, laying waste to anything not nailed down. Fearless in their theatrics and undaunted in their performance. After recent events, seeing Lena's joy return, if only a flicker of it, shot him with a deadeye to the chest, entranced by the smile overtaking his wife's features and their two-year-old charge bringing it about. It didn't take long until he was up and chasing after them again. A night of play just the medicine it seemed they needed. fin – Lt. Commander Orson Marshall Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0 & Lieutenant Lena Josett Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0

(( Bridge, Deck 1, USS Excalibur-A )) Kirky had never enjoyed bridge duty. He was much happier way, way, way down in Shuttlebay Two, where everything could be turned into gym equipment and nobody asked him too many questions about what he was doing. As long as the place was tidy, his boots were polished, and there was a shuttle ready and waiting when a senior officer wanted to go off on some fool’s errand, Kirky was golden. When he was called up to the briefing room and then asked to investigate the disappearance of Adidas and Thanos, he’d wanted nothing more than to be sent back below decks. But as the officers worked together, bounced ideas around, and started getting answers to their many questions, Kirky felt a change in his guts. It was kind of like that horrible crash he survived in the Argaya system, when all of these qualities he didn’t know he possessed manifested. Like, how did he know how to start a fire with sticks? He never did that before. He started giving orders to people and they… like… just obeyed? The teamwork on the bridge made Kirky feel like maybe, just maybe, he belonged up here. The captain wrapped up her chat with Jovenan and Daniels awaited Kirky’s warp trails search. Kirky shook his head when the results came through. Bean: I’m not seeing any warp trails. The ship must have transited this space too long ago, or the beacon was launched and arrived here under its own propulsion system. Sorry, captain. Nicholotti: I feel like we're being played. Daniels: Hopefully they'll be able to pull some useful intel off of that beacon. Bean: It sounds like all roads point to K-7, though. Lieutenant Dakora went on a mission there not too long ago. ::beat:: Taddison’s disappearance could be a follow up. Maybe they went to collect the Flarn’pan tracker Kijana told us about? The old station, once at the far reaches of explored space, still remained an anchor point for criminals and other ne’er-do-wells seeking to make a name, a fame, or a fortune in the Borderlands. Kirky wondered if there was some alternate universe where he, Kirkington Bean, was a pirate and K-7 was his own private kingdom, where people from all over the galaxy would high five each other and get swole. Nicholotti: Who knows why, but it seems like there's a lot of things that converge on the station. Daniels: It does seem to be the general consensus. Kirky had his hands on the conn’s “GO” button. His confidence growing through collaboration and bridge duty, he was ready. The readiest. Bean: If Lieutenant Yellir approves us to fire up the QSD, we could be in the vicinity of K-7 in a matter of minutes. Nicholotti: Good. But is that it? Is there nothing else to consider? Lieutenant Daniels looked at the map for long enough that Kirky got bored. Daniels: Mister Bean, humor me and check the scans you ran on the probe for traces of theta-xenon and sirillium. I've got a hunch that I'd like to vet out. Kirky was thankful that his back was turned. He could have sworn that Theta Xenon and the Siriliums was a band he used to follow at university. Come to think of it, no one had scene a trace of Theta or any of the Siriliums since their big farewell concert at Badger Jam ‘98. Bean: Uh, right away, Lieutenant. ::beat, tap tap:: Checking for theta, urm, yeah. Boop. Nicholotti: What are you thinking? Daniels: Like I said, at this point it's just a hunch. But, if I was going to vanish without a trace, the Azure Nebula seems like a pretty good spot. The scanner scope lit up like a Christmas tree and Kirky shunted his results to the holographic viewer in the center of the bridge. Bean: You were right, Lieutenant. Resonance traces leading directly away from the beacon’s coordinates. Beating 030 mark 059. Directly on course toward the nebula. Good place to hide, I guess. Daniels: It would also negate some of our size and power advantages, as some of Excalibur's advanced scanning and targeting systems won't work with the natural interference. Bean: You’re a genius. Nicholotti: Which means if we are being played, then we need to be careful. The captain frowned and tapped her combadge. Nicholotti: =/\= Bridge to Ensign Jovenan.=/\= Jovenan: =/\= Response? =/\= Nicholotti: =/\= Come to the bridge. We need some science assistance in unlocking the Azure nebula's hidden secrets. =/\= Jovenan: =/\= Response? =/\= The deck plating rumbled, almost imperceptibly. But if it were imperceptible on Deck 1… Suddenly, the ship’s alerts went nuts. One after another, like falling dominos, sounded off. Kirky felt his stomach sink down to his butt. Nicholotti: =/\= Medical emergency, cargo bay one! =/\= Half the ship was cut off from the other half, and the third half was going nuts, thanks to what was undoubtedly an explosion somewhere near the cargo bay. Kirky’s efforts to sound the ship came to naught as system after system refused his queries. Nicholotti: What. Happened? Bean: Internal sensors are offline on Decks 3 through 11. Communications are going haywire, turbolifts are halted. Daniels / Nicholotti: response Bean: All stop. Warp drive is offline until we get an update on structural integrity. Daniels / Nicholotti: response Bean: Wait a minute. There's something going on in our main computer. ::beat:: I can't make heads or tails of it. Primary systems have been compromised. Secondary, too. Daniels / Nicholotti: response Bean: oO I am so getting fired. Oo Tag / TBC Ensign Kirkington Algernon-Greene “Kirky” Bean IV Shuttlecraft Pilot & Relief Helm Officer USS Excalibur NCC-41903-A D238804DS0

"As long as it doesn't explode" - RIGHT?! :::::////WARNING: FIRMWARE HAS BEEN MODIFIED. SYSTEM MAY BEHAVE UNPREDICTABLY ((Cargo Bay 01 - Deck 15 - USS Excalibur-A)) ////LOG START :::::////WARNING: FIRMWARE HAS BEEN MODIFIED. SYSTEM MAY BEHAVE UNPREDICTABLY :::::////WARNING: CONTAINMENT FIELD DOME DETECTED :::::////WARNING: AUTO-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE ARMED ////LOG END =============== MAQUIS DISTRESS BEACON MODEL: DRT-5YM SERIAL: 05125928TJ9 STATUS: DESTROYED As simmed by: ======//////======> Lt. Talos Dakora Chief Intelligence Officer USS Excalibur-A O238811CD0

Stardate 240001.01 It’s just past the winter solstice on Earth and the start of the traditional new years there (old calendar--oh, and my birthday in that time system!). We stopped using the old earth calendars in our colony over 100 years ago, but still some traditions remain. In my family at the end of a year we gather together and record stories. We don’t yet have the infrastructure to regularly communicate home from out here in the Gamma Quadrant, so I’m going to tell my annual story in my personal log and send a copy to the fam. It was my final semester at the academy, and most of my classes were practicals. We had a number of opportunities for “off campus” activities, including a notable jaunt through Freecloud. I had a squad of teammates from class that I didn’t know particularly well, but after our final practicum, I was encouraged to go out with them to “site-see.” I was less interested, but relented. I didn’t want to be a poor sport, but, to me, unregulated ports have a lot of similarities, no matter where you are in the galaxy: high density, a thriving black market, wealth inequality, folks trying to take advantage of visitors, and food for which the main selling point is that you’ve never heard of it (it’s rarely good and often makes me queesy). For this foray into “the sites,” there were three others besides myself: Adrianne Potsak, a full human from earth, T’Span, a half-human, half-vulcan who we think had a wicked deadpan humor (we were never 100% sure, as she never ‘broke character,’) and Jejull, a Tamberite. We were all 4th year intelligence cadets, except for Jejull, he was on the diplomatic track, but had gotten into our senior seminar somehow. (I don’t know, maybe his budding diplomatic skills?) The site-seeing was Adrianne’s idea and she was the most excited for it, so we let her pick the first stop from a list she had found from the tourism bureau. <Promontory: Computer, add this list of top things to see in Freedcloud to this entry.> <Avander pulled up a file on his PADD and pressed a button before continuing> Top things to See/Do in Stardust City: 1) Try a ‘Panterra Accord’ (Romulan Ale, Earth Whiskey, and Bloodwine) 2) View the propagation of the Hobus supernova 3) Echer gravity rooms 4) Go to the top of Five Freedoms tower 5) Dance at Megamosh 6) Jerrica and the Starlights Concert 7) Barter with a Camgemerian trader 😎 Grow a clone 9) Eat a berricone 10) Add a message to the Great Library Wall Andrianne chose eating a berricone. It was absolutely awful. There’s a reason why even transporting the fruit or uploading its replicator pattern is banned aboard Federation vessels. It started with the smell, unpleasant, like a fermented orange covered with fuzzy mold. The texture itself wasn’t bad, sort of a bristly pinecone covering that you had to pick off and that’s when the smell got really bad! We had to pinch our noses just to get the slimy soft innards to our mouths. The taste was putrid. I couldn’t take more than one bite. Andrianne insisted that we finish a whole one as a group, but if it wasn’t for Jejull’s iron stomach, I don’t know that we could have. As it were, most of us were belching the rest of the evening (which, I guess, is part of the appeal.) On account of his heroic accomplishments in weird fruit eating, Jujull got to pick next. He chose “bartering with a Camgemerian trader.” If you’ve never met a Camgemerian, they are a peculiar race. While some in the Federation compare them to the Ferengi, that’s not really a fair connection. Although both are heavy mercantile groups, the Comgemerian simply don’t have the profit motive that Ferengi exemplify. Hailing from deep within the Beta Quadrant, their traders have spread out in a massive sector-spanning network. However, while they have established long trade routes, they have no colonies to speak of and are not empire-builders. Rather, a good trade is itself their highest purpose in life. While they aren’t trying o accumulate wealth, they do have a strict code of “only making good trades.” However, what, exactly, that means is a bit opaque for outsiders. Nevertheless, it’s a point of Comgemerian pride that they will only make a trade that they feel is ‘right’ for the other party. More could probably be said about the species, but we were interested in the experience more than an education. The problem, of course, was we hadn’t set out that evening bringing anything worthwhile to trade. We had three berricones (we ordered one for each of us before realizing that one was more than enough!) but those were not likely to be of interest to a Comgemerian on Freecloud. We were still discussing the issue of what to trade when we arrived at the consortium of traders. “What about our boots?” Adrianne asked. They were regulation, nice boots, and we could probably get another pair, but given state of the ground, I didn’t love the idea of loosing that protection. “I will not surrender my footwear and I am unable to carry more than two of you, if you elect to do so.” There was T’Span, with her classic deadpan humor. “No one is surrendering their shoes,” said Jujull. “What else to we have?” We fumbled through our bags. A few communicators, a tricorder, a couple of PADDs, none of which seemed prime trade material. Adrianne took of her scarf and proposed we use it—apparently her sister had knitted it by hand, so it was at least one-of-a-kind. “I can have her make me another,” Adrianne replied when we were worried about her losing a sentimental item. With that decided, we entered the Consortium. It was divided into a series of private booths with a Comgemerian trader in each. We would only be allowed this one shot, no return customers. A greeter at the entrance scanned us and indicated an open booth. Inside the Comgemerian stood silently, only their eyes moved as they took us in. After a moment of contemplation, their robe barely rustled as their hands moved, gesturing to one of two open tureens in between us. “Is this for our trade?” We confirmed, as if it wasn’t obvious. Adrianne moved to place her scarf in the appointed place, but the figure shook its head. “No? not this? Than what?” The Comgemerian trader slowly raised their finger and pointed to my hand. There was nothing in it, but I was wearing a ring. “This?” The trader nodded. I looked at my ring. It was just a plain metal band with some runic figures carved into it. It was a gift from my grandfather and held sentimental value. I didn’t know if it would be worth anything to anyone else, but I was reluctant to part with it. However, I also knew my grandfather always said that sharing stories and memories were more important than physical gifts. And maybe this would result in a story I could share with him. I took the ring off and placed it in the first tureen. Almost immediately, with a smooth economy of movement that was hard to detect, the trader had placed a basket in the other tureen. “What is it?” Jujull asked. But the figure remained silent, collected my ring, and indicated the exit to the booth. With a shrug, Jujull took the basket and headed out. “Oh, this is heavy. Thank you for allowing us to be part of this trading opportunity!” It may have been my imagination, but I think the trader smiled slightly as they again indicated the exit. “So what’s in it?” Adrianne asked, as soon as we were back on the street. We gathered in a circle as Jujull carefully lifted the lid on the basket. Much of it was padding, a blanket swaddling the object in the center. “Is this an egg?” “I think it’s a rock.” T’Span, however, was more certain. “It is a T’t’mel.” “OK, great. What’s a Tatamelt?” “T’t’mel. It is a sentient rock.” I could not tell if she was serious. Nobody could. Jujull had to look it up on his PADD, and sure enough, there was a picture of a T’t’mel, a sentient rock, that looked quite similar to the object in our basket. “I have so many questions…” Adrianne began. “Yeah, like what do we do now!” I interjected. Jujull: “No returns. It would offend the Comgemian’s code of ethics—it would be the equivalent of a Federation member violating the Prime Directive.” Adrianne Potsak: “Well we can’t take it back to the academy…” T’Span: Why not? They are said to be quite intelligent. Jujull nodded as he continued to read the entry. Promontory: Because we’re not human traffickers… Er.. T’t’mel traffickers. We can’t bring a sentient being back without it’s permission! Jujull: Well, can we ask it? There’s not much in this article about how they communicate. T’Span: Touch telepathy. One of you must create a bond with the being and you will be able to ascertain it’s emotional state. Potsak: Well YOU do it, you’re half-Vulcan. T’Span: And that is precisely why I cannot. My own telepathic abilities are incompatible with this species. It would be the equivalent of connecting a 220 erg power source to a 55 erg coupling. None of us were engineers (or biologists), but it sounded like a valid point. After a little more discussion, they group decided I should be the one to try to bond with it, because we got it with my ring. I felt silly, there in a side street on FreeCloud, clutching a 30-cm long egg-shaped rock, tying to mind-meld with it. Particularly as nothing seemed to be happening. Potsak: Look, is it changing color? T’Span: Indeed. It is expressing its mood. It appears to be content with us. I was getting suspicious of T’Span’s proclamations, but the others seemed convinced. Still holding the T’t’mel, I asked “What now?” T’Span: You must ask it questions and we will ascertain it’s responses by its color changes. Now, peer-pressure is a heck of a drug. Which is how I stood for ten minutes in the street asking a rock questions. “Do you want to go to Starfleet Academy?” “It’s getting darker!” “That would be a negative response.” “Ask it another question!” “Do you have a name?” “Whoa, that’s a lot of colors!” “Obviously its name is too complicated for the human or Tamberite tongue.” “Are you sure it’s not just reflecting lights from the buildings around us?” “Don’t say that, you’ll hurt it’s feelings!” I rolled my eyes. I was pretty sure the rock couldn’t see that. “OK buddy, do you want to get off FreeCloud?” “Oh, bright colors!” “That’s a ‘yes’.” “Where do you want to go?” “Well that’s a weird color.” “Be more specific.” “Do you want to go far?” “That’s a ‘no!’ Oh wait, no. Maybe that’s a ‘maybe!’” “Do you just want to get off planet?” “There you’ve got it now!’ <The ships comms interrupted with a page: =^= Ensign Promontory, report to sickbay =^=> <The ensign skimmed through the current entry. It was already getting pretty lengthy. He would have to skip the bit about the Thorgunian boxer. And the proposition from the Veslcia. Those were better stand-alone stories anyway. He decided to sum-up and get over to sick bay.> We spent the night pursuing options, and there’s more stories to tell another time, but in the end, we were sprinting through the docks, barely catching a trustworthy independent xenobologist who had agreed to take “Rocky” on tour before she boarded her transport and then rushing back to our Starfleet Academy Instructor. And that is the story of how I earned my first (and only) demerit for being late. The rock has not contacted me since. <Ensign Promontory looked at his conclusion and smiled. It was a good memory. Hopefully his grandfather would appreciate the story as well. Avander promised himself that he’d send another along soon, but for now, duty called.> --- Ensign Avander Promontory Intelligence Officer USS Oumuamua O239910AP4