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Sill-con's player is still very new, and I am impressed with his desire to improve his sims. While Brikar as a species are definitely not easy to play, his narration explains thought patterns and cultural values, making them understandable for those whose knowledge about the species doesn't extend past 'they look like rock-guys' (myself included). Keep it up, @Obsius Sill-con ❤️

((ooc: 101 and 000 are unconscious but I wanted to contribute something, so I wrote some internal flavor text!)) ((Sickbay Complex, Deck 10)) One hour. Sixty minutes. Three thousand and six hundred seconds. No matter how you sliced it, that was a long, long time for a pair of Bynars to be unable to connect to their mother computer on Bynaus. Machine or not, that computer was the giver of life of their people. It was the deep well from which they drew everything they had, from their language to the firing of neurons in their brains. The fact that Bynars could connect to it from across the galaxy was a miracle of engineering, truly— but it was technology born of necessity. No human could go without oxygen to breathe or food to eat, and no Bynar could go without the implant gifted to them at birth despite the double-edged blade. The incredible integration of their bodies and minds with technology was a marvel, a blessing, but it was also a curse that instilled them with a terrible weakness. As powerful as machines were, they were easy to overload. Too much energy would fry them. Environmental changes, magnetic waves, electrical surges— they were all terrible hazards. 101 and 000 had learned about their people’s encounter with the Enterprise as children studying Bynar history in school. A star had threatened to blow out the master computer on their planet, which meant they had to shut the entire thing down before the shockwave hit and turn it back on afterwards. A group of four Bynars had scrambled to back up as much data as possible onto the Enterprise’s computer. It was a security blanket, a failsafe, some last-ditch effort to preserve the knowledge of their race in case the computer never turned back on. For a while, while the computer was off and they waited for the shockwave to pass, every single member of their race had been close to death. They simply couldn’t survive without it. Neither 101 nor 000 knew how long it would take to die. They didn’t know how long their predecessors had had to cling to life while their brains shut down without the support needed. Perhaps they hadn’t voiced the urgency of such an emergency clearly enough to the crew. Did they have themselves to blame? 000 might think so— they blamed themself for most of the misfortunes of their life— but 101 was more likely to think that it wasn’t anybody’s fault. Sometimes things just happened. An hour was a long time to wait to die. It was a blessing, really, that they lacked the strength to reliably cling to consciousness— 101 went out like a light and stayed that way. 000, however, fought and struggled and clawed their way back up. They woke a few times, eyes fluttering open but unable to focus on anything. They'd get a good, full breath and feel a quickening of their pulse, and then slip away again. There was a strength there, a refusal to stay down that 000 rarely expressed. Even so, they weren’t doing well. Neither Bynar was doing well at all— despite a clean bill of physical health, it was as if their bodies were losing the will to go on. It was a terribly lonely way to go, floating through a disoriented haze instead of being awake and alert together. When they pulled through, they’d be alarmed to hear they’d survived for over an hour. For the time being, though, all they could do was wait to wake up. The clock ticked on. ————————— Ensigns One Zero One (101) and Zero Zero Zero (000) HCO Officers USS Chin'toka NCC-97187 C239907OZ1

This deranged Vulcan who has been Robinson Crusoed in an underwater facility on Denali Station and abandoned all logic might be my favourite character ever. 😅 So interesting to read and think about what he's been through and how it's affected him. Thanks @Dekas!

I'm not crying, you are @Alieth. What a beautiful sim!

((OOC: A fun, and spooky romp with all the charming Collins ackwardness that us Arrowheads have grown to know and love while exploring heavier themes such as childhood trauma, haunted family history, with a dash of cosmic horror to round it all out. Enjoy!)) ((Exterior. The Sea Caves. Stardate: 237810.31. Dusk.)) A puffing Quentin Collins III (freshly fifteen years old) struggled off his topcoat and deerstalker cap as he sunk slightly deeper into the sand. Staring into the gasping, all-black entrance to The Sea Caves. The sounds of the Halloween Jamboree still echoing down the cliffs and along the beach from The Town Square above. He had chased Mason Bridger and his cronies all the way from the party to the Caves. But now he felt his feet...anchored to the beach in quiet terror. Part of it was poisoned with embarrassment. He KNEW he shouldn't have brought his family's gift to him to the Jamboree. Even if it was the absolute perfect accessory to his Sherlock Holmes costume. A beautifully restored and locally bought magnifying glass. Source and restored from the same Town Square that held the Jamboree. Specifically Jennings Antiques. The Jennings, long held family friends of his father and mother, had been all too happy to make a gift of it, according to David and Sara (who had much help from Father and Mother). And he was all too happy to have it. It was a gorgeous piece, even to Quentin's largely untrained young eyes. Glinting nickel handle holding aloft a gorgeous matching glass piece holder. They had surprised him with it right after school. Having an intimate and warm mini-celebration with Mrs. Johnson and the Morgan's in attendance as well. Before releasing them all, Mrs. Johnson as their "minder" to the Jamboree in the town below. As soon as they got there, the trouble started for Quentin. Mason and his goon squad, continuing their jabs from school, set upon him near the apple bobbing station. Wondering aloud (and LOUDLY) if Quentin had ever read anything that was less than a 1000 years old. Which further devolved into a peanut gallery Quentin had largely grown numb to before now. But it was the extra sting of this happening directly after such a happy and loving occasion. It was as if Mason and his henchmen had sapped the life right from said moment and wouldn't be satisfied until they had ruined the entire day for him. And they were well on their way now. Following him and jeering his every step and movement. He tried desperately to find Sara and David. Wanting...or hoping at least, in the presence of the rest of his family they would stop. But they never did. And he never found his siblings. Ending up instead falling flat to his face right in front of some concession stands after awkwardly thumping his walking boots against one of the corners of the stands. The magnifying glass flew from his hand, landing carefully in the grass ahead. Where Mason had snapped it up, running his grubby fingers all over its lens and giving a ratty little laugh at Quentin's protestations. Then, as it were, the game way afoot. A not-so-merry chase. It had to look ridiculous. A gangly red-haired Sherlock Holmes lighting through the town chasing three cackling morons in gravball uniforms (too cool for costumes they were), but Quentin wouldn't, or couldn't stop. His boots clamped across the street and then the sidewalk and then down the docks down onto the beach. One had peeled off somewhere, but Mason and his "second" (a particularly thuggish child ogre by the name of Cody Nixon) continued down the beach. Screaming and jeering and throwing more venom Quentin's way as he kept pace after them. But the chase had stopped once they had dared the entrance to the Sea Caves. Mother had stringently warned him against the Caves and in a chilling and rare confluence of opinions, Dad had agreed with her. Warning all three of the Collins siblings away from the Caves. Quentin being the oldest had heard these warnings before and they had the very same timbre of sound as the warnings against The Old House and the Cemetery at night. The agreement of Dad however...gave it much higher stakes. Such high stakes that Quentin stood, breathing deep clouds of cold air into the surf climate around him, frozen still by them. He looked down the other side of the beach to The Sea Cottage. Politely occupied now by a former student of Mother's who had come to town to finish his Master's Thesis. Blair Something or Something Blair. He debated a moment asking for the academic's help. Or even maybe going back to the Jamboree and finding Sara and David. They would be disappointed in him...but then he wouldn't have to explore the Cave alone. He had started to fumble out his comm line (embarrassingly devoid of any contacts that weren't blood relation to him) when the screaming started from the dark of the Cave. Quentin's head snapped up and forward. To his credit, even then before Starfleet and before everything that made him into the man we now know, O gentle readers, he didn't hesitate. He clomped directly into the darkness with nary a thought for himself. How stupid and careless was/is Quentin Collins III. ((Interior. The Sea Caves.)) Quentin had no idea how far he had been walking. The smallish light from his commlink did little to illuminate his way, but after a few moments (or hours maybe, time was...odd down the Caves it seemed), his eyes adjusted and allowed him for an easier way. Trailing his free hand against the rock around him to steady himself, he carefully continued deeper. As he stepped, providing him a sort of ghoulish foghorn, were a series of increasingly loud noises. None had been the screaming of before (thank the universe), but the rest of them hadn't been any less unsettling. Huffing gasps, random snorts, and shuffling, wet sounding steps drew Quentin deeper and deeper into the well. Then...a light. Or at least a half-light. Blooming sweetly from the farthest wall he could see in the inky black. He stepped forward again, leaning more heavily on the hand atop the "corridor" of the stone. A hand from the dark. Grasping suddenly the hem of his trousers and hauling him down to the dusty floor! He struggled and tried to wriggle out of the grasp but couldn't. He almost screamed himself until he turned back to see his "captor". Then the white-hot anger of his flight down the beach returned. The moon-eyed and pale face of Mason Bridger peered out from an alcove below them. The magnifying glass was clutched to his chest as if it was a holy reliquary. Quentin tried to reach for it, having made it to his knees now, but Mason seemed to pin himself backward into the Cave wall. He was about to speak, but Mason, using the hand that had hauled him to the floor, to clamp over his mouth. Quentin was now terribly confused as well as angry. He pushed the hand away roughly and started to speak again but was cut off by a harsh and deadly sincere SHHHHHH from Mason. In his astonishment, Quentin did as he was bade. Peering daggers into his former antagonist who now looked...shelled entirely. The sneering bravado of his attitude topside replaced by...sheer terror. He creaked a finger across his shoulder and toward the eerie light of the chamber ahead. Bridger: T-they g-got Cody...w-we was only foolin'... Collins: What- Bridger: SHHHH As the echo settled, Quentin could hear something...else. The wet shuffling of before intermingled with...something else. The dry snap of soles on stone. Along with shallow, quickened breathing and the soft hiss and trickle of...a stream? Was the light coming off a river of ocean run off into the Caves? Quentin started to rise to look, but Mason's hand gawped and batted at his legs again. The strength of his surprise now completely gone. Quentin slapped it away harder than he really should have and then dared a few more steps forward. Bracing himself once more on the lip of the stone, he peered across the way into another dimension. Three tallish...figures surrounded Cody, all three with their right hands clamped heavily over his head. Cody's eyes were open, but lolled back severely. Making them look more like spoiled eggs than his usual hungover seeming orbitals. The bubble of the rushing seam of water behind them was underscored by Cody's still increasing breathing. His chest rose and fell rapidly and unnaturally. Quentin couldn't get the best look at the figures but they were lithe and tall. Stooped slightly with the ceiling of the cave and...shining slightly against the light of the water. They seemed slick and without clothes. The hands at their sides were webbed and pointed at the digits, giving either the impressing of long nails or... oO Claws. They are claws. Oo The features of their faces were obscured by the darkness, but the seemed featureless and rounded. Focused entirely on Cody as their breathing pattern matched, now the same rapid and inhuman gasping across the whole party. Cody tried to shout or at least opened his mouth to make a sound, but none emerged. Suddenly his breathing stopped! His eyes fluttered and drowsed. The figured released him and replaced their hands on his chest. A groaning, yawning, sickening sound replaced Cody's breathing. Flaps of skin started to undulate and separate from his neck. Almost like... oO Gills? Oo One of the figures let forth a triumphant hiss, raising it's claws high into the air in reverent joy. The others responded in kind while Cody seemed to regain a sort of consciousness...immediately struggling to breathe. One of the creatures grasped his shoulders suddenly and started to haul him into the drink! The splash of his confused form and Quentin's shout echoed almost in unison. Collins: NO! In terrifying unison, the figures and their flashing, deep green eyes snapped toward Quentin. They advanced carefully, now hunched even lower and bathing in the shadow around the Cave like the sea itself. Quentin took two dumb steps backward, pivoted, and started to sprint. Stopping only for a hot second to take a handful of Mason's jersey neck, power him to his feet, and run with him in tow. Quentin never dared look back, but the wet shuffling now arced upward into wet snapping steps. Beating a hellish rhythm behind them with their snorts and hisses. Quentin had no idea where they were going or if this was even the way out, but the now sobbing Mason and the figures behind them didn't stop to try and make sure. He darted and twisted and looped back through the Cave, his panic and sweat now really the only fuel he had. Finally, light! A new burst of hopeful speed lighted Quentin's steps. He shoved Mason in front of him, spilling him out onto the beach, shoulder first as Quentin jumped after him into the now risen moonlight. The figures didn't...or couldn't follow, but left their mark all the same. In one final swipe toward Quentin's boot, leaving four thin scratch marks perfectly across the bottom sole. The only hard evidence of the night's flight. Quentin scrambled back to his feet and faced the Sea Cave entrance panting. Nothing but the descending hiss came out, but Quentin stood vigil all the same. Weaponless, but rock-steady against whatever might try and come out. Despite Mason Bridger being the least worthy of his protection. After a few tense moments and lessening of his pulse, nothing emerged and Quentin decided (more hoped) they were safe...for now. He turned toward the gibbering Mason, who had curled into a quivering ball on the beach. Bridger: w-w-w-we was o-only foolin....we w-w-was only foolin.... Collins: Yeah, and what did that get you? He hated the tartness of his voice, but he didn't want to turn away from the feeling. None of this...WHATEVER this was would have happened had they just left him alone. He knelt and roughly turned Mason over, rolling him onto his back like an old turtle. His hands were still clutched to his chest, but the magnifying glass was nowhere to be seen. Quentin frowned, but was called quickly back to the yawning darkness of the Sea Cave. A deep snort and prolonged hiss emerged from it. He couldn't tell for certain...but it looked as if two deep green eyes peered from the darkness toward him. Through him. More huffing sounds punctuated the sounds of the pounding surf toward their backs. As if something was...smelling the air around them. After another beat a glint of silver pierced the darkness and arced carefully onto the sand. Burying itself at Quentin's feet. His magnifying glass. Words traveled behind it from the darkness. "collllinnnsssssssss." "friennnnnnddddd" Quentin Collins didn't had the courage to reply. Cody Nixon's body was never found. Even after a two-week long, exhaustive search of the Sea Caves (by daylight, of course). But in the months after Quentin's fifteenth birthday, night workers of the docks and the occasional (somewhat overserved) after-hours patron of The Blue Whale would swear they would see someone matching his description. Standing waist deep in the inlet nearest to the town. Staring into the lights and sounds of the weird city in a ruined gravball jersey and with sharp, shining green eyes that were not his own. Only to then disappear with a quiet slosh of the sea once someone had looked away and tried back to confirm what they saw. "An offering to Leviathan" they would say darkly. "Another fer' The Deep Ones" the older salts would intone in feverish whispers. The end of whatever life had awaited him on the surface. Leaving us who remained a shaky, but holding peace and confidence in integrity of nature...and of the human mind. -- THE END...? HAPPY HALLOWEEN! -- Quentin Jamison Collins III Fifteen Years Old Eldest Son of the Collins Dynasty //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)

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

Did you see something memorable aboard the Chin'toka that you want to recognize? Drop it in this thread! Whether it's a mishap or just Toryn being Toryn, this is the place for it.

I'm enjoying reading this scene unfold, not just because of the action, but because of the feelings between the characters involved! ❤️ ((Poacher Camp, Bajor)) The situation with Umadi and her poachers had escalated. Garrett, Umadi’s second in command, had been killed, and Ferri and Aine had fled into the forest. They had found refuge in a ditch - at least for the time being, but the footsteps of those Umadi had sent after them were steadily getting louder. It reminded Ferri of one of her training scenarios, where her aim had been not to be found until sunrise. She had failed twice before actually succeeding, and she had succeeded because she had decided to attack rather than stay hidden. Emlott: Aine, I think we need to shoot. Sherlock: I think we just need to hide. Wait it out. She shook her head. Time wasn’t on their side, and the poachers had already showcased extensive equipment available to them. Emlott: They can get devices to see temperature. Multiple footsteps were getting closer and closer. Sherlock: Ok, do you know what an ambush is? ::beat:: Nevermind, of course you do. Aine's tone was almost scolding, and Ferri blinked. Yes, she knew, but why was Aine mad about it? Emlott: Yes… what is your plan? Sherlock: If you get up to that ridge on the right, I'll move back in this grove a bit. When they get to here ::pointing to the ridge above them:: I'll shoot at them from cover and try to draw them down here. Then, you let them have it. Emlott: And what about a better hiding place? Preferably for Aine. Ferri didn't want Aine to get hurt. Sherlock: We'll worry about finding a safe spot once we eliminate the immediate threat. Ready? Emlott: Ready. Aine made her way deeper into the shallow grove, and Ferri made her way to the ridge Aine had pointed out. When it came to natural night-vision, Ferri had a clear advantage over most other species, but the dropped temperature made it exceedingly unpleasant to move. Ferri waited for Aine’s signal, and it came in the form of phaser fire impacting on the lower ridge. The three poachers - Ferri was sure that a fourth one was missing - pointed into the direction Aine has hiding, and two of them hastily made their way there. The third stayed back, saying something about ‘guarding their rear’, but didn’t actually seem eager to guard anything. He knelt down to tie an open shoelace, and that’s when Ferri - how had Aine said it? - ambushed him. The poacher didn’t turn around until Ferri had closed the distance between them and thrust the phaser into his chest before she fired. He didn't even get to scream. Emlott: :to herself:: One down. Ferri hated this. She didn’t want to be like this, and she was grateful that Garo never sent her on these kind of assignments. For a split second, her sense of self-preservation kicked in, and she considered to flee while she had the chance. She liked Aine, but she was fairly sure that Aine didn’t like her back. The two of them barely talked since her return. But Ferri didn’t want to leave her behind. As a matter of fact, as stupid as it was, she decided that she didn’t want to leave anyone behind. Ever. Quietly she followed the other two poachers, who were just a few feet away from Aine’s hiding spot. There was no sneaking up quietly on those two, and so Ferri did what was reasonable - she fired. The phaser fire was bright and blinding, and the woman crumbled to the floor. Her companion howled in rage and began to charge towards Ferri, whose phaser - just at this moment - decided that it had worked long enough. TAG/TBC ***************** Ferri Emlott Ambassador Zorkal’s Aide Starbase 118 Ops J239809TA4

((Interior. U.S.S. Arrow, Deck 2. Transporter Room 1.)) Collins: Is it weird that I'm...a little excited? Tallera: Yes. Tallera, minding the finer workings of a miniature arsenal she was placing into her pack, had assumed the Commander was talking about the violence they might have to employ. She'd spent far too much time with Klingons. When she looked up and took in the smattering of gear Collins sported, she revised the assessment. Tallera: ...No? For the Vulcan side of her, priming gear was almost a form of meditation, so the interruption had been slightly jarring. The satisfying clicking-into-place of equipment, the tightening of straps, the bundling of spare environmental gear, the organization of sensors, tools, demolition charges... Everything in its place. That included everything from a lightweight Marine armor cinched around her torso and thighs, to the bandana hanging around her neck, to her hair tied back and firmly clipped into place. She took stock of their rag-tag team once more, from the multiple robes in the room to the franken-tricorder protruding from Collins' hip. That's right - this was an archeological mission, just with hungry, armed Chalnoth likely to beam down after them. She revised her statement once again. Tallera: Perhaps it is weird. :: A coy smile. :: Which I suppose would be perfectly normal for you, Commander. Weird people were more interesting, anyway. R'Ariel: RESPONSE MacKenna: Everyone have what they need? Collins: Aye, sir. I've also sent detailed scans of Plateau 3 to each of yer tricorders. Now they aren't perfect maps, but they should give us at least a decent sense of direction once we make planetfall. Tallera drew her pack close to her body and stepped onto the pad. Tallera: That will help, but we'll still want time to orient. Rescue will be slow if you get separated. R'Ariel: RESPONSE Tallera nodded, acknowledging the security detail as it arrived. MacKenna: As you noted from the primer, where we're headed is quite sandy, hot, and dry. Everyone have water and hydration tablets? Just like Vulcan. Tallera had spent a week there once, and found it distinctly not to her taste - just not because of the environment. If anything, she'd have something of a home field advantage with the climate they were expecting down there. Collins: I have some... Tallera: I've got extras, and food as well. She wouldn't likely need it, her body naturally capable of going without water for longer periods of time than her human companions. Still, there was no telling how long they'd be planet-side. R'Ariel: RESPONSE MacKenna: If we're ready... oO Ready... Oo There was a command, and the light took them. (( Pankot - Plateau 3 )) Tallera almost got a mouthful of sand before she could cover her nose and mouth with the fabric around her neck. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the wind and sun, but, when they did, she was already scanning the horizon. Her training had beat into her that the seconds after beam-down were some of the most dangerous. It seemed there were no angry Chalnoth, no relics, no traps... just sand. Even up on their slight perch, the sand-polished terrain around them was about as featureless as one could imagine, only sporadic patches of tough grass mixed into splotches of flat, hard pan. The dunes around them undulated into the distance, cutting the view distance almost as much as the thick orange sand swirling and spinning through the skies. No cover and bad visibility set her on edge. Any number of bad things could hide out here in the sand. When Collins sledded down the dune, she made a hand signal to the nearest marine to follow him down, lest he got separated. Marine 1: Anything, Commander? Quentin shrugged slightly. Collins: I have a heading, but not much else. Tallera: Does that heading take us to cover? This wind and sand will make for hard going. MacKenna/R'Ariel: RESPONSE Tallera almost missed the slight sound of sand falling on sand in the wind. Her head whipped to the source of the high frequency only to find a hairy, bulbous, black thing skittering up the leg of one of their guards. Security 1: I think I've got somethin-WAARRGH! She shifted her weight, and was rapidly surfing the few meters of sand down the dune all while the man was wrestingling with the arachnoid creature that was clearly very strong for its size. Before she made it to the scene, he'd freed a hand and punched the creature off of him. Not that strong, evidently. Collins: Sand Spiders! Why did it have to be Sand Spiders!? Tallera promptly ignored the Commander, and instead ran awkwardly through the soft sand to the sprawling spider, only just reaching it before the creature righted itself. She grabbed a firm hold of one of the legs, and grappled with the struggling being. Finally she felt its face (if the far-too-numerous mandibles and bubble-like eyes could be called that), there was a brief surprise when she felt a familiar neuro-chemical connection and... The spider relaxed, and so did Tallera. A second's silence, and she gently set the weirdly fuzzy thing down on the sand. It sat its bulbous form there, in a manner, looking confused as to what just happened. Tallera: You can relax, Commanders. I have explained to the spider that we do not intend to eat it. :: Beat. :: Or at least I think I have. She'd performed minor mind-melds with other non-sentient creatures before, and even with creatures who had highly developed central nervous systems it was something of a crapshoot. With a spider? It was more simple chemical communication: like showing a picture to a child and seeing if they threw a tantrum or not to determine what their favorite food was. The relatively docile nature was good enough for her. Collins/R'Ariel/MacKenna: Response Tallera: Does it not strike you odd that a creature we can obviously overpower would attack? We are not its food. I could only read a faint smell and a distorted image, but definitely a prey response. I believe the Chalnoth are somewhere nearby, and they actually ate some of these... spiders. It attacked, expecting us to do the same. Collins/R'Ariel/MacKenna: Response Tallera: The meld was quite tenuous and unintentional, I'm frankly surprised it worked at all... She had a sense this was going somewhere. She wasn't sure if she liked it or not. Any Team 3: Response Tallera: You want me to try what? She'd heard it alright, she just hadn't fully processed the request. The worst part? It wasn't the most insane thing she'd ever heard of. Any Team 3: Response Tallera: I suppose it would know where good places to hide and hunt are. :: She sighed heavily :: Very well, I will attempt to "ask" the spider if it knows of any large subterranean features. She knelt down, the spider waggling two front legs curiously at her. Tallera looked at it dubiously. She was surprised it hadn't run away already. Perhaps her ability to communicate in this way wasn't as accurate as she thought it was. She took a deep breath, trying to center her being as much as possible. It wouldn't do to have noise in the connection with this creature that wouldn't understand. She reached out again, this time with no fight. She conjured in her mind a series of images of caves, caverns, ruins - anything large and underground - then paired it with the smells of damp and stone and all the things a spider might actually understand. She terminated the strange connection with a feeling of questioning, as much as she could imagine a question might feel like. It was probably closer to asking for food than anything, but who knew? The mere fact she could communicate, in any form, was something. In reply, she felt hungry. Any Team 3: Response Tallera's hand retreated from the creature wordlessly, and she swung her pack around. She reached in and pulled out a small morsel of food. It dropped to the ground, and the spider swallowed it whole, then immediately started to scurry off. Tallera: Fascinating... :: Her voice was thousands of lightyears away. :: Any Team 3: Response She came back to the ground after the utterly bizarre experience. Tallera: I have either been swindled out of a small bit of food, or brokered a trade for directions. I think we're supposed to follow. Any Team 3: Response Tag/TBC... First Lieutenant Tallera Starfleet Engineering Corps Marine Detachment USS Arrow - NCC-69829 A239710MA0

A whimsical sim, with a perfect mix of emotion, humour and rawness and plenty to pull from to continue weaving the story. Simply superb @Quinn Reynolds ((Caves, Rogue Planet)) Alieth had bypassed all common sense—under the influence of the blue goo, Kelley’s father, something; it was the only explanation for her sudden decision—and tried to replace the man at the heart of the tree. A scream unlike anything Lena had ever heard had torn through the air, a chorus of nightmares howling in unison. Light flared, the pulses erratic, and the roots and vines didn’t just move, they flailed. Snapping through the air like whips, Lena felt a burst of pain and then a warm trickle running down her neck, a vine slicing across exposed skin. Beneath their feet, the ground rumbled, shaking hard enough she thought her skeleton might vibrate clean out of her body. Dust, pebbles, and chunks of rock fell from the cavern ceiling; if the quakes didn’t stop soon, they’d very likely be buried alive. Knocked to the ground, sprawled across writhing roots which encircled her wrist and ankles and wouldn’t let go, Lena called out to the other hybrid in the room. Josett: Kelley, tell your Dad to stop this! Kelley: Dad! Dad, please! You need to stop! You need to talk to me! At least she tried, in a voice hoarse and thick with tears. Not that it did Lena any good, realising with no small amount of alarm that a root was snaking around her neck. She wasn’t the only one struggling against the writhing tree; Corliss was almost thrown flat on her face as a root entangled her leg. The counsellor deftly avoided it, dropping a heavy hand on Alieth’s shoulder. And all the while, Bear stood almost stock still, barely a twitch in his broad, dense body. Not his usual response to a crisis. Mind-controlling blue goo, then. Sometimes, it sucked to be right. The root tightened around her throat. Her vision burst with pinprick stars of oxygen deprivation, heartbeat a marching band in her ears. Lena barely saw Alieth shift her gaze from the tree to Corliss, hardly noticed Bear crumble to the ground. Helplessness was not a feeling she was accustomed to, but with her wrists and ankles held fast, all she had was a futile struggle against suffocation. And then Bear appeared in her dimming vision, pulling at the vines, desperation deep in blue. Fortune: Alieth, you have to pull out! She finished with a yelp, her legs dragged out from underneath her, face smacking into the unyielding ground below. The Betazoid dug her fingers into Alieth’s uniform jacket, holding on for dear life as the tree tried to drag her away. Her pain, or her struggle, finally seemed to drill through the haze encasing the Vulcan. Alieth: Corliss! Kelley: Dad! Amidst grunts and groans of pain that were little more than whispers against the thunder of Lena’s pulse, Alieth escaped. The Vulcan tumbled backward, collapsing in a heap alongside Corliss. Vision fading at the edges, darkness creeping in, Lena looked back toward Bear. No air for a pithy remark, all she could manage was a flick of a grin. After all, it was a little funny that an oversized pot plant was going to be the end of the street rat. And then, with no preamble or warning, the vines loosed, and she could breathe again. Alieth: ::To Fortune,:: Are you OK? ::She searched for the others through the cavern:: Are you all OK? Fortune: Response Around them, the vines and roots retreated, withdrawing from their attack. Heaving in great lungfuls of air, coughs racking through her raw throat, Lena took Bear’s offered hand and wrapped her other arm around his shoulder, leaning on him as she pulled oxygen back into starved cells and chased fear out of a hammering heart. Not dead yet. Street Rat: 1, Mother Nature: 0. She shouldn’t get too cocky. Nature still had a few tricks up her sleeve. The tree had ceased its pulsing; instead, it shone in all the colours of the rainbow, light spilling out from root, trunk, and vine. Cheeks flushed in olive, Alieth nodded to herself, and lifted her hand. Light sparkled off shining crystals, the blue gunk solidified and shining. Alieth: What is... ::after a moment’s falter, her brain appeared to catch up with her mouth,:: the blue substance, the one that Mister Marshall handled, has crystallised at the sap's touch. Fortune: Response The multi-coloured light shone brighter, lighting up the cavern. For the first time, Lena could see the far reaches of the cavern walls, the lofty ceiling above them. In the tree's heart, Kelley’s father stretched out an arm, crystals raining from his limb like stardust. Alieth: I do not understand what, but something has begun. Fortune: Response Left with the feeling there was still a hand gripping her throat, Lena eased her weight back onto her legs and her arm from Bear’s shoulders. She wasn’t the only one testing out her space legs; free of the life-giving or life-taking vines, Kelly’s father stepped out of the tree. Teetering steps led him toward his gasping daughter, his gaunt frame barely able to support its own weight. Change that to being unable to support his own weight. He toppled forward, and Kelley rushed to catch him, easing the feather-light man down to the ground. She cradled him in her arms, in a sad, gentle reversal of a parent holding their child. There was love in his eyes when he looked at his daughter, a depth of affection Lena had never known when he brushed away the tears from her cheek. Bear swallowed and gripped her hand tight. She wasn’t sure if she should look away or leave, the intimacy of the moment so profound, and she told herself the sharp knot in her throat was only bruising. And then, in front of their eyes, the man crumbled away. As if a breeze brushed against a sculpture of ashes, he dissolved into fine, shimmering dust. Alieth/Fortune: Response Kelley choked out another strangled sob, grief and anger warring as she sat back on her heels. Trembling fingers raked through the sparkling dust, cupping it in her hands, as if she could somehow put him back together. To see him die twice... Well, it was there on the young woman’s face. Teeth sinking into her lower lip, a hurt almost incandescent in her eyes. Kelley: Why didn't you… why didn't you check? Why didn't you… examine him? Why didn't you do anything that Starfleet is supposed to do? ::She wiped away angry tears as they flooded forth.:: Explorers, scientists, engineers, that's what my-my-my dad said it all was. Where is all that now? Warmth slipped away from Lena’s hand as Bear stepped forward, raising his palm to soothe Kelley. But what could anyone say? The woman had just watched her father die for a second time, and maybe because of what they’d done. Or maybe not. Perhaps this was the only end there could have ever been, the man’s essence and life given over to the planet. O. Marshall: This was an accident, Ark'va. No one is to blame here. It could've been any one of us. Alieth/O. Marshall/Fortune/Kelley: Response Offering comfort was not something Lena was well-equipped for. She rarely received it and gave it even less. The universe was harsh. People suffered. They died. A lot. Most of the time, no one cared. You just had to fend for yourself, and there was no point in bemoaning it. Survive the day, and then figure out tomorrow. But they were stuck in the belly of a broken planet, with a luminescent tree and shockingly little in the way of answers. Disinterest, dismissal, none of these would serve them well. If they were to get Kelley back on their side, the Starfleet team needed to show they gave damn. Corliss did it as naturally as breathing, such was her kind-hearted nature. Lena needed to dig a little deeper to back the counsellor up. Josett: Look, I have no idea if it could have been different. ::She crouched down in front of Kelley, planting herself in the woman’s line of sight, her eyes almost golden in the gemstone light. Her voice was ragged and rough, her throat raw and purpling.:: But I know what I just saw. I’d put all the latinum in the Ferengi Alliance on the fact he was in here to keep you safe. He gave everything he had, and then somehow found more to do that for you. Your father loved you, and you got to feel that again. Some of—::she caught herself, quickly changing tack::—so many people don’t get to experience that even once. Alieth/O. Marshall/Fortune/Kelley: Response Josett: Has anything been different these past five years? Even if it’s just a gut feeling, because my gut’s telling me your Dad wasn’t entirely in tune with this place. Alieth/O. Marshall/Fortune/Kelley: Response With a glance at Bear, Lena rocked back on her heels. Earlier, Corliss had reacted as though someone had introduced a power drill to her cranium. And if the tree really was a biological processing unit, was there a way to listen into and interpret the impulses passing through it? They had two telepaths, an intelligence officer who knew engineering, and a former Ranger. Each one of them clever, competent, and resourceful. Between them, they surely had everything they needed to learn, understand, and do something about the biological machine in front of them. Josett: I don’t know how your—::she wiggled her fingers near her temple::—magical brain powers work, but can you sense anything from this place at all? Tap into whatever information it’s transmitting? Alieth/O. Marshall/Fortune/Kelley: Response -- Lieutenant Lena Josett Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon simmed by Vice Admiral Quinn Reynolds Commanding Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0

I have a soft spot for Wyn's snark. IC: ((Shuttlecraft Seijin, on route to Herd location, Rakalla Province, Bajor)) This was supposed to be a casual flyby. A safe, simple scouting mission. And yet in the last twenty minutes it had gone from unnerving – finding out their chosen pilot was not skilled in in-atmosphere flight paths to concerning as they entered an unexpected atmospheric disturbance above the habitat of the pachitrods, and not it had turned downright confusing and dangerous as there appeared to be something or someone hiding in that atmospheric disturbance. Wyn was starting to think he was a bad luck charm, dooming every mission to disaster simply by his presence. And all of this while he tried his very best to make safe and careful decisions. He wasn’t a risk taker – he was a doctor! Foster: What do you mean there’s something hiding in the clouds? Tito: Give some coordinates and I will either stay clear or face them. Your call Commander. Foster: Stay clear! We’re not here to place police or heroes. We were here to scout! He would like to keep the original intent well in mind and he would note that they already had far more information on their scans than anyone had expected. Information that an intel guy like Tito could use… if they survived this. Sill-con: Commander, I know I'm not officially qualified to recommend tactics, but if the ship assaulting us originated from the poachers or pirates then retreating would not be feasible. Foster: How is retreating not feasible? ::The doctor asked a question that he truly didn’t understand the answer to.:: Aren’t we faster than them? Was this a pilot thing? Or a tactics thing? Or an engineering thing that he was totally unaware of? From what he understood this was a warp capable shuttle, nimble and decent at long range and built with all the power of Starfleet behind it. It had run teams behind enemy lines oin the Dominion war. The Runabout class was a hardy type. But he had no clue about cloud dwelling poacher ships. And really he wasn’t an engineer either, he had just dated a lot of them. Stupid adorably nerdy engineers. Tito: Whoever they are, it’s not an official ship. The Government and Security forces are aware of our presence. Could you be right, Ensign? Is it some support ship for the poachers? Sill-con: ::leans into monitor:: unknown sir, the ship prowls away before we could get any definitive readings, if we are to identify if the model is used by poachers we need a clear opening to scan them. He sucked a breath in through his teeth hating every moment of this. Foster: So we don’t know what it is, and we don’t know what it can do… And for reasons he didn’t understand but was taking into consideration they also couldn’t just run away and come back to scan another day with a crack pilot. Wyn didn’t like this. He didn’t like this one bit. Tito: Whatever it is it’s close Tito upped the throttle to avoid the bolts of – lightening? Weapons? It was difficult to tell as they crackled out of the clouds. They could be natural. They could be weapons made to blend in with the storm. Or they might be a combination of the two. Foster: Too close. ::He drew in a short breath forcing himself to be calm. He was the leader after all and someone had to keep this show running, now matter how much targ dung they waded into.:: How do we get some distance safely? Sill-con: hm… I'm not sure, perhaps if we commit to a barrel roll that abruptly halts its speed may throw them off long enough to get our bearings and get a scan… maybe an opening to attack. He turned oh so slowly and blinked. Do a barrel roll? He was pretty sure that, up to this point, he had only heard the words barrel roll in the terms of hot shot show off piloting maneuvers that were best attempted on the holodeck with the safeties on, and in holo games. He had never once realized that it was an actual real-world maneuver that people used in combat. He was starting to wish he hadn’t slept through most of basic piloting in the academy. Tito: Well it can’t get any worse. Foster: You had to say it… He intoned as a stray burst of energy welled up from the clouds and streaked out with a thunderous wave accompanying the wave of lightening. It clipped the Seijin in the aft and slammed it forward like a tiny boat caught up in a tidal wave. Sill-con: brace- ::shakes in chair:: Tito: You mean… Wyn didn’t care, he was already strapped in and he pushed Tito against his seat hard, hitting the perfect set of trigger points to prompt an immediate brace reflex in the intel officer. He didn’t care of Tito had some antisocial tendencies and probably hated being touched. He would apologize for doing things that helped people stay alive… never. Foster: BRACE MEANS BRACE. Eeven with the prompt Tito was jolted around like one of those shuttle crash test dummies at the academy, taking advantage of all the safety measures that had been stocked in the shuttle just for cases like this. The inertial dampeners screamed in protest as the shuttle went sideways and Wyn’s newly fixed antennae twitched constantly, trying to figure out what way was up. Sill-con: geh… the rear has received damage, we're not critical but we cannot take another strike commander! What are we to do? Foster: Damage report! And where’s our friend? He said friend in the most sarcastic manner possible. The ship out there was hardly a friend. Tito: We can’t keep up, I am barely able to fly it, we have to land. Foster: Then land! That’s way better then dying up here! He still wasn’t trying to play a hero, and somehow fate kept chasing them. Sill-con: ? Tito: Brace yourselves, I will come in a bit fast but I am confident we can land safely. Foster: Once again, brace means brace… Sill-con: ? The altitude dropped severely and Wyn clenched his teeth and prayed to whatever gods in the universe that hated them right now to not be sick. He never did zero grav well and a sudden altitude drop was dangerously close to a zero grav experience. Therefore dangerously close to the barf zone. Don’t barf. That would only make things worse. Tito: Surely we had to land in the middle of the phachytrods… Foster: Please don’t hit the things we’re tasked to protect… He said it through clenched teeth, willing himself not to be sick. That would be one fun report. ‘Dear Commodore, we kinda killed the things you sent us to protect. The poachers love us, now…’ Sometimes the most dangerous thing in the world wasn’t a criminal, but a well-intentioned idiot. And he wasn’t sure how, but he was pretty sure that under his leadership this team had become just that. Sill-con: ? Well, he had to give Tito credit as he swerved away from the herd of pachitrods. Points for keeping to the mission, but the damaged shuttle wasn’t doing so well on the descent. This was not going to be a soft landing by any stretch of the imagination. Wyn glanced over and watched the sweat bead up and drip down Tito’s brow and he frowned. That told him the shuttle was less under Tito’s control and more under the suggestion of where to go and gravity was in control of the rest. Tito: HOLD ON TO SOMETHING… Wyn grit his teeth. His father had lost a leg in a shuttlecraft crash, and for years Wyn had desperately tried to not become his father, only to very much become his father. Oh please, fate, he really would like to keep both legs. Both arms. Both antennae. As the tip of the nose turned upwards, alarms blared, the shuttle shields flared and the safety measures went off, Wyn grabbed the straps of the seat, brought his legs towards him to curl up in the most protective position possible and braced. Exhaust vents hissed, alarms shrieked, the lights guttered. The shuttle hit the ground with a booming impact. And then it spun. And spun. And spun. He sucked in a breath. Awesome. He was alive. And he was still the leader. Great. This was all his fault. And he was sure several someone’s would have his head for this. For trying to be safe. For trying to be careful. Tito: Sound off, Commander, Ensign, still with me? Foster: I am unfortunately still alive and apparently in one piece. With both legs, both arms and both antennae. That was decent. His head was ringing from the noise and the impact. That wasn’t a head injury, it was sensory overload on his still healing antennae. He was dizzy as a result, that swimmy sense of vertigo. Therefore he wasn’t moving. Sill-con: ? He lifted his head listening to a strange arrythmic drumming sound coming from outside. Foster: What’s that sound… ? He asked it. Tito: WHAT THE FRACK? THEIR STAMPEDING? And then immediately wished he didn’t ask it. He didn’t think these things could stampede. Apparently they could. Foster: Polarize the hull plating. ::He said almost by instinct.:: Run the reserve energy from the engines to do it. Because clearly they didn’t need the engines anymore. Despite his almost total lack of engineering knowledge he said it with such confidence that it was a clear and precise, unquestionable order. Tito/Sill-con: ? Foster: Amp up as much of the power reserves into the hull plating and don’t move. Don’t touch the outer walls, you’ll get a nasty shock… Tito/Sill-con: ? Foster: What can I say? I have a bad habit of dating engineers and sometimes that nerdy engineering bedroom talk teaches you stupid things that I guess save you from stampeding elephant-cows. If he ever saw Choi Ji-hu again he would have to thank the Engineer for that tidbit. Then again Ji-hu had suffered from a Vulcan mindmeld that Wyn had forbade due to the dangers involved… and was never really the same person after that. But it was funny how the past sometimes came up to help you in the present, even if that was buttersweet. Tito/Sill-con: ? As the energy from the damaged engines coursed across the hull the atmosphere in the shuttle started to crackle with an uncomfortable sense of static electricity. Outside the pachitrods started to naturally part around the crackling shuttle. One particularly impulsive big male tried to ram the rear end of the shuttle and immediately gave a mooing-yelp as an electric charge crackled against it’s hide. It stumbled drunkenly away and then started running with the herd. After that the remaining pachtrods gave the Seijin a wide berth. Wyn let out the breath he was holding and panted for a bit of extra oxygen. Foster: Well, that could have gone way better… He didn’t want to say it couldn’t have gone worse, because it could and he didn’t want worse. Tito/Sill-con: ? Foster: Are there any injuries and are the comms still working? Get the two critical next pieces of information on the table. Tito/Sill-con: ? ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ Lt Commanedr Shar’Wyn Foster Chief Surgeon StarBase 118 Ops

I love this MSNPC written by @Dekas already. Looks to be very interesting.

I feel like @herakijana needs a hug (and maybe mandatory therapy... several times a week....), but this was an excellent read! Well done ❤️

Really enjoyed this exchange between @Kettick and @Jaelyne Isa

When your BBEG are called Garret and Kevin ❤️ Loved this intro @Alora DeVeau

@Tahna Meru - Wow, this is so beautifully written! Wonderful work here.

Okay, I put this in the Chin'toka's quote forum, but as I kept reading this thing just kept getting funnier and funnier. Well done @Noa T'Nessa Levinson ((Corridor, Deck 10, USS Chin’toka)) Levinson: Out of the way! Move! Noa was doing her best not to outright shout as she was running in the corridors. She didn’t really have time to think of a plan on how to contain what she was chasing, with how quickly it moved. She was just monitoring an experiment of part of the science department’s latest attempts at creating a rubber-like material, ensuring it was much more elastic and durable than rubber. It definitely had its uses - such as absorbing shocks in lieu of inertial dampeners, but still being in the testing phase, the sample was held inside a level 9 forcefield and spherical in shape for easier measurements. What couldn’t be anticipated, however, was that Crewman Pics’s instruction to display the data on a nearby monitor would be interpreted by the computer as "disable the forcefield around the obviously active experiment". Long story short, what was quite possibly the bounciest bouncy ball in Federation history was now bouncing amok around deck 10. After notifying relevant personnel and realizing the ball was moving way too quickly for the transporter rooms to possibly get a lock on it, Noa started bolting after the ball as a few other members of her staff split off to see if they could corner it… or something. Soon enough, she managed to start closing the gap towards the bouncy ball, before noticing it was headed in what looked to her as right for Captain Delano’s head. Levinson: ::With the slightest hint of panic in her voice:: Captain, move aside! Now! Fortunately, the ball just barely missed him and kept bouncing uninterrupted along the corridor. Mei’konda: Response She took that opportunity to stop running and catch her breath. That was… genuinely tiring. She wasn’t used to this amount of exercise. Especially not in her uniform. Levinson: ::Visibly exhausted:: Are you alright, sir? Mei’konda: Response Noa eventually managed to catch her breath and speak more than a few words per breath, and spoke. Levinson: A really bouncy bouncy ball. A computer malfunction disabled its containing forcefield mid-experiment. Mei’konda: Response Levinson: I am aware it may be much, but can I ask for your help in… containing it, please? Mei’konda: Response -- Lieutenant Noa T'Nessa Levinson Chief Science Officer USS Chin'toka E239701NL0

(( Bajor - Park )) Lera was going to be in trouble. Much trouble. She had sneaked out. Not that Evria was the kind of parent to excessively tie down her child, but it was the middle of the night. Ferengi are, of course, somewhat more nocturnal than other humanoids...to her, it was not that dark and she could hear every sound in the supposedly-closed park. She lay on the grass, looking uptwards. Off to one side was the baleful glow of the Celestial Temple. She ignored it, not because she was mad but because it wasn't what she wanted to look at right now. The slightly faster moving star that arced through the sky was Deep Space Nine, the brightest piece of orbital hardware in the system. She ignored that too. She was looking at the stars, in all of their panoply, spread above her. The Bajorans had the Prophets. She had the Rules of Acquisition, but she wasn't sure she wanted them. She was, of course, particularly unfond of "Females and finances don't mix," which was patently untrue. She was pretty sure "Every man has his price" was untrue too. Oh, and then there was the one about clothes. She was a woman and she was going to wear clothes and perhaps it was time to rewrite a few of those rules. Some of them weren't so bad. "Always leave yourself an out" felt pretty good. So did "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." But the one that she was thinking of right now was one of the more poetic ones. "Home is where the heart is, but the stars are made of latinum." Maybe she didn't want latinum, but this was supposed to be home and she loved Evria and appreciated everything she had done for her. But one day she was going to the stars, not for latinum but because they called to her. She would never be Bajoran, it was only a refuge for her, for a time. She was going to the stars. One day. Atan Lera Child Bajor S238312D10

((Bajor, Raijalla Valley)) Lukin had to admit, Bajor was beautiful. Oh it would never hold the same place in his heart as Cardassia, but it was easy to see why Cardassians so greatly desired to conquer it, and the benefits they would reap. And yet, he also knew the damage they had done. Looking at the scenery before them, there was no visual representation of all the ways the Occupation had affected the planet, but there were hints here and there in various ways still present in the culture and peoples of the planet. But Bajor had survived the Occupation, and she was as beautiful as ever. The people had survived the Occupation and were stronger for it. And Cardassia? It too would grow stronger, and without the sins of the past repeated, if he could do anything about it. In that moment, he wondered what it would be like to simply start walking and not stop, to wander among those flower studded fields, Arys’ hand in his on one side, Geleth’s on the other. It was a nice thought. Perhaps he would do so. But not yet. No, there was still much to do - at least, a lot of rubbing elbows. A moment could be taken, stolen, and it was that moment that Lukin took with Arys, who was trying to figure out if, since the Gala was not a mandatory event, she was attending as Lukin’s partner or as part of Taybrim’s crew, and if she was to wear a dress or her dress uniform. Zorkal: Are you ready? Trovek: Far from it. Makeup and hair were done, and would match both dress and uniform perfectly. It even fit to the robe she was still wearing. By contrast, he was actually ready, a suit of dark grey and deep green, the panels of the former overlaid on panels of the latter, and a silver belt clasped around his waist. Zorkal: You could simply go like that. He didn’t mind at all that she only had a robe on. In fact, he wouldn’t have minded removing said robe. Likely, though, it would be rejected as it really was neither the time nor the place…well, it wasn’t the time. Trovek: Very funny. ::she rolled her eyes:: But there is still time. And well, I was distracted. Arys glanced at the chrono, and indeed, there was time yet. She motioned for him to sit down on the bed next to her, and he did so. She hadn’t mentioned Jenis’ warning to Lukin, but she had taken action. A message had been sent to Aaron, essentially uninviting him, and another to Ferri, requesting her to change her plans and watch Geleth instead. Lukin followed and sat down, waiting for her to explain herself. Zorkal: By what? Arys hesitated. The one moment the answer was on the tip of her tongue, the other it was gone entirely, leaving only a bitter taste to remind of it. She stood behind her decision, but she was ashamed to have brought her family here, only to back out now. Trovek: Truthfully, I suppose I am asking for your forgiveness. She lowered her gaze, and a frown furled over the corners of Lukin’s mouth. As far as he knew, she’d done nothing that required forgiveness. Had something occurred? Had she made a decision that would affect him and Geleth without asking? Zorkal: Why? Trovek: I know how much family matters. I know how privileged I am to have a brother who is alive. And that I shouldn’t throw that away. Family. It was the most important thing to Cardassians, save for Cardassia itself. The family unit was generally forged with a strong bond. Men and women would weep over lost children, a matter of life on a harsh world that didn’t always have the resources it needed to support its people. It was an interesting contrast to the idea that while marriage could be for love, it was often for other reasons, and yet there was still that loyalty to the family that went beyond what others might expect from Cardassians. Lukin had lost his family. His mother, father, aunts and uncles, siblings and cousins were nothing but a distant memory. Zorkal: Arys, I’m not quite sure I know what you mean. She looked up at him and took his hands. Trovek: Something tells me it’s… ::she paused, and decided to start from the beginning:: I had offered Aaron to watch Geleth this evening… under supervision, of course but while we were at the market, one of his wives sought me out. She warned me. She said that he is exceedingly good at knowing what to say. And it’s true. He always has been. And maybe that was what was bothering Lukin as well. Arys had already stated that Aaron had said the right things’ and then asked to see Geleth. What was the motivation? Was it truly altruistic? Was it really because Geleth was part of the family? Zorkal: That makes him dangerous. His hands tightened their grip on hers a little, and she nodded. Zorkal: So what do you wish to do? Trovek: I… want to be careful. I don’t think I would want him to meet Geleth, or you. ::she paused:: Not yet. Maybe never. Maybe being as far away from his as possible is the best course of action. That was unexpected. Lukin had thought that Arys was on a mission to save her brother, but now she seemed uncertain. Zorkal: If that is what you wish. If it disappointed him, or if it displeased him, he didn’t say, and Arys was grateful for his support. She squeezed his hands and got up again. Trovek: If anything, I feel more guilty about telling Ferri she has to watch Geleth. I think she quite enjoyed spending time with the Ensigns. ::she smiled:: I’ve never seen her so chatty before. Zorkal: Then perhaps we shall invite them over along with her and she can chat more with them there. But while they were on Bajor, Geleth would either accompany him, Arys, or Ferri. Since the gala had diplomatic implications, Lukin was not inclined to miss it. Arys was a part of the crew who had been invited, so she could not miss it. Trovek: I suppise you’re right. ::she sighed:: Well, let’s get ready. Zorkal: I am already ready. I can not say the same about you. Though he personally rather liked her with the robe. Even better without it. She tilted her head and took off the robe, tossing it onto the bed. Trovek: Could go like this. Zorkal: My dear, as much as I would greatly enjoy taking advantage of your current condition, we are expected at an event and it would reflect poorly if we were not to show up. And I guarantee that I would not allow you to show up in such a state, no matter how glorious it may be. In truth she was, of course, not planning on going like… that. She turned and picked the dress uniform from the table. She would have preferred something else, after all, she was there as Starfleet Officer. Zorkal: I find that infinitely more appropriate. I will relieve you of it later. Trovek: Sometimes I wonder if you even still love me. ::she pouted, but wasn’t all too serious about it:: We haven’t had a real argument in ages. Stop being so agreeable and supportive, I hate it. Zorkal: I could order you not to go to the gala, but that would be counter productive. I’m sure we’ll find some reason to disagree sooner rather than later. But if you would do something about your attire, otherwise we may never reach our destination. There was a slight quirk at one corner of his mouth, just a hint, and then it grew a little wider. Rarely, if ever, were his features ever fashioned into an exuberance that others wore, but for him, his smiles to Arys and Geleth, born of sincere love and devotion, even if he might not admit it to others beyond that carefully cultivated circle, were a Cardassian defined level of joy.. Arys decided that yes, it was time to get dressed, and did so. Now clad in her fancy uniform she walked up to Lukin, moved a hand to the side of his face, on her lips a somewhat condescending smile. Trovek: It’s adorable when you think you’re in charge, my lizard. Zorkal: It’s amusing that you think I’m not. Lukin chuckled softly, then pressed his warm lips against her forehead, one hand sliding around her waist. Zorkal: Shall we? Trovek: We shall. She nodded, and together they left for the Gala. Flirtatious mood aside, Arys was still worried. To someone on the outside, Aaron’s reaction to the withdrawal of his invitation had been cool and collected, supportive of her decision even if a little disappointed. But Arys had seen something in his eyes, a glimmer of something that was neither supportive nor disappointed. Had reconnecting with him been a mistake? Lt. Trovek Arys Chief Medical Officer Starbase 118 Ops J239809TA4 And Dalin Lukin Zorkal Cardassian Ambassador Starbase 118 Ops M239008AD0

I really love how @Lt Aine Olive Sherlock makes use of this rather relaxed mission and weaves in bits and pieces of her B-Plot back on One-Eighteen. This is from PNPC Shevon Sherlock - She said I could and LT Aine Sherlock - New Two

I'm not sure who to credit for these comedic computer responses, but based on the OOC, I suspect it was @Noa T'Nessa Levinson. But @Esa_Darkkdust did a great job too. Well done overall! ((OOC: I’d like to personally thank Noa for finding the most random responses to my queries so that I could scramble them.)) ((Computer Core Main Access, Deck 12, USS Chin’toka)) While not normally her area of responsibility as Operations Chief, she had been involved with several of the major updates to the computer system Starfleet periodically issued since the Chin’toka’s launch. Naturally, when the latest update had crossed her desk, mere hours after arriving back on board, she’d simply picked up the job of installing it and ensuring it ran correctly and continued on her merry way. This was her first mistake. In the small print, at the end of the update readme, were the words “Do not use in conjunction with Bio-Neural Gel Pack Revision 13.1”. These words fell by the wayside as Esa set about installing the update, which completed, seemingly successfully. Now, hours later, she was laying flat on her back, tools in hand, buried under looms of cabling from the inside of the main computer access panel as she attempted to correct her mistake. Kiax: Computer, status report. Computer: Contest of Fedevision Betazed. Song winner 2394 is the ::uncomfortably long pause:: The Esa punched the underside of the console. Kiax: Stupid machine! As expected, the computer was still broken. The update had scrambled the core’s AI speech recognition and vocalisation subroutines, causing it to simply reply with, effectively, unrelated gibberish. Despite attempting to uninstall the update and subsequently performing a system-wide rollback, the error had persisted – requiring a manual fix. Which, by every account, was incredibly frustrating. If it wasn’t fixed before the end of the Captain’s sanctioned shore leave period, they’d have to end up in drydock, and Esa was not about to be responsible for that level of delay. She wiped a blackened-with-dirt hand across her sweat covered brow, leaving a streak across her forehead, and set about recalibrating the circuits once more. As she poked and prodded, she kept talking to the computer, much like a brain surgeon would with a patient, to ensure that whatever she did didn’t cause any unintentional side effects. Kiax: Computer, count from one to three. Computer: high cheese, tomatoes, is of ingredients, oven. origin dough a usually and in temperature, round, wood-fired other a Pizza Italian then a consisting various baked topped wheat-based of a flat often base at is leavened with which of traditionally dish oO Good lord. It’s completely lost its marbles. Oo Esa sighed, and continued working. Minutes turned into hours, and before she knew it, it was almost time for a duty shift swap. This problem needed fixing, and it needed fixing now. Kiax: Computer, are you okay? Computer: Please question the restate... She paused, and quirked an eyebrow. Kiax: Computer, can you tell me where we are? Computer: Beta Par'tha, Quadrant Expanse Well, at least it was now understanding the questions… But the sentences were still scrambled. A couple more tweaks with the processing matrix and things, she supposed, should be back to normal. Kiax: Computer, is the comms system functioning correctly? Computer: thin made tin. also is Tin spelled tinfoil, of a foil, foil Or not. As the case may be. Assuming that was, in fact, an affirmation of the comms system being active, she tapped her combadge and hoped for the best. With nothing but the usual active line chirp, Esa sighed with relief and spoke. Kiax: Commander Kiax to Ensigns One Zero One and Zero Zero Zero? 101 & 000: Response Kiax: I’m down in the main computer core access and… Well, I’ve uhh… ::Beat:: I’ve broken it. We’ve not met, but I hear you’re quite competent with electronics and programming… Care to help me get the old girl back to fighting form? 101 & 000: Response Kiax: Acknowledged, Kiax out. Well, at least there was hope. In the mean time, however… A few more tweaks… Kiax: Computer, what is the current stardate? Computer: majority letter of the in the these are languages The not Q from English, English not English In followed are anglicised usually Hebrew, letter Chinese, by the is sound a some found other alphabet, or Inuktitut, but exceptions. Q do representing there with Arabic, use that U, Yeah… She should wait for the experts… Lieutenant Commander Esa Kiax Chief Operations Officer USS Chin’toka – NCC 97187 A239511ED0

My character Arys might not be part of the Taybrim-Fanclub (she's a Dal/Foster-girl), but her writer is! I love reading those narration-heavy Taybrim sims that give us an understanding of how Sal loves doing what he does, but also highlight the burden of always being center stage. An absolute treat to read @Sal Taybrim , can't wait to drag Sal along to more missions

Yet another spicy-emotional interaction between @TLea and @John Kendrick. It's sweet, and it is a little sad. And well written! Once again, can't wait to see how this ends up developing as things progress in various directions.

Auw, touchy @Vylaa. ((Unknown Location, Rogue World)) Rosenblatt: Ark’Va is bringing your friends. If you’ll excuse me, I have some duties to attend to. Eileen slowly made her way through the shelters after leaving the new arrivals, her previously normal strides now reduced to short, shuffling steps, her limbs now feeling the weak achiness that now followed on the heels of exertion. She smiled and held up a hand of greeting to a small group of friends, but said nothing; her breaths were coming in short gulps and she needed every bit of air to make it to her quarters. The path ahead seemed to stretch in her mind, like space just before just before going to warp. A sixty meter walk seemed like a kilometer. She tired easily, forcing several rest stops where she watched her friends and their families go about their day. This was nothing new to the aging human, it often took her longer than it used to to make this walk. Buros had often implored her to start using a cane, saying it would make her daily rounds far easier, less tiring. He’d even handmade a lovely looking walking stick for her, but stupid vanity had meant it remained propped against a wall of their shared home. After a seeming eternity she reached their door and pushed the panel of woven tree branches aside before ducking inside. She took a brief moment to adjust to the pale glow from the shroomlights before sitting on the lone bed along the back wall. The single room was sparsely furnished, just some rough wooden shelves attached to the ad hoc walls made from a mix of old landing craft panels and planks of wood. They didn’t need anything else. Unlike many of the others, they hadn’t been blessed with children, so a second room hadn’t been needed. Not that she and Buros hadn’t wanted children, but consecutive miscarriages had taught them the hard way that it wasn’t in the cards. So Eileen had put her energy into other peoples children; making sure they were fed and clothed, happy and safe. That was how she’d found purpose in their unintended exile. She turned to one of the smaller shelves, over the bed, once her breathing returned to normal. She took down various bowls containing medicinal plants foraged from the planet. She began adding small amounts to a cup of water kept by the bed, feeling much like a witch brewing a potion. A touch of this, a dash of that… All she needed was a bit of eye of newt. The resulting concoction tasted as fowl as such a witches brew must surely taste, but it helped her condition, made it easier to get through the day without a vise squeezing her chest. She made a face. The concoction defied getting used to, like drinking mud. The door creaked aside again, and Buros peeked in before entering. His tall frame almost didn’t fit inside and his greying hair almost brushed the ceiling. He sat by Eileen’s side and took the cup from her hands and glanced at the undissolved dregs of her medicine left behind at the bottom. Ghamaar: We need to get you off this planet… Eileen glanced at the door. Rosenblatt: I won’t leave them behind… Eileen Rosenblatt and Buros Ghamaar Simmed by Ensign Vylaa zh'Tisav Engineering Officer USS Gorkon

I am so eager to see how this will unfold. And even if @Arys gave me a few spoilers I still think she might hold a surprise in her hand.