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  1. An absolutely devious and devastating finish to a long running side story about addiction and personal choice. Bravo! ((T’Mar’s Quarters, USS Constitution)) T’Mar and Saveron sat across from each other, each with a cup of their preferred beverage, the picture of cool Vulcan composure. T’Mar: I see. ::pause to sip her tea:: You have spoken to Commander Foster. Saveron: Affirmative. ::There was no logic in denying it.:: He informed me of your extended use of Lexorin following a medical procedure which, I understand, resulted in unwanted effects related to your natural empathy and telepathy. He watched her expression, not really expecting it to change but wanting to be certain that he had the story straight. There was no benefit in proceeding on incorrect assumptions. T’Mar: Succinct. So he had understood correctly. Saveron: Would you wish to talk about the procedure? The details were probably of more use to medical in the context of resolving the situation, but sometimes simply talking through a traumatic situation could be beneficial. Being heard was a powerful medicine. The clatter of the teacup indicated that he had, as some cultures put it, ‘hit a nerve’, which she tried to cover by carefully setting the cup down. There was definite trauma there, that tiny slip confirmed it, and he wondered how such a thing could have been allowed to happen. Perhaps one day she would have the confidence in him to let him work to reduce it’s impact, but first he had to build that confidence, that trust. She closed her eyes for a moment and he remained silent, giving her that space in time. T’Mar: Not particularly. It was done against my will. I was given medication to prevent me from blocking out the feelings and then subjected to a bombardment of emotions. It was.. Unpleasant to say the least. Vulcans were the masters of understatements. He couldn’t even imagine what it would be like, being subjected to the emotions of others, multiple others, against one’s will. But he would not ask her to relive that day now. Saveron: Will you describe for me the changes that you experienced following the procedure? T’Mar: I.. ::pause:: I had a strong feeling of violation, but I also experienced an inability to properly suppress my emotions as well as my empathy. Hardly surprising that T’Mar felt violated, and Saveron suspected it could well have led to a distrust of other health professionals, whether consciously or unconsciously, which would have reduced even further her desire to seek the follow up she should have had. The anger that welled on her behalf was heavily suppressed. Now was a time of logic, and through logic, hopefully, the gentle unwinding of the knot T’Mar had gotten herself into. Saveron: Disagreeable. ::He empathised.:: And for these symptoms you were prescribed Lexorin? T’Mar: Indeed. I was hesitant at first, however, it was necessary. The Counsellor set his empty cup aside and laced long fingers together. Saveron: Entirely understandable. ::There are times when such support was beneficial; but it was never meant to be permanent.:: And I anticipate that the medication has been supportive. The question is; how to do you wish to proceed from this point? Saveron wasn’t aware of that particular part of her conversation with Cade, but T’Mar was exactly right when she insisted to Foster that no treatment would be efficacious, no effort to resolve her addiction succeed, if she was not willing. Given that she had been an unwilling participant in the original procedure, consent and active participation was particularly important. T’Mar: I am quite content continuing on the way I have been. Saveron: By which, you mean continuing treatment with Lexorin? He paraphrased to be certain that he understood her. T’Mar: There seems to be this notion that I am doing something wrong, but this medication helps me, Commander. The defensive tone of her words was obvious. Deep down, she knew that it wasn’t the right answer, and she’d heard accusation from him where he’d deliberately offered none. Oh, he could have, but he anticipated that Cade might have already taken that path, and was possibly not the first. He was deliberately walking a different one, since clearly the other had not been efficacious. Saveron: One presumes that others have championed this notion, based on the recommended treatment protocols. T’Mar: That’s a matter of opinion. The protocols were, technically, a matter of opinion, but a several very educated, expert opinions. Saveron: The general medical opinion is that long-term Lexorin use is to be avoided. He said it to see what she’d say to that, whether she’d acknowledge the current medical wisdom. T’Mar: I had hoped that you of all people could understand the complexity of my situation. And that was a no. Saveron: I am endeavouring to do so. ::He assured her evenly.:: I have never had another’s emotions forced on me, nor known what it is to be perceptive to the minds of others at range. ::Every telepathic contact he’d experienced had been individual, and consensual.:: I… cannot truly begin to comprehend such a violation, or the after effects. ::He admitted.:: Only that they would be intolerable. I understand that you would not wish to endure them. T’Mar: ? He inclined his head in acknowledgement. Saveron: I collated these documents for you, in anticipation of your preference, to provide you with relevant information. He offered over a PADD for her to take. T’Mar: ? Saveron: I have included several studies of the long-term effects of Lexorin, including a metanalysis of the available data. In addition there is an account from a patient who was under palliative care for a terminal illness, and also on Lexorin, which provides a more personal rendering, so that you know what to expect. He spoke in the same, even tones, entirely professional, even dispassionate, in the way of their kind. A sharp contrast to Commander Foster. The analyses detailed the relative effectiveness of the medication over time, the cumulative neurotoxicity and eventual progression of synaptic breakdown. Sopek had documented his mental condition in great detail, until he was no longer able to do so. Because that was the reality of what T’Mar was facing if she continued the way she had been, as she wished to. And since they were being logical, stoic Vulcans, he was simply providing her with information with which she could make informed decisions and plan for her future. Unfortunately it wouldn’t be a long one. T’Mar: ? Saveron: I can provide a prescription of Lexorin for you; it will be dependent on quarterly neurological scans. ::And be set to cancel immediately, should a scan be missed.:: Once the scans show neurological degradation, you will be discharged from Starfleet on medical grounds. Not only for her own sake, but for that of her colleagues. T’Mar: ? Saveron: Depending on your current synaptic state and frequency of use, and based on those studies, I estimate that you will have between two and five Standard years of service, before that occurs. The synaptic degradation curve is exponential, so once it becomes detectable you will need to enter care. I have included a list of care facilities that specialise in telepaths’ medical needs. The one on Betazed is particularly highly regarded, but has a long waiting list, so I would recommend submitting your application now. Five years, maximum, and she wouldn’t be able to look after herself. T’Mar was absolutely right, it was her choice. But the important thing about the freedom to choose was that it came with the responsibility to accept the consequences. That was a lot of life to miss out on. T’Mar: ? TAG Commander Saveron Counsellor USS Constitution-B R238802S10 ((T’Mar’s Quarters, USS Constitution))
  2. ((Corridor, Deck 6 - USS Juneau)) What a way to spend one's holidays. Maxwell Traenor had allotted several weeks of his pent-up earned leave in order to attend a major symposium on Starbase 821. There was an exotic and unique discovery in the Dialrin system in the Aavaro Wilds, and scientists from around the quadrant were being drawn in for study. Maxwell was attending the symposium out of personal curiosity rather than as a professional requirement, unlike many of the Starfleet physicists and geologists and xenoarcheologists and all other kinds of 'ologists' being transferred to the starbase for the task. His path from his ship's area of operations to the symposium was a veritable tour of the Federation, spanning almost the full breadth of the Alpha Quadrant. The milk run needed to transit the route had Maxwell hitching rides on 5 starships and 2 transports over the course of 9 days. Finally, though, he was on his last leg on the Juneau and he was content relaxing in the luxurious guest quarters on the relatively new starship. Until the klaxons started, of course. Maxwell was off duty, almost technically a civilian, though of course not really. A Starfleet officer on a Starfleet vessel or installation was always to be ready for duty, especially in an emergency. So despite having absolutely no idea what was going on, or what was where, or even if he could be useful in any way, Maxwell struggled into a uniform and exited his quarters. Random Lieutenant: Sir, didn't you hear the hail? Hurry, we need to get to Transporter Room 4! Traenor: But- The gaggle of officers led by the interjecting lieutenant had swept him up in their group before he could even catch his breath. Were they abandoning ship? What were their orders? His collective knowledge of personnel on the Juneau resulted in three - the transporter chief who had welcomed him aboard, the Ops ensign who had checked in on him in his guest quarters, and of course the bartender in the lounge. And he didn't even know their names, likely wouldn't even recall their faces from a lineup. Maxwell still didn't know what was going on as he was all but frog-marched onto the transporter pad. He couldn't even glean what was going on though the excited chatter of the others who crowded the pad alongside him. Transporter Tech: Prepare for transport. Traenor: But- ((Corridor, Deck 4 - USS Arrow)) Wherever it was that Traenor and his gaggle had materialized, it was Starfleet through and through. The corridor design was unmistakable. There was much to be said about the housekeeping, however. His comment card at the end of his trip would certainly reflect that. It was dark, dingy, dirty, and most egregiously, hot. Those who had beamed over with him scattered in all directions, leaving him standing there bewildered. A different officer, a JayGee in operations colors, approached rapidly and before Maxwell could utter a sound, she shoved an engineering kit into his chest. Engineer: Commander, this way! Traenor: But- Engineer: ::without looking over her shoulder to ensure Maxwell was following - which of course he was, because what else did he have to do?:: I know, I know, not your specialty. But this is triage, just of a mechanical kind. Do your best, sir, and start with that junction over there. The officer pointed one direction and walked another, leaving Maxwell alone and no less bewildered. Dammit, he was a physicist, not an EPS plumber! But, an emergency was an emergency, so to work he went. He even managed to keep grumbling to a relative minimum. ((Bridge, Deck 1 - USS Arrow)) Ugh. Grimy and sweaty. Not a scientist's natural state. Well, maybe if one was a speleologist, but Maxwell was not one of those. The bridge of this vessel, which he had finally learned was called the Arrow, was marginally better than the working conditions that he had endured belowdecks. The lights were back up, there weren't techs lying under every elevated surface fixing things, and there didn't seem to be too much panic among the resident officers. The center chair was supporting a man in a blue collar, who Maxwell had never seen before and would likely never see again. He shuffled over to stand tangentially before the officer, and waited until the object of his attention noticed the weary and discomfited scientist before him. Traenor: Sorry about your ship, Commander. But the officers from the Juneau seem to have most of the big problems back under control. If you would be so kind as to give me leave to return to the Juneau, I'll be on my way. Collins: response Traenor: But- He looked mutely and slack jawed between the viewscreen and this harbinger of disastrous news, as if by sheer will he could beckon the Juneau back from wherever it was off chasing or doing or whatever. Now how in the hells was he supposed to get to the starbase in time for the symposium? And why oh why did he have to be so nosey as to leave his quarters? Collins: response Of course, Traenor was fully aware that any officer at any time could be commandeered and pressed into service wherever they found themselves, which was the automatic reaction that had lured him out of those now long gone comfortable quarters on the Juneau. It's just... well, this was supposed to be his holidays! It also meant that he might have to explain to this fine officer that no, he was not trying to be insubordinate, it's just that he should never have been here in the first place. Unlike the Juneau officers who had been specifically ordered to be here, he was... well... just along for the ride? Traenor: ::defeated:: Well, that's that then. I don't suppose we'll get anywhere near Starbase 821 in the next, oh, 24 hours or so? Collins: response Traenor: ::shrugging, determined to make the most of it:: I'll make myself useful around here then, sir, if you've anything in mind. You won't find me on the Juneau's roster, since I'm transient, but you can find my service record if you search a bit further out. If you have need of a scientist, then I'll do what I can. Maxwell Traenor, at your service. He wasn't going to make the symposium after all. He was on an unknown ship, added to the roster at least until it was returned to a starbase for the desperate repairs it needed. His vacation was shot. But! It was a bit of an adventure, and Maxwell was willing to tough it out - after a hot sonic shower and a hot meal. There *was* going to be a shower and a meal soon, right? Collins: response TAG/TBC -- Commander Maxwell Traenor Chief Vacation Specialist, USS Arrow A239111MT0
  3. I'll make a confession: I'm a verbose person. I begin to write and I easily exceed the number of words I had intended. That's why SIMs like this marvel me. It has many good things and, its conciseness is only one of them. In a very succinct way, without dialogue and with a very short and elegant description, it shows us a very intimate moment of a character that, in a usual way, is a force of nature. With very few lines and in a very subtle way it reflects what past events have meant for the character, how they still weigh on her and what she is dealing with. All in a missive to home, a sweetened message to really conceal what is in her mind. A true delight for its succinctness, its intimacy and the vulnerability it displays. Thanks for this gem @Addison MacKenzie ! ____________________________________________________ (( Room 0502, Deck 5, USS Thor )) Addison sat on the couch in her quarters with her feet up and re-read the letter composed on her PADD. To: Priscilla MacKenzie, 34 Linnaean Street, Cambridge, MA, Earth From: Lt. Cmdr. Addison MacKenzie, M.D., Ph.D., FASFS Hi Mom, I know, I know – I don’t write or call enough, and you’re right, so let’s just get that out of the way now. Things have been crazy, as you well know from the bits I’ve been able to send you. I’m on my third assignment in a year and a half, which either means they really like me, or they really hate me. Time will tell, I’m sure. We recently got took on several new junior officers, including a Vulcan doctor. While she’s a colossal pain in my [...], she’s an excellent addition to this crew, and so too for medicine as a whole, I’m sure. The rest of the lot are a good bunch and will make fine officers. Hopping the galaxy does have its perks, though – I had the best burger of my life at a greasy spoon on Ketar V. While I wouldn’t recommend The Shoals as a destination hotspot, these burgers might be worth it… I know Ryan would love them. Sorry I don’t have time to write more. Try not to worry too much – Geoff is still here and keeps me in line. Give Dad and the bunch a big squeeze for me. Next chance I get, I’ll be home to visit. Promise. All my love, Addy She decided not to mention the part where she had been abducted and abused, though it was likely her parents already knew – they always seemed to have a way of finding things out. Addison took a deep breath and hit send. She desperately hoped she was able to keep that promise. --- Lieutenant Commander Addison MacKenzie, M.D., Ph.D., FASFS Chief Medical Officer USS Thor V239601AM0
  4. ((Starbase 118, Marine Training Holodeck 3)) Training was a mainstay for a Marine, and even with the hangover from the excursion into Little Risa, Anthony could not let himself rest. After selecting some equipment from the armory, he made his way to the training holodecks exclusive to the shipboard Marines. He selected a training program and entered when the doors opened. He found himself on a rocky hilltop overlooking a grassy meadow approximately 80 meters below. There were targets set at random distances, some clearly visible to the naked eye, some not so easy to see because of their distance from him. The targets were approximately one meter tall by one-half meter wide and rectangular in shape. All were black in color, silhouetting nicely contrasted by the bright green grass. Anthony unrolled his pad and took a prone position on it. He placed the Type 32A Operational Support Rifle in front of him, extending the bi-pod for a rest. His wind meter told him there was a slight left to right breeze at his position and the ambient temperature was a comfortable 19 degrees C. The humidity was right at 23 percent, making the air dry by relative comparison. The sun in the simulation was behind him, which tactically was not the best situation, but it made it far easier to see his targets, not having to look against the glare. All things considered, the conditions were perfect. Taking a position behind the rifle, he set his PADD next to his left forearm on the ground in front of him. Anthony tapped a tab on the PADD, opening his notes. He had never used the Type 32A OSR before, so he would be starting with fresh DOPE. DOPE, or Data Of Previous Engagement, for lack of a better term, is the data recorded from rounds fired at a range. It is used as a reference for the sniper to estimate what elevation and windage adjustments must be made to ensure a first round hit on the target. The optics on the Type 32A OSR were enhanced using active scanning technology, but the weapon still relied upon the user to deliver the projectile accurately onto the target. Anthony placed his cheek against the side of the weapon’s stock and allowed his right eye to focus through the scope. He kept his left eye open to avoid losing his situational awareness. It was a comfortable position and he allowed himself to relax against the ground and the gun. From his position he, he had a complete view of the field of fire. Anthony focused on one of the targets and the range finder in the optic indicated the black rectangle was 800 meters from his position. Taking in a deep breath, he held it for about four seconds before letting it out through pursed lips. When he had expelled the air, he slipped his finger onto the trigger and began to press. He could feel the slack leave the trigger and the pressure against the weapon’s sear. Only a few ounces more pressure and the weapon bucked lightly against his shoulder. Through the viewfinder, Anthony watched the projectile strike the center of the target, about 10 cm lower than the reticle indicated the point of impact should have been. He entered the information into his PADD for the first shot, and without making any changes to the equipment, repeated the ritual for a second shot. The second round impacted in nearly the same place, touching the impact of the first. After entering this information into his PADD, he repeated again and fired a third. The results were the same, and the three round group told him all he needed to know about the adjustment on the optic. After entering the DOPE into the PADD, he adjusted the elevation on the scope and settled in for another three rounds. This time, the point of aim and point of impact were consistent. Checking his wrist chronometer, he realized he had been lying in the same position for over an hour. Oh, how time flies… 2Lt. Anthony Meeks Marine Officer 292nd TMR Starbase 118 Ops/USS Narindra R238801IG0
  5. Oh my goodness! The masterfulness of this is beyond words. XD So good. It's not hard to immensely dislike. Well crafted, @Toryn Raga ((Mephinii Spaceport, Illara Prime)) Zhelrad: Oh. Look. More Starfleet. Are you renovating the Administrator's office in preparation for your invasion? ::She spat at the Atlanteans, then glanced to the Naylari:: There you are Brex. I believe you've been avoiding me Representative. Brex: ::smiles:: Of course not, Ambassador. I very much enjoyed our conversation earlier. I was simply consulting with the Federation officers on important matters. Ganarvuss: There’s no invasion here, Minister. We have been assisting Representative Brex with conference security, as requested by the Freeworld Council prior to our arrival on Ilara. Marie: ::Nodding her head in agreement:: We are only here to help. Minister nothing more. ::Smiles:: While the meddlesome Starfleeters attempted to assuage her with platitudes of their honest intent, the Minister scowled at them all. She'd seen the reports on this Atlantis. She knew what had happened on Tibro. Of their involvement in inciting a coup between the Grand Admiral turned 'ambassador' and other decent Valcarians. The facade of good intentions and honor, selflessness was something she could see through. All of it was nothing more than a polite means of conquest. But it wouldn't be the Federation that would own the Expanse. No, the Valcarian Empire had the divine right to rule over all. Brex: I apologize, Minister, that these matters have resulted in me being indisposed. However, as soon as the situation has been resolved, I would be happy to speak with you on whatever topic you’d like. Logan: response Zhelrad: This is a trade conference. And we are both trade representatives, are we not? It's in poor form for such proceedings to ignore your duties lax my dear Brex. We can't have you following Treyla's example here. ::She said, taking another jab at her aide:: Treyla remained silent, but glared daggers at the Valcarian's back. Marie: ::glance in Lephi direction and then to the others:: Let us just create some distance and please refrain from snide comments. The young junior officer's comment elicited a derisive scowl from the Valcarian woman. She looked the brown haired Terran up and down slowly, the way one might eye an unruly pet that was doing something out of turn. That the low ranked individual would even deign to speak to her as if they were anywhere near equal status was an affront itself. Ganaravuss: On the contrary, Minister, Representative Brex has been attending to his duties as security liaison exceptionally well, especially given the absence of the station’s security director. Logan: response Zhelrad: Convenient that the Administrator is suddenly unavailable right after the Federation shows up. Marie: ::speaking softly to Zhelrad:: Do you not think any negotiation would be better in the open? where no words can be taken as insult. Lephi: ::muttering:: We can probably handle this without you, Representative. The Valcarian was now actively ignoring the brunette in teal uniform. She was of the lowest rank to be considered an officer among her own organization and as such, not worthy of speaking with such an illustrious personage such as Myrine Zhelrad. She didn't see a single Starfleeter of appropriate rank among those assembled. Unless the scant few pips on their collars marked any of them for Admirals, or Commodores. Even a Captain would be something. So she kept her focus on the Naylari. Ganarvuss: Indeed, Representative. I would certainly prefer to question the Minister’s staff without her watching over their shoulders. Brex: ::steps forward:: Now, let us all take a step back. I’m certain Minister Zhelrad is just as concerned with ascertaining what has happened here. ::to Zhelrad:: If you would be so kind, we would like to speak with each member of your staff separately. Zhelrad: I care not for the excuses of lesser beings. ::She glares at Logan:: I'm here to talk trade. Now, shall we find some place to converse away from unscrupulous eyes, or do the Naylar have no interest in commerce? ::She gave a hard look at Ganarvuss:: And you'll do no such thing. My staff are barely competent as it is without being detained from their duties by the likes of you. Brex: ::inclines his head:: We do have others we are looking to speak with as well. However, as this is still an ongoing investigation, I’m not at liberty to reveal who these individuals are. I’m certain you understand, Minister. ::smiles:: We wouldn’t want any perceptions of bias nor would we want to risk tipping off the party actually responsible should they be nearby listening. The Valcarian's brow raised but that irate scowl did not diminish in the slightest. Lephi: Representative Brex has been a boon to our investigation so far, I'm certain that once this is resolved, commerce discussions can be held in a good natured way. For now, please let us work. Marie: ::Gently placing her hand on minster shoulder:: Indeed. We only wish to figure what has happened here. Surely you can understand that? The instant she felt the woman's hand on her shoulder she recoiled as if she had been burned by acid. The sheer look of incredulity on her face spoke volumes. If it wasn't evident before, the woman considered herself of a station far beyond all of them and to be touched by one of them unwarranted was akin to being bitten by a stray animal. Zhelrad: You'd do well to keep your hands to yourself, girl. ::She sneered:: You may fool the others but I know what's going on here. Using these disturbances to assert yourselves in these proceedings. The Empire will not take such interference lightly. Logan: Response Ganarvuss: Regarding the safety of the conference and the whereabouts of its security director. Surely nothing that concerns someone of such pomp and circumstance as yourself, Minister Myrine Zhelrad. Myrine's gaze snapped to the woman in the gold collar and her brow furrowed, gaze narrowing on the woman. She knew a condescending comment when she heard one, the Minister had loosed more than her share in her lifetime. Brex: I believe we have wasted enough of your precious time, Minister. Certainly you have more pressing matters to attend to. ::glances at Treyla:: We will speak with your aide first I think. Zhelrad: I will not forget this insult. ::She said in a cold tone, glancing to all of them in turn:: Fine. Take her. She barely does her job as it is, I'll hardly notice she'd absent. With that the Valcarian Minister stormed down the corridor in a huff. These Starfleeter's were an insidious and encroaching weed, threatening to ruin the Empire's divine rule. Someone would have to rip them out before long. Myrine left Treyla and the others behind and went back into the common area. Perhaps she could still salvage this day and arrange some trade deals. And when she was done, she'd have to send a communique back to the homeworld. The Emperor must be told of just how much of a threat this Federation was to his divine rule. END ========================================================= Minister Myrine Zhelrad Valcarian Trade Representative Antar & Treyla Vosh Illaran Adjunct and Assistant to Minister Myrine Zhelrad simmed by Lieutenant Commander Toryn Raga Mission Specialist/Second Officer USS Atlantis NCC-74682 PodCast Team Member Training Team Member Atlantis Staff Member Writer ID: A239410TR0 https://wiki.starbase118.net/wiki/index.php?title=Toryn_Raga
  6. @Lephi I genuinely laughed at Lephi's reaction to Brex!! ((Security Director’s Office, Mephinii Spaceport, Illara Prime, Par’Tha Expanse)) Ganarvuss: Captain Logan, I’d like to take Ensign Yalu or Lephi with me to talk to the suspects. Logan: ? Lephi paused for a brief second, considering her situation as she stood on the balls of her feet reflexively, trying not to look too eager. She was weighing the pros and cons methodically in her head trying to figure out where she would be most helpful. Lephi: All due respect to Ensign Yalu, I truly feel I would be better suited to come along. I've been thinking about it and although my hand to hand combat is rusty, my diplomacy is a strong point. Ganarvuss: Is that so? Lephi was almost certain that there had been some disbelief in the tone from Ganarvuss, but decided that it wasn't worth making a scene with the Ensign over. Besides, she reasoned that Ganarvuss' hesitation was likely based on lack of knowledge rather than malice. Lephi: I might be an engineer in Starfleet, but I've brokered many deals in my short life, and you can't do that unless you're good with your words and reading people. Logan: Response Yalu: I’m happy to go wherever I am needed, Ensign Ganarvuss. If you’d like someone to stay behind and work with Dr. Nidhar’s team, I can do that. But if you think I could be of use elsewhere, I mean, not that staying here wouldn’t be useful, I just... Brex: ::inclines his head and turns to Ganarvuss:: With all respect, Ensign, I agree with your Ensign Lephi. His shrewdness might be beneficial. ::pauses:: Also, as I stated to your other officer, I feel I would be of more use with the interview process. Dr. Nidhar has the situation well in hand here and your doctor could be beneficial to her investigation here since he’s the one who discovered the thoron radiation. Lephi turned and shot the Representative a hard glance. oO His shrewdness? His?! Oo Lephi was fuming. She instinctively reached up, gently feeling around her ears. She always had been self conscious about their size. Typical Ferengi females had lobes that were much smaller. She stifled a growing urge to unleash a verbal lashing on this Freeworlder. No, this needed to be handled professionally. She couldn't end up in the brig on her first mission. Lephi: ::speaking through thinly veiled irritation:: Thank you for that ringing endorsement, Representative. Ganarvuss: Alright, then. You’re hired, Lephi. Dr. Yalu, I agree with Brex on this. Your insights could be most helpful to the forensics team. Lephi felt herself tip ever so slightly as she adjusted, allowing both feet to once again be firmly and flatly on the ground. Now it was time to shine. Although she was great at computer languages, her favourite language remained negotiation. Lephi: ::not taking her eyes off of Brex:: Thank you, Ensign, an interrogation is just an intense negotiation, after all. On Ferenginar we just call that an average Tuesday afternoon. You'll get your answers. She hoped she didn't sound too intense in her reply, with her emotions on a roller coaster she struggled to filter her tone. Moderately worried that she was tanking her Starfleet career before it ever got off the ground, she turned her gaze back to Ganarvuss and added in an attempt to be less intense Lephi: Thank you, Ensign Ganarvuss. I hope we make a good team. I look forward to working alongside your very capable self. oO Rule of Acquisition number 33, it never hurts to suck up to the boss! Oo She thought to herself with a wry chuckle, a faint smile turning the corners of her lips upwards slightly. Yalu: Understood Logan: Response Brex: ::nods:: Of course. ::smiles:: It is your decision. I will help however I’m needed. Ganarvuss: You made a good point earlier, Representative. I think it would go a long way to have you with us when we interview the suspects. Lephi: oO Oh this is just perfect. Oo ::deadpan:: It'll be great to have you along Representative. Brex: Response Logan: Response Nidhar: ::pauses:: I wouldn’t mind the extra hand. Lephi was impressed with how quickly Ganarvuss was able to take control of the situation and get things done. She filed that away as a mental note. She reasoned Ganarvuss might make a good ally to have. Ganarvuss: You got it, Doctor. Representative, Lephi: Let’s go. Logan/Nidhar: Response Lephi: I'm on your six. Brex: ? Ilana led the way out of the office and Lephi followed closely behind. They hadn't made it very far before Lephi was forced to stop on short notice, almost running into Ganarvuss who was turning back to face them. Ganarvuss: I imagine the place to start looking would be the main conference center. Lephi: Seems like the best starting point, I agree. I know it's not my place, but if I may, perhaps we should split up to try and cover more ground? It is time sensitive after all. She was determined to put some distance between herself and the thoughtless representative. Of course he'd think she was a male! She was good at being Ferengi! Lephi wondered how he'd feel if she were to make some broad assumption about his species. Brex: ? Ganarvuss: That makes sense. Lephi: Alright, I have my orders, I will accomplish them. Lephi knew she sounded a bit distant and cold, but she hoped that her colleagues would attribute that to readying for the task at hand and not that her feelings were hurt. Ganarvuss: Response Brex: ? ---------------------- Ensign Lephi Engineering Officer USS Atlantis NCC-74682 A239706L10
  7. A fun little perspective on the ongoing courtroom drama! ((Starbase 104 - Courtroom)) Along with his quick pit stop for a snack Scooter took a stroll to stretch his legs. He had been spending so much time recently digging through various files that he had managed to secure (don't ask him how), messaging people involved in the case for more information and comment (with almost zero luck), and writing draft after draft of the story to date. He needed a little exercise and some time out of that dark FNS writer's room. His PADD gave a beep letting him know he had an incoming message. He removed his PADD from his jacket pocket and looked at the message. The trial was resuming. He decided that exercise back to the courtroom would have to be enough for today. He needed to get to the courtroom to hear some of the testimony to see how it connected to his findings so far. He slipped in quietly while the prosecution was finishing cross examination of one of the witnesses and took a seat in the back row. The defense attorney rose and addressed the court. Maddox: I have one more witness; Commander Maxwell Traenor. He has joined the crew in Captain Rajel’s absence and with him, I would like to introduce new evidence. ::looking between Aubrey and Skepus:: Before I proceed. I want it on record that three separate Starbase 104 engineering and science teams have reviewed the findings and concur that they are authentic and accurate. Scooter sat up a little higher in his chair. It seemed a little odd to him that the prosecution would provide a preemptive explanation of the evidence they were about to present so he figured this must be something good. Really good. Well, depending on your point of view and Scooter's point of the view was whatever story got him the promotion. Maddox: Here are the original, undoctored orders for the USS Constitution-B’s mission to Zeltin IV. It shows that Captain Rajel was ordered to negotiate trade. Commander Traenor, can you walk us through how you and Ensign Foley uncovered this as well as walk us through the details of the document? oO Oh this is better than I thought! Oo Traenor: The metadata obscuration protocols and packet traffic trace details are appendicized in the presentation to the court. I can elaborate on the technicalities if required, but otherwise will condense our findings. On Stardate 239706.01, on the orders of Commander Maddox and with the authorization of the court, Ensign Chip Foley and I completed a thorough parse of related mission communication logs embedded in the USS Constitution's computer core. File size metadata inconsistencies, elaborated in Appendix I, between Starfleet Command and the Constitution were noted. Following the packet data routing outlined in Appendix II, it was found that the communication files in question were altered on Stardate 239704.26. Scooter was a little lost in the technobable jargon that was coming out of the man's mouth but he was putting the basic pieces together. Someone had altered the orders to frame Fleet Captain Rajel. Traenor: Despite having a skilled decrypter in Ensign Foley giving me assistance, the terminal point metadata had been expertly obscured. We were able to ascertain that the alteration had occurred from someplace within Starfleet Headquarters, but no further. The instigator of the comm log alterations had sufficiently covered their tracks. That is, except for one small overlooked packet regarding travel distances to Zeltion IV. Once we were able to parse that metadata, it gave us the key to unlock the altered metadata on the rest of the communication logs at question. We were able to not only unlock the original orders as they were received, but were able to pinpoint the terminal responsible for the alterations, and narrow it all down to one individual, thanks to that one overlooked message. Skepus: Your Honor, I– … This is highly irregular! Scooter was shocked. This was not the reaction that you would expect from a JAG officer, and a Vulcan one at that. The prosecution's case was quickly falling apart. Aubrey/Any: response Maddox: And with whom did this document originate? How high up the chain of command are they? Traenor: The key document, which allowed us to verify the alterations of all other listed comm documents, originated from the terminal of Lieutenant Dolen, personal adjunct of Admiral Fraser. You will find their dossiers and their personal and professional links to the Zeltion IV mission in Appendix III. Maddox: Please keep in mind the three independent teams reviewed this prior to my submission into evidence. Scooter couldn't believe his ears and from the sounds of the courtroom either could anyone else in the room. Did he just hear what he thought he heard? The office of Admiral Faser had given the original orders and changed them when things went south to save face as he set off into the sunset years of his life? Scooter thought he had a heck of a story when this was about Fleet Captain Rajel but the REAL story trumped that by quite a bit. Aubrey: response Maddox: ::bowing her head::Thank you Commander Traenor. I have no further questions. Skepus: Your Honor, in light of recent evidence, I withdraw my case. :: To Aria, cooly :: Perhaps we will resume this at a later date. Boom. And there it was. The case against Fleet Captain Rajel was over and Scooter was sure the case against Admiral Fraser was just starting. He was hoping for a little downtime after writing this story but it was about to get even better. Aubrey/Rajel: response The room was more than a little chaotic at the moment. People were standing. Some were hugging. The room was buzzing with various conversations. Skepus was obviously frustrated and doing his Vulcan best not to let his emotions get the better of him but anyone watching him didn't need to guess at the inner turmoil he was going through. Scooter wanted a comment and did his best to make his way through the crowd of people. McGee: Excuse me. Excuse me! He continued to gently push his way through as he made his way to Maddox and Rajel. The two were understanbly surrounded by people to whom this case was very personal. McGee: Well let me be one of the first to congratulate you both on the outcome of the case. Maddox/Rajel: ? McGee: Scooter McGee. Reporter with Federation News Service. I've been covering the case but nobody really wanted to talk on the record while the trial was still underway. Now that the trial is over can I *finally* get a comment before we all turn our attention to Admiral Fraser? Maddox/Rajel: ? McGee: Your crew seems very devoted to you as shown by their commitment to helping prove your innocence. And I must say I am extremely impressed by their skill and resourcefulness. You are lucky to have them. Maddox/Rajel/Any: ? -tag/tbc- PNPC Scooter McGee Reporter, Federation News Service as simmed by Lieutenant Junior Grade Jacob Horne Engineering USS Constitution-B C239408JH0
  8. I thought this was a very well written Emergency Medical sim and enjoyed the details and medical know-how very much. (( Main Medical, Deck 7, USS Juneau )) Oddas: =/\= Response =/\= Nicholotti: Well, now we know. Indobri: Yes. Let’s hope it’s not that severe. But we had best be ready just in case. Karise began to direct the staff and was elbows deep in the preparations when the Ambassador caught her attention and directed it to a nearby biobed. She could see the residual traces of a blue transporter beam nearly gone. The body laying in the bed was in a full EV suit and was unmoving. One arm and a foot were dangling off the side of the bed and the body was so still it appeared lifeless. The only real information she had about the patient was the gender was clearly female. As she neared, she could see telltale signs of scorching in various areas of the suit. The Ambassador began trying to peel the suit off, but it seemed to be fused together. As she got closer, two more realizations came to her. First, the patient didn’t seem to be breathing. Second, she couldn’t sense much mental activity. None, in fact. Indobri: She’s not breathing! Get that suit off her now! She had completely forgotten rank now. This was a true emergency and all of her training was now in full tilt. She activated the monitors on the bed and checked the vital. Nothing. Nicholotti: Already on it! As Karise began to assess the woman, Ambassador Nicholotti began to work on the suit. Somehow, she had found a cutting tool and was now cutting chunks off. All indicators showed that this woman was either dead or so close to it that the monitors couldn’t tell through the suit’s shielding. Her primary concern was whether she was getting any air at all since the EV suit appeared to be completely nonfunctional. Indobri: Is she getting air? Nicholotti: The suit appears dead. That means no air, but I can’t say for how long. This was not good. Whoever this was didn’t have long. Even if she was dead, there was still a chance she could revive her depending on her condition and how long it had been. But that suit needed to come off first. In fact, she needed the helmet off now. Indobri: I don’t mean to rush you, Ambassador, but do you think you can get that helmet off first? She needs air. Nicholotti: Response Properly chastised, Karise did indeed offer a hand and in relatively short order the helmet had been removed. As soon as it came off, Karise’s heart nearly stopped. oO Nyka?! Sweet Dikken, she’s blue from hypoxia. Oo Indobri: Nurse! Triox compound. Stat! The nurse handed Karise a hypo full of the requested compound and she injected it directly into Nyka’s neck. Next, she grabbed a respirator and placed it over her face. oO Come on, Nyka. Breathe! Oo Nearby, the Ambassador had nearly removed the entire suit. The engineer was badly injured. Karise had noted several severe bruises and some burns that presumably came from whatever source had burned the suit and fused the helmet on. Indobri: If I can’t stimulate brain wave activity, her body is not going to take the oxygen from the respirator. :: turns to the nurse :: I need the neurostimulators. Once the nurse had handed them to her, she placed one on either side of her forehead and activated them. Looking at the bio-monitor she was satisfied it was doing it’s job. Hopefully, if it hadn’t been too long, the brain would start to fire on it’s own. Meanwhile, the neurostimulators would provide the neural charges needed to maintain synaptic activity. Next was the cardiovascular system. Nyka’s heart had stopped also. That was to be expected if there had been some sort of electrical discharge. In fact, that could explain a large amount of the injuries she was seeing. She reached over to the medical tray that had been brought over and grabbed the cardiostimulator and placed it over Nyka’s heart. oO Come on, Nyka. Come back. Oo Nicholotti: Response Indobri: Yes. I don’t know what happened, but this looks like she took a heavy jolt from a high voltage discharge. Or maybe even several such jolts. I wish I knew what she had been doing. Nicholotti: Response Indobri: Now, I continue charging her heart and brain until they decide to fire on their own. :: to nurse :: Tricordrazine. 2 ccs. The nurse measured out the requested amount and handed her the hypo. Karise pressed it to the redhead’s temple and depressed the activator. Looking at the bio monitor, she saw the synaptic responses begin to fire. But she would need to wait and see if that was merely due to the combination of the Tricordrazine and the neurostimulators or if they were beginning to fire on their own. Until her brain was active again, her heart wouldn’t beat on its own. Nor her lungs breath on their own. oO Come on. Take it. Oo Lieutenant Karise Indobri Medical Officer USS Juneau NX-99801 A239412S10
  9. I am loving all these looking into each crew's mind in the aftermath of a difficult mission! ((Quarters, Habitat Ring, Starbase 118)) ((Time: Shortly after returning to his quarters from the Narendra)) (OOC: I'm not familiar with using FOA, please do correct me if it's not used right) Drevas: Okie dokie, computer, start recording. Ensign Drevas Matthel. At the confirming beep from the computer, he set about organizing his quarters proper. He hadn't the chance upon graduating proper after all. Personal log, supplemental. Whew! What a first couple of days. I betcha most officers don't get shot at by five warbirds on their first day on the bridge. Kinda hair-raising if you ask me. But hey, what can you do? Starfleet life, if that's how it's gotta be I'm cool with that. I didn't sign up for the cushiest job in the fleet after all. Slender fingers deftly undid the clasp on his travel case, extracting a few personal belongings of his. His father's spare earring, given to him by his mother just before he left. A pen and paper notepad, accompanied by a simple black ballpoint, which he planned to use to scribble notes if he had to. Sometimes typing while panicky didn't exactly leave behind the most understandable of words, though legible. A family photo taken when he was a little boy; a final reminder of Drevas Artur before all hell broke loose with the Dominion War. Along with a couple more odd trinkets. Gotta say, I didn't expect chasing after a couple of cultists to be so complicated. What's his name? Janul? The Defense Force commander? Can't quite figure out what his deal is. He seems pretty acquainted with the captain. Don't quite know how they're related. He was clearly flying with the rest of the cultists who shot at us - so why help us? What's his game? There's definitely something I'm not seeing or knowing here. On the small workdesk, next to the monitor went the picture; a small reminder of home, tilted towards him where he could see it easily if he swivelled his chair around. Over the edge he hung the earring. His family, all together in one place - they'd watch as he went about his work, surely. The Prophets would take care of them all, surely, wherever they were at any point in their life. But hey, that's not the be all and end all of my first couple of days. Getting shot at is one thing but meeting the rest made things so much better. The engineers on this ship seem to be pretty well acquainted. There's Romy. Sweet girl, never without a smile for the hour or so I spent talking to her and her colleagues. Interesting attitude and outlook too. In good ways. Pretty refreshing actually! Kudon the Vulcan - definitely gotta chat to him a little more sometime. I haven't had much opportunity to interact with that many Vulcans so far. Except maybe professor T'Lang in Tactical Strategies. Next a couple of books came out from the travel case, stored away on the bookshelves. Bajoran scripture text, some of it, but mostly literary works from across the quadrant. There was even a 'Learning Chinese for Dummies' manual he'd gotten at a sort of flea market held on campus once. And then there's Miskre. She's an interesting one. I'll admit, I have never, ever seen a species of plant-based humanoids in my entire life. She has this sorta... ethereal quality. Kinda... drifty. A sort of carefree-ness. Y'know? Always with a smile to her. You can kinda tell that she smiles a lot. And that's okay. I'm definitely looking forward to meeting her again sometime, and finding out more about her and her people. Finally, he replicated himself a proper dinner: A bowl of Chinese lotus root and peanut soup made with pork ribs. Delicious. He'd fallen in love with the stuff when his classmate introduced it to him, thinking that he might like it considering his resemblance to the race of humans that invented it. And she'd been right. Taking a seat at the coffee table he took slow sips of the piping hot broth. For now I've got answers to find. Who's Janul? Who is he to our captain? What are the staff like? Where can you get the best synth springwine on base? Lots more, but hey, one step at a time. The Prophets never gave anyone answers that easily. Reap what you sow. Slow and steady. And you know what? I'm happy to wait and get those answers nice and slow too. In the meantime I've got a lot of exploring to do, lots of people to meet. Checkup first thing in the morning tomorrow - gotta look presentable. It's gonna be a long journey ahead, but hey, who's to say that's a bad thing? If the Prophets will it then so be it. I'm not walking this path alone, anyway. I've got others to accompany me. With that he put down the bowl of soup, half-finished, and began typing out a letter to his mess hall companions that night. Perhaps they'd be open to meeting one more time. And who knows? It might just become a regular gig. // To: Ensign Romyana Casparian, Ensign Kudon, Crewman Miskre Swenhart From: Ensign Drevas Matthel Subject: Meet again sometime? Hey! So nice to get to know you all that night on the Narendra. Crazy experience, huh? How'd you all like to hang out sometime? Visit the holodeck, walk the commercial district, or maybe just go into the depths of the starbase and find our way back like explorers. We'll see! Now that our nerves aren't quite so buzzing I think it's going to be something awesome for all of us! How about... this weekend? 1000 hours? I'll follow up with a meeting place. If anyone else wants to come along that's perfectly fine! Regards, Drevas Matthel // Message sent he put his PADD away and finished the last of the steaming hot broth. Something like that never failed to warm him up before bed. Mother used to tell me that we're all authors, writers penning the story of our own lives for others to read. Every stage in life is a new chapter. A new arc, with new characters sometimes. My Academy days are over - one chapter closed. And today I've written the first few words of the next one. And I can't wait to write the rest. Drevas: Computer, end log. With that he recycled the now-empty bowl and lay down in bed. Tomorrow was a new day and he planned to clinch it. And he couldn't do that sleep-deprived. Casparian/Swenhart/Kudon: Response Ensign Drevas Matthel Tactical Officer Starbase 118 - USS Narendra 0239706DM0 --
  10. ((OOC: I think this small, personal scene has a tremendous amount of warmth and heart. The characters are wonderfully familiar and the whole tone of the thing is pitch perfect to me. Great job, @Ben Garcia)) (( Ben calls home from his quarters 05-1202, U.S.S. Thor. )) Samantha: Where are you? The room looks smaller? Ben? Garcia: Hi mama. Samantha: (Shouting over her shoulder.) Thom! Thoooaaaaaom! Thomas: (Muffled in the background.) Always the rush! (Shouting.) Coming! Samantha: I read the email Ben – is there two ships now? Both named Thor? Garcia: I’m on the Thor now. The crew got reposted from the Embassy to the Menthar Corridor – we took the Thor with us. The posting is ship bound now, ma. Thom cut across the frame, blocking the screen with his hip. Thomas: I’m here, I’m here. Samantha: (To Thom.) He’s on the ship, it’s moved. They’ve left the planet behind. Oh the beach Thomas … we’ll have to plan something else now. Ben craned in towards the screen. Garcia: Hi? Samantha pulled her husband onto the settee. The surprise of the weight nudged Samantha’s pillows making her head wobble. Thomas: Alright Ben, I’m here. Samantha: (To Thom.) He’s in a corridor, that’s why the room is small. (To Ben.) Right Ben? Garcia: No, we got re-assigned to the Thor permanently and we travelled to the Menthar Corridor. Thomas: Which is …? Garcia: A region of space between the Cardassian Union, Breen Confederacy and Tholian Assembly – Samantha: (To Thom.) Is he at war – is our Ben at war?! (To Ben.) Is this war Ben? Garcia: No, nothing like that ma. Thomas: (Shaking his head.) Let him speak Samantha. Anger and worry crimped across Samantha’s face. Samantha: I knew this would happen. I said – I don’t want Ben in a war. Garcia: The Thor is an exploration vessel. There’s no more trouble here than where you are ma – don’t worry. (Ben laughed.) It’s busier and there’s a lot going on – but it’s just folks going about their business. Samantha clasped her hands on her knees. She was less agitated now, but the worry of combat had unsettled her. She shuffled to the edge of the couch and then stood up. Samantha: I need a drink. (Nodding to Thom to keep the conversation going.) Thomas: So, how has the reassignment gone? Settled in? Garcia: It’s a gear change from being planet side. (Beat.) For all my uncertainties about being stationed on a planet right out of the Academy … I sort of miss it. Thomas: Understandable, son. Garcia: We’ve got the hollo-deck. But. Before, I had the gardens, the beach, the forest (Ben’s eyes widened.) continents. Thomas: We’ll it makes sense, it’s a planet Ben. Ben huffed in amused exasperation. Garcia: Paps. Thomas: So, you’re not settled? Ben shook his head and touched the back of his neck. Garcia: It’s not that. I wanted a ship, I got a planet. (Ben shrugged.) Now I’ve got the ship Thomas finished the sentence in unison with Ben. Thomas: -- you want the planet. Garcia: I want the planet. The pair laughed. There was a warmness. Thomas: It’s just change, Ben. It’ll settle. Garcia: I know. Cheers pa. Samantha’s voice could be heard from off in the background. As she got nearer, the hmmm and duuumm of her tune came into focus. Garcia: (Loudly, with a wink to his dad.) There was some news, pa. Samantha: (Calling from the back of the room) News? Ben –what news? Hold on – Thomas shook his head and wagged a finger in feigned rebuke at Ben. Now Thomas’ head wobbled as Samantha surprised the couch with her weight. Samantha: (With arched eyebrows.) News? Come on! Let’s hear. Ben ran his finger along his collar, stopping at the new half pip. Samantha: (Her eyes widening.) Promotion?! Thomas cusped his ear as Samantha screamed. Thomas: Well done Lieutenant ... There was a pause and Ben filled in the blank. Garcia: … Commander pap. Samantha: (Punctuating the sentence with her hands.) Lieutenant Commander Ben Garcia. Samantha clasped her hands together and kissed Thomas on the cheek. Thomas gave her a squeeze back. Samantha: We need to organise a celebration! Let me pull the diary up. Ben sat back in his chair. Thomas smiled. End. ---------------------- Lieutenant Commander Ben Garcia Second Officer/HCO USS Thor NCC-82607 Author ID number: G239102MR0 SB118 News Team
  11. I had to share this absolute gem written by @Dassa Alexander-Dalton today. The way she paints the picture of Representative Brex is masterful and I had tears of laughter at one point. ======================================= ((Security Director’s Office, Mephinii Spaceport, Illara Prime, Par’Tha Expanse)) The woman left and he returned his attention to the matter at hand. They now had two tasks that required attention: the re-analysis of the crime scene and interviewing suspects. Forensics wasn’t his area of specialty and he felt all he’d end up doing here was standing and twiddling his thumbs. Ganarvuss: Captain Logan, I’d like to take Ensign Yalu or Lephi with me to talk to the suspects. Logan: Response Lephi: All due respect to Ensign Yalu, I truly feel I would be better suited to come along. I've been thinking about it and although my hand to hand combat is rusty, my diplomacy is a strong point. Ganarvuss: Is that so? Lephi: I might be an engineer in Starfleet, but I've brokered many deals in my short life, and you can't do that unless you're good with your words and reading people. He smiled and nodded. For one so young, the Ferengi certainly was bold. Perhaps it was a species trait. Given that this was the first Ferengi he’d ever met, he couldn’t be sure. However, he could say that he found it refreshing. Despite her earlier nervousness, he imagined she’d make a good business partner. Logan: Response Yalu: I’m happy to go wherever I am needed, Ensign Ganarvuss. If you’d like someone to stay behind and work with Dr. Nidhar’s team, I can do that. But if you think I could be of use elsewhere, I mean, not that staying here wouldn’t be useful, I just... Brex: ::inclines his head and turns to Ganarvuss:: With all respect, Ensign, I agree with your Ensign Lephi. His shrewdness might be beneficial. ::pauses:: Also, as I stated to your other officer, I feel I would be of more use with the interview process. Dr. Nidhar has the situation well in hand here and your doctor could be beneficial to her investigation here since he’s the one who discovered the thoron radiation. Lephi: ::speaking through thinly veiled irritation:: Thank you for that ringing endorsement, Representative. Ganarvuss: Alright, then. You’re hired, Lephi. Dr. Yalu, I agree with Brex on this. Your insights could be most helpful to the forensics team. Lephi: ::not taking her eyes off of Brex:: Thank you, Ensign, an interrogation is just an intense negotiation, after all. On Ferenginar we just call that an average Tuesday afternoon. You'll get your answers. ::turns to Ganarvuss:: Thank you, Ensign Ganarvuss. I hope we make a good team. I look forward to working alongside your very capable self. Yalu: Understood. Logan: Response He nodded. There were multiple angles to consider with this and he presumed that Ensign Ganarvuss knew the strengths and talents of her people better than he did. He was commenting from a limited time in the room with these people. Brex: ::nods:: Of course. ::smiles:: It is your decision. I will help however I’m needed. Ganarvuss: You made a good point earlier, Representative. I think it would go a long way to have you with us when we interview the suspects. Lephi: ::deadpan:: It'll be great to have you along Representative. He gazed at the Ferengi woman curiously. Though he wasn’t overly familiar with her species, he could have almost sworn he detected a note of irritation. Given her upbeat attitude not a moment or two earlier, he had to surmise that something was bothering her. He’d noted her reaction to Ensign Ganarvuss’s words and had thought that was it, but her attention was focused on him now and he had the strangest feeling that he was somehow the source. Logan: Response Nidhar: ::pauses:: I wouldn’t mind the extra hand. Shaking his concern about the Ferengi officer from his mind for a moment, he turned to Eisla with a small smile, pleased that she’d warmed up to the idea of help from the Starfleet officers. Ganarvuss: You got it, Doctor. Representative, Lephi: Let’s go. Logan/Nidhar: Response Lephi: I'm on your six. With one last glance and smile at Eisla, he nodded and followed the two Starfleet officers from the room. As he did, his gaze flickered to Ensign Lephi, his expression contemplative. Ensign Ganarvuss’s voice drew him from his thoughts. Ganarvuss: I imagine the place to start looking would be the main conference center. Lephi: Seems like the best starting point, I agree. I know it's not my place, but if I may, perhaps we should split up to try and cover more ground? It is time sensitive after all. His concern regarding the sudden change in Ensign Lephi’s demeanor grew. Splitting up didn’t sound like such a marvelous idea given that they had a spy on the loose. Any of them could be the next target. No. In his mind, it made more sense that they stick together. Brex: ::pauses:: Given that we have a spy on the loose who doesn’t seem adverse to any means to achieve his end, I believe dividing ourselves further could pose an unnecessary risk. ::pauses:: It is, of course, your decision. Ganarvuss: That makes sense. Lephi: Alright, I have my orders, I will accomplish them. Ganarvuss: Response As they resumed walking, Drezon took the opportunity to meet Lephi’s gaze, deliberately allowing Ensign Ganarvuss to get a bit ahead of them. Brex: ::pauses:: Though I’m a negotiator and a businessman by trade, I prefer when necessary to get to the point. There’s no sense in wasting one another’s precious time. Lephi: Response Brex: ::inclines his head:: I’m concerned with the sudden change in your demeanor. Lephi: Response Brex: ::smiles:: I’m no man’s fool, Ensign Lephi. Four decades of brokering deals and negotiating with buyers leaves a man with an almost sixth sense for these things. Lephi: Response ((OOC: Happy to continue this as you see fit. I didn’t want to box you into a corner.)) Ganarvuss: Response --- MSNPC Representative Drezon Brex Tradesman, Naylar Representative Kala'din IV As written by Lieutenant Ishkabela Journs I238110RH0 -- You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "UFOP: StarBase 118: USS Atlantis" group. To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to sb118-atlantis+unsubscribe@googlegroups.com. To view this discussion on the web visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/sb118-atlantis/CABVKAYRhmVZraU7CvQEXZJ3KEMu-JoZ481LcnqLCL1b%2BwcmXgA%40mail.gmail.com.
  12. @Sal Taybrim Even though I'm in this scene as well I really want to commended Sal for the way in which they wrote the atmosphere and emotions of this scene from their characters point of view. I could more than 100% feel how sweet and caring Sal was being towards Sheila. In the end the sim gave me fuzzy warm feels. I also love how they changed there signature to best fit the context of this scene. ((CO’s Office – The Hub – StarBase 118)) Now, back at StarBase 118, Sal felt he could relax more. Reconnect with friends and crewmates, and, unfortunately, get some paperwork done. That was, perhaps, his only dislike of command was the endless stream of official reports. Even with staff to help him with the mundane part of the reports, there were always the classified bits and the things he needed to sign off on. Which meant that Sal was always happy to have a distraction while he was working on after-mission reports. Fortunately he had a scheduled meeting so he tucked the paperwork away in his desk and leaned back to enjoy a moment of quiet contemplation. It was calm in the CO’s office this late morning. Behind Sal was a large bank of windows affording a wonderful view of the traffic coming in and out of StarBase 118. He had the lights set to a soft golden glow, giving a warm feeling to the room. Moby was nestled all warm and snug in his terrarium, cooing softly that his master was back home. The air smelled of Rigellian orange cider, overlaid with the slightly spicy, floral scent of long pepper. He looked up as the chime rang, feeling the emotional presence of Doctor Bailey before he called out. Taybrim: Please come in. Bailey: ::entering the office:: I’m sorry to be so forward. I want to thank you for meeting with me. Mind if I sit? He smiled gently at her, in a welcoming manner, moving out from behind his desk to join her in a sitting area with a variety of comfortable chairs, some higher, some lower, some with arms and some without arms, gesturing for her to choose the one she liked. Taybrim: Please do Once she was seated he took a seat that was close by, but not directly next to her, pulling it forward to be able to converse comfortably. Taybrim: Please, tell me what is on your mind, Doctor? His voice was warm, open, calm. Not pushing. He watched her gently. Empathy told him that she had heavy thoughts in her heart. No, he couldn’t safely read her thoughts and wouldn’t do so even if he could. But with the damage to his telepathy he navigated the loss of that sense with the compensation of his Empathy. It was his guiding star in almost every interaction he had with anyone. Bailey: I wanted to let you know of some personal details that could affect my work. So far it hasn’t but in this most recent mission I felt like it could have. Sal nodded gently. He did not judge crew who had such trauma in their past, and he was honestly very proud of her for addressing it before it became an issue. That showed self-awareness and maturity, two things he valued in up and coming crew. Not to mention that almost every person had some sort of ghosts they were dealing with. Including himself. Having such ghosts was never a problem, but how one dealt with them spoke volumes about the person as well as how they would progress from those ghosts. Taybrim: I know ghosts of the past are a difficult subject to discuss, but my ears are open for you. Bailey: I would like to mention this to my friend not my CO if that’s okay? He nodded to her in assent. He could separate himself from Sal the commanding officer and Sal the person. He was, in both roles, Sal the counselor. But that had always benefitted him – not the idea that he was trying to shrink heads, but the idea that he had learned how to listen to people. To ask good questions that prompted them to talk more. A good counselor was never in the pilot’s seat. Always the co-pilot. The person speaking was the driver and the only one who could make true, lasting changes within themselves. Taybrim: I promise you that this is friend to friend. ::he reached up to his collar and removed his pips, setting them on the table, before he looked back at her.:: Off the record. Bailey: Thank you. My Uncle, Marc Clarence, was not a nice guy. Not nice to me. He spent his life physically and mentally abusing me and my sisters. During this mission I was reminded of those instances while fighting Klingons and treating Commander Galven. Reminded me of how I had failed. Sal nodded gently, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand, full attention afforded to the Elaysian. Taybrim: Why do you feel that you failed in the past? The question was open, not accusatory. But gently pushing her to consider how she saw herself. And that was the one thing Sal immediately picked up on. The feelings of shame and blame. He could understand why someone would feel that they failed in an instance like this, but part of his role as a counselor and as a friend was to help people adjust how they saw their role in such things. To reassign blame to those who deserved it and forgive themselves for past actions, eventually erasing that mark of failure from their mind. Bailey: ? Taybrim: Did anyone speak negatively of you beyond your uncle? He wanted to know if she was told by someone else that she had failed, or if this was something implanted by Marc Clarence’s actions. Bailey: ? He shook his head slowly, reassuringly. Taybrim: No, I do not need details of what happened, unless you would find it cathartic to speak of them. I believe you when you state that he was abusive and I understanding how manipulative a relationship like that can be, and it’s entirely valid to feel like a failure after that. ::He paused and caught her gaze:: However feeling like a failure does not make you a failure. Bailey: ? Taybrim: ::Gently:: And why would you say that? Bailey: ? ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ Sal Taybrim Sometimes just your friend and counselor StarBase 118 Ops
  13. I guess you may already know that but USS Arrow simulation was just launched last Monday. In order to celebrate such unique event here are the nominations for the Top Funny Quotes of the Season. 🤣😆😂😝
  14. ((Starbase 118 – Meeks’ Quarters)) What a bang up first day at his first duty assignment. After arriving back at the Starbase, Anthony received his crew quarters assignment and quickly found where he would be living for the immediate future. Having rested on the Narindra, Anthony was ready to get to work. Training for a Marine was more like leisure than work, so making reservations for a training holodeck was no burden for him. He hadn’t been integrated into the Marine unit on the station, and while he waited for those orders to come through, he figured he might as well sharpen his skills. It was never fun to train alone, so he tapped his combadge while he walked. ((Starbase 118 - Glover's Quarters)) It had been a hell of a first mission for Glover but he came out of it unscathed. The ride back to the Starbase was one that Noah spent in quiet contemplation, allowing his mind to settle around the events that had taken place. Having been through such an ordeal and looking death in it's nasty eyes, Noah was thankful for those moments of solitude. Now that he was back on Starbase 118 he spent the early part of the day getting settled into his new crew quarters. They were bigger then he had expected, being more roomy then the crew quarters that they had showed them in the academy. That was one of the big perks of being assigned to a Starbase. Unpacking didn't take long, just some clothes, a few pictures from home, and some of Noah's favorite books. Meeks: =/\=Meeks to Ensign Glover=/\= Glover: =/\= Glover here =/\= Meeks: =/\= I have an hour of holodeck time and I’m going to do some training. Wanna join in?=/\= Noah perked up at this. Anthony and Noah had served together during the academy and during their recent mission the Captain had assigned them both to the Klingon shuttle together. Noah liked Anthony, he handled himself well during the mission. Glover: =/\= I would love to. I will suit up.=/\= Meeks: =/\=Copy that. I’ll meet ya on Training Holodeck Thirty-Two.=/\= ((Starbase 118 - Training Holodeck Thirty-Two)) Anthony tapped the console outside the door of the holodeck and loaded the program. With a chirp, the computer acknowledged the command and the holodeck doors slid open. Stepping inside, Anthony found himself standing in a mid sixteenth century Japanese dojo. The walls were dark wood framed rice paper and the floor was bamboo matting. Racks of period weaponry lined one of the walls. Taking the time while he waited for his new found friend, Anthony started a stretching routine. Noah arrived outside the Holodeck shortly there after. He was unsure exactly what training program they would use and felt it best to be prepared for anything while in his uniform, so he opted to wear his Starfleet uniform. Noah smiled when he entered and noticed Anything was already there and stretching. Glover: Ah, great choice on the program. I love the martial arts. Meeks: I figured we’d start slow with some stretches, then work our way into some jujitsu and aikido. How’s that sound to you? Noah smiled and nodded then quickly joined Anthony and began to do some stretches, making sure his body was prepared for the work Noah was about to put it through. He was happy to have made friends with a marine, he knew that Anthony would keep him challenged which would prove very useful in his line of work as a security officer. Glover: I will never get tired of the magic of the Holodeck. It is like we are really in Japan, I can even smell the Japanese wood. Meeks: ::Unable to suppress a smile:: It is pretty amazing. Sure beats a sweaty ol’ gym. Once they were warmed up, the pair moved to the center of the room. They squared up on each other and Anthony moved first. He was a little surprised when Noah slipped to the left of his advance, and before Anthony was able to regain his balance, he found himself on the floor. Rolling to his back, he took up the guard position as Noah mounted him. Bracing himself, Anthony arched his back and locked his legs around Noah’s waist. This kept Noah from being able to strike. They struggled for a few seconds in that position then broke, regaining their feet. Meeks: Smooth, Amigo. You got some moves, my friend. Glover: Your defense game is on point. Meeks: Let’s try that again. Glover: Brace for impact Lieutenant. ::chuckles:: Once the motion started, it was Noah who found himself on the floor again. He had dropped to lunge under Anthony’s raised arms and Anthony stepped into his advance. Anthony grabbed Noah around the waist and twisted, throwing Noah onto the bamboo mat. Before Anthony could advance on him, Noah rolled onto his knees and to his feet. It appeared to Anthony he had found a worthy sparring partner in the young Ensign. The twisting and turning grappling match went on for the full hour, and by the time the chime sounded, signaling their time was up, both men were sweaty and maybe a little bruised. Anthony grabbed a couple of towels from the rack and tossed one to Noah. Meeks: Now the only thing left for me to do, is buy you a beer. You game? Glover: A beer sounds perfect. Meeks: Promenade in an hour? Glover: I will see you there. Thanks for the workout Anthony. ::smiles and waves goodbye as he exits the Holodeck:: ((Starbase 118 - Glover's Quarters)) Noah stepped under the warm water of the shower and released a long sigh as the water massaged his sore muscles. He couldn't help but smile as he thought back over the past few days, his dreams of being a Starfleet Security Officer finally a reality. The fact that he had already made friends with Anthony made it even that much better. ~~~ End ~~~ ~~~ Ensign Noah Glover Security Officer Starbase 118 Ops O239706NG0 and 2Lt. Anthony Meeks Marine Officer - 292nd TMR Starbase 118 Ops R238801IG0
  15. ((Corridor, USS Constitution)) Maxwell Traenor had both a professional and a personal interest in the subject matter of the social meeting he was currently walking towards. Chip Foley, an engineer that Maxwell had known since they had both graduated from the Academy (improbable as it was that a Commander and an Ensign shared an Academy graduation), had extended him an invitation for coffee. Now, Maxwell was always down for a good caffeine jolt, but Chip had described his process for extracting that dark brew with an exuberance that exceeded even his usual superhuman excitement, and it was infectious. The scientist in him wanted to know how exactly a brewing process, homogenous across many civilizations and stagnant for centuries, could possibly be enhanced. In this day and age of post-scarcity, where a replicator in every room made every culinary whim available at the simplest voice command, a personal touch was rare. Therefore, a hand-drawn coffee deserved a similarly thoughtful accompaniment. Unlike others on the ship, Maxwell had zero culinary skills. He had dined at the tables of friends aboard the Conny and beyond who could be artistic in whipping up savory or sweet concoctions in their spare times, however those skills were forever beyond Maxwell’s capabilities. Therefore, he leaned on the skills of others to bridge his deficiency. When he had found out that the confectionaries at the Brew Continuum were handmade and baked in-house, Traenor made that his de facto source for a visitor’s gift to this social event - a box of caramel tarts that he felt would compliment any good brew of joe. Rounding the corner, Traenor saw the door to Chip’s quarters, and was pleased to see that he was neither early nor fashionably late. Mr Foley struck him as the type who would appreciate punctuality, he mused with humor. Most engineers were a stickler for details, a professional trait surely, but Chip… well, Chip certainly took the engineer stereotypes to a whole other level. Chuckling, Maxwell rang the buzzer located next to the quarters door. ((Personal Quarters - USS Constitution)) Normally Chip's quarters were - well, not MESSY, certainly. Not chaotic. That was anathema to him. But they were very BUSY. Chip tended to utilize every inch of his living area, with his expansive modular workbench and his meticulously organized tools and his enclosed safety field for more energetic experimentation and his elaborate floating kal-toh set and his virtual computing rig and his microaeronautic drone combat sim table ... ... like unpressurized vapor, Chip tended to expand to fill available space. This tendency had quickly led to him being assigned a single occupancy dorm at the Academy. However, it did make socialization in his quarters difficult. Dr. Nygard, his Academy counselor, had worked with him extensively on this topic. "Chip, people need more than the exact surface area required to sit in one place free if they're going to visit you. They'll feel ... constrained! Trapped! Remember when I tried to come visit you at your dorm and I couldn't get past that table with the little ships and one of them shot at me? That wasn't a good visit, Chip. We didn't have much fun, right? I understand you like things where they are, but you need a way to create more SPACE. You love solving problems like that - maybe find a way to pack things AWAY sometimes! Please, Chip. I don't want anyone else who might become friends with you in the future to bonk their forehead into that floating pile of metal bars like I did." So Chip had spent the early hours carefully putting things away, packing away the more space-consuming items. He'd left out a few pieces - things of particular visual interest or "conversation pieces" (he made mental air quotes) - and left a carefully-calculated amount of space for free movement. Now that he'd set his space up in a presentable fashion, his primary focus was the hovercart with his hyperpercolator mounted on it. The hyperpercolator represented years of effort. Experimentation, research, specialized permits, miniaturization of existing technology, security clearances, and the reconsideration of certain theories of phase change in organic matter. He made sure the power modulation was at the correct levels, and checked the stability on the internal forcefields, and then rechecked it just to be safe. One could never be too safe with the hyperpercolator. He glanced up and to the left, a habit he had when restlessly checking the chronometer in his field of vision, sort of the way someone with less internal equipment might check a wrist-worn piece or a wall clock. It was almost exactly time for- The buzzer rang. Well, buzzed. Chip beamed sparklingly bright, and moved quickly to the door to tap it open. Foley: Optimal timing, Commander! Almost to the quarter-second! Come in, come in! He gestured grandly with his cybernetic hand at the neatly-appointed quarters, with two entire chairs set out around a small modular table composed of interlocking hexagons, and lots of carefully color-coded boxes stacked at the walls. Foley: Welcome to my humble abode! Although I'm actually quite proud of it. Which still tracks, since I'd be proud, and not the aforementioned abode. Although an abode can't really be humble, either. Humbly appointed perhaps? But isn't humility subjective in that instance? That's outside the point! Which I had originally. Ah! Yes! You're here! Welcome! Maxwell chuckled, by now expecting and eternally amused by the running commentary that Chip was wont to engage in. If exuberant conversation was a spectator sport, then Foley would be the Buck Bokai of that competition. Traenor: Thanks for having me over, Chip. And it’s Maxwell, there’s no pips when coffee and treats are involved. He proffered the box of confectionaries he had brought along to punctuate the sentiment, taking a surreptitious look around Foley’s quarters as the exchange took place. One could discern a fair bit about an officer by the quarters they kept; take Maxwell, for instance. The current scarcity of his own quarters was a telegraph of his emotional state at the moment, a slight feeling of impermanence among recent upheavals. Chip’s quarters? Well, to Maxwell, they were just like the man they belonged to. Fascinating, amusing, and just a bit confusing. Foley: Optimal, Maxwell! ::Chip beamed, his silver eyes glowing with extra lumens as they tended to when reflecting their users’ satisfaction:: Oooh, treats? That’s one of my 71 favorite words! The order of the words’ prominence on the list changes over time but “treats” is frequently highly ranked! He glanced with undisguised eagerness at the parcel Maxwell had, measuring it with his eyes. Measuring, evaluating surface temperature, getting a rough estimate of materials involved in its manufacture ... Traenor: ::nodding at the box:: I’ve found that caramel enhances most coffees, so that’s what I went with this time as well. Hope I’m not proven wrong in this instance! Foley: Ah! Extremely optimal choice! The maltols and alpha-enol adjacent carbonyls in caramel are indeed a chemically perfect pairing with the 2-Isopropyl-3-methoxypyrazine of coffee! Organic chemistry is not one of my PRIMARY interests but I did make a fairly intense - albeit highly specialized and specific - study of it in the course of engineering my coffee making system! And also a broader study of sugar in general! Mmm, caramel. Traenor took a more in-depth look around the room this time as he made his way towards the seats. In particular, he was trying to eye the by-now much vaunted hyperpercolator. A recent conversation with the ship’s premiere bartender about stills and home brewing - of a different sort from today’s brew, but no less interesting - had whet his appetite about learning the hows, whats, and whys of these particular talents. Any journeyman scientist worth their salt would be engaged in such subjects, he felt. Traenor: ::unsure if he was even pointing at the right contraption:: And is that… is that the coffee maker? Chip grinned brightly, which was really the only way he could grin with the titanium teeth. He moved to the hovercart with the air of an artist preparing to unveil his magnum opus, or a composer tossing back his coat tails and sitting at the bench to play his finest étude. Foley: Behold - the HYPERPERCOLATOR! I took some time considering the name and ultimately decided that since percolation is key to the delivery of the final product then it suited the device. Also I like the duplication of the “per” phoneme! But yes! The HYPERPERCOLATOR! Patent not pending! Totally open-sourced, but only a handful have been bold enough to attempt its final construction! I like to think of that as a compliment to my dedication and engineering skills and not a commentary on my lack of regard for the risk of annihilation! Never fear - I have STRONG anti-annihilation protocols in place! On the hovercart before the two men sat a cylindrical device, about a meter long, perhaps a third of a meter at its widest with clearly distinguished chambers, much wider at one end and narrowing at the end to a somewhat fanciful chromed tap. It pulsed with energy, and there was the sensation of repressed power not entirely unlike being in close proximity to a warp engine. Chip waggled his hairless brows, crinkling his vast forehead, and his eyes glowed with both good humor and a literal output of energy as a side effect of their extensive modifications. Foley: May I offer you The Hyperpercolator Grand Tour, trademark pending? Traenor: ::eyeing the contraption with the measured respect it deserved:: Trademark pending? I thought you had mentioned it was open-source - or did I mis-hear? Foley: Yes, the hyperpercolator itself is open-sourced but my particular style of dissemination of information on its structure and function is FIRMLY protected by relevant galactic trade law! Hypothetically! I haven’t tried to sell it yet. Although one never knows! Now, allow me to demonstrate! Chip raised his metallic left hand and extended his forefinger - and then kept extending it, an additional 10 centimeters, to act as a pointer. He’d initially developed the extensible digit function to allow better access behind heavy fixtures and into narrow spaces, but it was very helpful for scientific demonstrations! Eye catching! Quite literally, the one time someone had drawn too close during an enthusiastic exhibition of a theoretical design for a plasma-edged rotary saw. Traenor: Let the show begin! Maxwell was no engineer, but he appreciated equipment that led to chemical processes. And make no mistake, the preparation of coffee from beginning to end was a chemical process, which was squarely in his wheelhouse. The selection, propagation and cultivation of coffee trees was the rival of the most pristine of viticulture; precise maturation and maillardizing of the beans were essential; and of course, the solvency of the volatile organics into steeped water with the emulsification of the extracted oils… it was a chemistry slash horticulture lab supplanted onto a kitchen counter. He rubbed his hands together with a wicked grin in anticipation. Foley: So the essence of the hyperpercolator began with my consideration of how to best CONDENSE the essence of coffee. I’d had all the various forms of the beverage - my father is a coffee enthusiast, if not an addict - as well as exoterran varietals like raktajino. I’d researched and reviewed the science on French presses and espresso machines and vacuum coffeemakers, on cold brews and nitrous brews and flame roast and barrel roast. But I felt there was further opportunity. I wanted a way to concentrate the inherent ESSENCE of coffee, to enhance and intensify it. And so I looked to phase change! Specifically to SUBLIMATION. He tapped the wide end of the unit with a little tink, and the hyperpercolator thrummed, the lights within the device pulsing. Traenor: Sublimation! Of course! What an elegant source for distillation! Foley: Precisely! A sufficient application of energy to be able to entirely convert the coffee beans into vapor! Hence the plasma generator that acts as the heart of the hyperpercolator and certainly one of its more entertainingly dangerous components! It took at least a year to be able to determine the exact level of energy output in megajoules and the appropriate duration for the plasma pulse into the bean chamber! There was then the matter of incineration to consider - coffee beans, like most other organic material, are subject to radical carbonization and compressed ash makes a highly unsuitable drink in most cases! Traenor: My first thought is, ‘how do you preserve the volatile organic compounds’? We all know how fragile they are to heat of any degree. Especially purines, which would mean bye-bye caffeine jolt... Foley: Ah-HA! Just so! And so I needed something that would allow the phase state change to take place while maintaining the volatile organic flavor compounds and, naturally, the trimethylxanthine! My eventual solution after extended research was a specified medical stasis field established in the bean depository, miniaturized of course, to sustain the more delicate organic compounds! Combined with a vaporous nitrogenic fixative, this allows for essentially instantaneous conversion of the coffee beans into a pure coffee bean vapor with the relevant stimulants and flavonols intact - and even intensified! Traenor: By the fates… you’ve basically aerosolized the organic compounds in a forcefield-stabilized molecular stream. It took the heat of a tiny singularity to do so, but what a feat! You know, you could revolutionize food replication technology with this... That was just so. In order to maintain the complex flavorant compounds in food when setting replicator recipes, transporter technology to break down products to their constituent molecules was used. However, it had its limitations, as anyone who compared replicated food to its naturally prepared version could attest. Transporters were highly efficient at breaking down matter to the atomic level, converting it to an energy stream, and recompiling it into an exact replica of matter at the other end. However, your average replicator didn’t dematerialize a peanut butter and chocolate ice cream sundae behind your quarters wall and reconstruct it in the alcove you reach into. It had a gross approximation of the matter reconstruction protocol, and used inert matter stores as the base to make a degraded facsimile of your request. Ergo, not quite “right’. The same concept was in play when one tried to reinvent the wheel with coffee brewing. The extraction of the myriad chemical compounds that produced a fine cup of coffee was borne of a specific method - mainly, the dissolution of those compounds from coffee beans into hot water. You try to change that too radically, is it even coffee anymore? With enough advanced applied theoretical engineering and chemical sciences, the answer was apparently yes. Foley: Ideally! The technology for this application was quite exact, but once the guidelines of securing volatile organic cellular chains within specified miniaturized stasis fields utilized in micronic pulses and powered by a plasma chamber are understood generally, particularly by the Operations oversight committee of Starfleet … it would certainly make using a replicator more energy consumptive, and the process may not be suitable for every application, but I suspect it would make certain delicate flavors much more accessible! Imagine how shipboard dinner conversations could be improved without people either lamenting or defending replicated food or discussing the limited resource-heavy workarounds to replicated food and drink they’d come to, generally with varying degrees of smugness! Chip was at maximum eagerness, gesturing broadly with both the organic and inorganic hand, moving his beryllium-titanium fingers in delicate patterns as if to demonstrate the enclosure of delicate imidazoles, swishing the extended pointer finger with its glowing green tip, from the base of the device where the fusion cell and plasma chamber were built, to the secured and shielded coffee depository, through the narrow glowing chamber through which everything was theoretically forced, and to the wider slightly belled end with a tap on the very tip and a neatly installed blue-glowing cube that was recognizable to the science officer as a small hydrox generator. Foley: From here the coffee vapor is pressurized, slowly forced down into a liquid state, pushed along this condenser and into the distillator where it’s combined with pure extractive water created from absolutely pure hydrogen and oxygen, on demand! I once tried drinking the condensed coffee vapor as a pure liquid - and I did not sleep for 5 days, nor could I taste anything adequately for another 22! The INTENSITY, you see. It exceeds the normal capacities of the gustatory cells! Thus, the condensed distillate requires a VERY specific temperature of water at an absolute purity and a specified vacuum-bound micro-aeration in order to become remotely palatable but still maintain its character! And that character, I must reiterate - is INTENSE. It had been a very long while since he had researched the subject (for a prank on a much younger and much more haughty instructor at the Academy) but Maxwell was brought to mind of the effects of caffeine overdose, or caffeine intoxication as it was sometimes known. Restlessness, excitement, periods of inexhaustibility, rambling flow of thought and speech… nah. He was sure it was just a coincidence. He smiled at Chip, urging him to continue. Traenor: Well, the proof is in the edible non-newtonian fluid, as they say! Brew me up a jolt and let’s see what you’ve got here. Foley: As you wish, my good sir! Make yourself comfortable! Stand at ease! Be of good cheer! Oh - ah, yes! Ha ha, nearly forgot! In addition to all the comfort and good cheer, there is some required … precaution to be taken! The hyperpercolator was mounted on its hovercart in the center of the room, of course. Just beside it, with a chair on either side, was a pedestal table made of interlocking hexagons. In front of each chair was a small ceramic cup, big enough for just 0.5 ounces each, and sat neatly between them was a toolkit with a few essentials that might come up in standard operation of the hyperpercolator: a heavy-duty shielded tricorder of the sort used in evaluating high energy discharges, a spare krellide power cell, an EJ7 interlock, a plasma torch, what appeared to be a field tissue regenerator, and a pair of heavily tinted polarized goggles, which Chip handed cheerfully to Maxwell. Foley: The plasma pulse combined with the photonic output of the multiple field interactions can be slightly retina-scorching to the unprotected eye! Another challenging aspect of bleeding-edge coffee generation! Make use of those - unless of course you’d like a fetching pair of prosthetic eyes like mine! Always a viable alternative! Traenor: ::fumbling quickly with the goggles, speaking in a tone not unlike a squeak before clearing his throat:: Yes, hmm, I think the Conny crew can do just fine with one set of enhanced eyeballs. Let’s just slip these bad boys on. Chip chuckled, and began to set about the delicate processes of setting the device up. Most adjustments were made virtually - Chip did not fully trust analogue controls since they were subject to alteration from exterior forces, so most of the controls were adjusted purely digitally, through a PADD interface built into the hovercart. The percolator thrummed, almost crackling with energy that slowly increased. Delicate adjustments were made. The exterior lights began to pulse. Foley: The beans are the strongest and most robust I can find - although the hyperpercolator extracts the most essential properties of almost any breed of Coffea Canaphora, the amount of energy expended in its use means that I want to get the best possible return on investment, as it were! And it were, in this case, optimal to use the most intense beans I could find! These were bred by a clinically insane botanist on an asylum station near Exo III - an interesting fellow! We played tri-D chess by subspace for a while. He always led with his bishops! But he grows EXCELLENT coffee. And apparently talks to the plants! Evidently they occasionally talk back, according to some of our idle chatter between chess moves. I assume that was mostly metaphorical, but it’s difficult to confirm! Chip opened a small magnetically sealed box full of exactly 3.75 ounces of unroasted stones from the coffee berries provided by the mad botanist, ideally not from talking plants. At a tap of Chip’s control pad, a port at the wide base of the hyperpercolator irised open, and he tipped the stones in. There was no point in an external roasting process, Chip had determined, since the pulse of hyperpercolator’s sublimation chamber was 277760 degrees Celsius. He secured the bean depository, and there the slowly rising harmonic of a sweep by the scanner of the adjusted stasis system, miniaturized and built into the strange device. It pulsed louder. Foley: Payload secured …. And now we initiate MAXIMALLY OPTIMAL COFFEE! He said it in the tone that another hypothetically intense scientist may have once shouted “GIVE MY CREATION LIFE!” in a lightning storm, and instead of a large knife switch he tapped the console on the hovercart. The plasma generator thrummed, the cart shook slightly - and Chip’s eyes automatically shifted from glowing silver to a dulled polarized gray as there was a massive corona of light, a huge FLARE of energy. Everywhere there was suddenly the intense smell of roasted coffee - so intense that it went beyond what mankind previously imagined as that smell, transcending it. It was the scent of PLATONIC coffee, roasted in the heart of a star, secured by forcefields at the cellular level and made sublime. Foley: Compression initiated! THIS PART IS ALWAYS SOMEWHAT INTERESTING FROM A RISK-ASSESSMENT PERSPECTIVE! Traenor: ::cupping his ears:: WHAT! ::determining it was futile:: NEVER MIND! I’LL JUST WATCH! The two had to begin shouting here as the hyperpercolator pulsed and began to cool the superheated vapor, releasing the stasis fields, the fixed nitrogen flooding the chamber and a level 6 forcefield just 10 centimeters across began to compress everything into the central body of the hyperpercolator. Now it became clear why Chip had mounted the device on a hovercart - it would have shaken apart any moored surface. The vibrations were intense, even with the hovercart’s antigravitic stablizers, like a ship passing into the higher warp factors. Traenor had never seen a steam engine in real life. The archaic and highly inefficient motive device preceded the scientist by a good 5 or 6 centuries on his forebear’s home planet. However, it was still a romanticized device among humans, so he was familiar with it. Maxwell surmised that in an alternate reality, where steam technology progressed through an algorithm like Moore’s Law to supplant internal combustion, nuclear energy, and eventually M/A reaction to become the dominant energy force of the 25th century, then such an engine would look like this. He found himself shrinking back into his chair involuntarily. Traenor: ::still speaking quite loudly as his ears were ringing fiercely:: Was it supposed to do ::waving vaguely at the overwhelming sensory overload provided by the device:: that?! Foley: Everything is OPTIMAL! We are approaching MAXIMUM COFFEE ENGAGEMENT, MAXWELL! Sorry, I don’t actually need to shout since the vibrations have ceased but I’m always very excited by this point in the percolation process! It's so SPARKLING! Traenor: ::with an uncertain grin:: I’ll risk life and limb on a good cup of coffee. Er, I mean that metaphorically, of course. Foley: Yes! Metaphorically! There’s only a 7.25% chance of significant device failure leading to possible catastrophic injury and-slash-or maiming! If that! Frankly I was a bit generous with those probabilities, erring on the side of caution! Which I find is frequently the best side to err on when considering possible disastrous outcomes! It’s always better to plan for those in advance, particularly when you’ve lost 25% of your limbs. But behold! The process had indeed quieted. After reaching nearly 1800 Hz in vibrations, and pulsing with energies that lit the entire room and likely would have triggered alarms in Main Engineering AND the Security Complex had Chip not carefully registered his device with the relevant authorities … the hyperpercolator now just quietly bubbled. The sublimated coffee vapor had been condensed and had mixed with pure di-hydrox, pure H20 condensed at the atomic level. The dispensation chamber burbled cheerfully as the two liquids were aerated together and adjusted to an optimal temperature by way of a heat transference panel. At last the bubbling stopped, the glows all faded - and there was a cheerful DING! Foley: Optimal coffee achieved! :: he grinned brightly :: At least based on prior experimentation! Now for PEER REVIEW! Chip carefully brought each little ceramic cup over to the shiny chrome tap of the hyperpercolator - its only really analogue component - and twisted the tap, dispensing steaming near-black liquid (approximately 19-1111 TX on the Pantone scale). The bald man set a cup formally down in front of Maxwell, moving with that curiously liquid way he had and delicately holding the cup between two metallic fingers, and then sat eagerly in the chair facing the commander, cradling his own cup in one hand. Foley: Cheers! No, that’s more appropriately alcoholic. To your health! Well, no, that’s not entirely accurate with the effect this has on your metabolism. Oh! No, wait! A cadet at the Academy informed me of an appropriate toast - 'IwlIj jachjaj! ::it was pronounced with the sort of awkward care only made possible by a rigorously obsessive student repeating after someone over and over while not understanding the language, each syllable chiseled and isolated:: Maxwell brought the goggles up off of his eyes and rested them on his forehead, completely cementing the pulp fiction image of two mad scientists cackling over their doomsday device. The actual scientist narrowed his eyes in consternation at Chip’s use of Klingon, which Maxwell had never fully learned and was extremely rusty on. It SOUNDED like something to do with parentage and the scent of elderberries, but that certainly couldn’t be right. Traenor: I, er, don’t think I know what that means. Or at least not what I think I heard. Foley: I was advised that it means “May your blood scream!”, although it’s used proverbially as a toast! Although hyperpercolated coffee has been known to occasionally cause pulse rates to increase to the point that blood forced at that impelled velocity over a sufficiently acoustic surface COULD likely produce a certain scream-adjacent sound effect! Traenor: ::a confused expression belying his words:: Ah. That makes more sense. Though hardly any more reassuring. Before Chip could query him about what he thought he heard initially, since how could he possibly explain that, Maxwell interjected right away with a segue back to the topic at hand. He took up his own espresso cup and wondered why his eyes were starting to water. Traenor: This will likely be a revelatory experience for me, won’t it? Chip paused a moment in consideration of the various meanings of the term “revelation”, and decided that there were a sufficient number of religious traditions that utilized mental or physical challenges in the pursuit of enlightenment - and thus revelation - that it qualified. Foley: Indeed! It very likely shall! Let us leap! They both tipped the cups back. Imagine if you will the difference between powdered milk and real, fresh organic cream. The difference between the recirculated oxygen of a pressurized aircraft and a rushing mountain breeze. The difference between Beethoven played through a small portable speaker sat on a particle board desk and the same piece in a symphony hall played by a 100-piece orchestra. To Chip, at least, that was the difference between standard coffee and the hyperpercolator’s brew - they were the same thing, but one was magnified. Intensified. Everything one considers in a cup of coffee - the acidity, the bitter notes, the complex roasted elements, the strong body thanks to the scientifically-suspended oils - it was all present, but AMPLIFIED. It activated every relevant taste bud at once, coating the whole mouth. And the sensation of caffeine uptake was almost immediate - it was like a hit of a Medical stimulant, like the hyposprays used to bring people out of sedation. Chip’s eyelids lifted and he smiled in contentment, his whole face animating. Foley: Ahhhhhhhhh. It was a sound of radiant satisfaction, like a steam release valve being slowly opened. Chip’s energy output was so constantly high that this was like refueling. He immediately seemed more ACTIVATED. His hairless brows rose in curiosity. Foley: So! How do you find the brew? Maxwell was gingerly trying to pick himself up off the floor where he had fallen out of his chair. His pupils were dilated at different rates, and the room was buzzing… buzzing? Yep, definitely buzzing. A few minutes from now, when he could feel his tongue again, Traenor would start to wonder why he chose to chug instead of sip. When he spoke, it was with a ragged breathlessness. Traenor: ...smooth… Foley: Oooh! You’ve achieved supinity! Sparkling! Ah, I remember those heady days of early experimentation, frequently finding myself awakening in strange postures in the culinary lab after caffeine-related syncope. You’ll find the second cup is much less traumatic, although I recommend considering a waiting period before you indulge! That can vary, of course, based on your particular neurochemistry and your willingness to embrace danger! Chip rested his elbow on the table and leaned over, peering curiously at Maxwell, his cheerfully glowing cybernetic eyes roving and evaluating the man’s skin temperature and heart rate for display in Foley’s optical HUD - both elevated, but not to any immediately lethal point. The commander was also returning to his chair at a reasonably careful speed, so Chip opted against getting up to come around and drag him up. After all, hyperpercolator brew sometimes lent an intense dermal sensitivity that could make being touched challenging for a few moments after ingestion. Foley: So! Maximum veracity! On a scale of 0.1 to 28.7 how would you rate your satisfaction with the overall flavor, complexity, and neurostimulation? Don’t pad your evaluation on my behalf! Objective experiential data is the KEY to improvement! Back in his chair, finally, and trying to re-establish at least the air of respectability, Maxwell regarded the question. Well, regarded might not be the best word. Devoured? Assimilated? His brain felt supercharged, turbocharged. The caffeine rush was exquisite, even if the tremors weren’t. Traenor: Ooh, flavor! Complex, fine acidity, bitter notes of cacao and vegetals and definite undernotes of terpenes! Sweet toasted sugar notes! Atomic crunch tooth rattles! Wait, that’s not a flavor but a sensation. Hmm, I’d give it a 𝞹 times 9! Wait. Maxwell didn’t know pi past the first few decimal points off the top of his head, let alone how well enough for off-the cuff equations. He looked at Chip with awe. This was damned fine coffee in so many ways - if you could ride out the side effects, of course. Foley: Good, good! Optimal! SPARKLINGLY optimal! We are approaching scale maximum AND in an appealingly precise fashion! Explicate! Have you noticed any curious distortions in perception? Any indication of dissociation? Alteration of primary sensory capacity? Also, and this is crucial, should we eat those caramel tarts NOW or would you rather wait until some of the aftereffects fade? Traenor: ::settling in with a grin:: Man, we have a lot of coffee talk to get through! Grab them tarts. END -- Commander Maxwell Traenor Science Officer, USS Constitution A239111MT0 and Ensign Chip Foley Engineering USS Constitution-B C239704CF0
  16. (( USS Juneau - Temporary Quarters)) The new counselor stood in front of the mirror, applying the last finishing details on her makeup. She wanted to look perfect for her new assignment, well as perfect as SHE could look. R'Ariel looked at the Padd containing her orders, and realized how much time she had before reporting in on her new assignment aboard the USS Arrow. With a few basic navigational inquiries, she found her feet and made a mild-mannered entrance into the Clanhouse, a relaxing Lounge on Deck 10. She almost got lost twice... not the best thing for nervous energy release. oO Sure will be nice to have a few less dozen or more less decks to memorize, less chaotic I think. Oo After arriving she took a seat near a window, she deliberated on her choice of drink. Would she go with one of her old favorites, or on such an occasion as this, try something new? Waiter: What can I get you Ensign?:: inquired a friendly, but tired waiter.:: R'Ariel smiled at the waiter, hearing her being referenced as an Ensign, was still a new and pleasant experience. Behind the waiter she coul see her own reflection in the window behind him, a reflection of herself disappointed in herself for not having decided just yet what she was going to drink. oO Maybe you should get some milk, just be careful not to get it all over all that hair you have, you don't want to be a mess for your new assignment. oO:: the Deltan side of her reflection seemed to say, silently chiding at her half-Caitian heritage.:: She closed her eyes, and shook her head, before opening them again, intent on replying to the waiter. Her reflection had changed in the window this time. oO You wish getting milk on your fur was a problem, you don't even have a single wisp of hair or fur on your entire face. Oo ::her Caitian heritage silently rebuffed:: R'Ariel looked up at the waiter, with an apologetic look. She half wanted to ask the waiter if he agreed she was an ugly Deltan for having all that hair, or an ugly Caitian for having no hair on her face, or if perhaps, as she endeavored so arduously -if her meticulous attention to style, makeup, and the like, sufficiently covered her unappealing features... R'Ariel: You know what they say about the psychiatric field... it starts with the person wearing your own shoes. ::R'Ariel quipped with a well rehearsed chuckle:: A confused waiter replied stood there staring at her Waiter: I'm not sure I know that drink. R'Ariel: No worries, I... R'Ariel's combadge chirped, it was time for her to leave, her new life was about to begin. R'Ariel: I am so sorry, I guess nothing. Thank you. (( Bridge - USS Arrow )) Everything was happening so fast. She had joined her new crew on the Bridge of the USS Arrow, the trip itself went from null-eventful to just trying to keep from being underfoot, over-eventful. In fact it was going to take her awhile before she could even review the minute details of how she got here, to this place, right here, right now. oO And to think I thought it would be less chaotic here. Oo Trying to take it all in, it was awe-inspiring and there was Commander Collins, at over 6 feet tall was a strong statement on the Bridge, reminding her in both his physical stature and his rank how little she was - Ensign - 4 foot 2 inches small. And the emotions on the bridge, it was enough to send little telltale twitches of nervous energy to her tail, it gently thumped on the wall beside her. oO This is certainly no simulated Cadet exam, these are real life and death decisions with heightened emotions and pheromones to match. Oo From a workstation in the back, she attempted to monitor things, though the extent of the ship's issues, lockouts, viruses, etc made her efforts seem trivial at best. Computer: Deletion Halted. Re-installation of Core Systems Commencing. Collins: Sound off, everyone. R'Ariel: Ensign R'Ariel, Ship's Counselor reporting in sir! Anyone: Responses --- Ensign R'Ariel Counselor USS Arrow ID-J239706R10
  17. ((Main Engineering, USS Narendra)) After informal debriefings with Galven, Taelon, and other members of the science team, Kudon went to Main Engineering to record his report for the mission, as Galven had requested. He sat down at a station, further away from technicians currently on duty, so that he could have a bit of privacy. Kudon: Computer, record Engineer Officer Ensign Kudon's mission log, Stardate 239706.22 In the mission recently completed, I was assigned with Commander Galven, Lieutenant Bailey, and Ensign Taelon as a team to be responsible for neutralizing Death Fog, which was stored on Vanokth II. We were further charged with rendering the Death Fog's production facility nonoperational, in order to make the production of additional deadly gas impossible. Prior to deployment to the planet, here on the Narendra, Ensign Taelon had developed unique Death Fog neutralizers known as Breathers. I had programmed the Breathers with an algorithm that in pre-deployment testing showed remarkable success at using statistical analysis to detect the Death Fog, using a modified Kalman Filter, specifically an Autoencoder. When we beamed down to Vankoth II, the algorithm was successful in detecting the presence of Death Fog in two locations, one at the southeast end of the compound and one at the north end. Kudon paused here, feeling the disappointment of the words he had to utter... Unfortunately, while the area of the Death Fog's dispersion was likely accurate, the algorithm failed to be able to fully determine the Death Fog's density and therefore it was impossible to tell which location was the storage facility and the production facility. Based on pre-deployment testing, this should not have happened. I will analyze the data later, hopefully with the help of Ensign Taelon, to determine why it failed and if it could be improved for future chemical detection. Kudon paused to breathe again, as his mind shifted to the fighting that took place. The fear that had gripped him during battle had proved overwhelming, but he would have to save that for his personal log. After we had detected where the gas was at least, we were discovered by several cult members and a major battle ensued. Commander Galven had ordered that only non-lethal force should be used. While this was respected by all of us under his command, it was not respected by a non-cult member Klingon named Asoq, who killed a significant number of Molorians, using both a rifle and a dagger. Little is known about this Klingon, but he claimed to have broken free from cultists who had interrogated him under torture. His severely disfigured face certainly lent credence to his claim of torture. He helped lead all of us into the compound, although Ensign Taelon and myself initially, followed by Commander Galven and Lieutenant Bailey. He wondered if he was remembering all of this correctly. So many events had happened so face and the fear he had felt certainly may have interfered with his memory. To the best of his knowledge, the report was correct so far in the events, but was it correct in order? Ensign Taelon, Asoq, and I sent a Breather into the production facility's pipe system with the goal of using it to trigger an explosion that would melt the release valves of the Death Fog. The idea of melting the valves was Ensign Taelon's. It was my idea to use a Breather, based on the possibility that connecting the algorithm to the Breather's gas scrubbing mechanism would allow it to separate out the silicon and platinum chloride of the Death Fog, ideally triggering explosive chemical reactions from unchained silicon and organic compounds in the air of the vents. When Commander Galven and Ensign Bailey rejoined us, our plans had to shift because of a countdown breach in the reactor core at the compound. Commander Galven, having been severely injured, ordered Ensign Bailey and myself to reach the outside of the compound in the hope of finding our fellow officers in the team rescuing Lofsha, the kidnapped Klingon Commander. Once we were outside, an explosion was triggered, but it is very unlikely that it was caused by the Breather. Before the explosion, Bailey and I were transported aboard the Klingon ship qulCha’par...The success of this last Breather in isolating silicon or triggering detonation is unknown...I hope to study this further... He had to stop there, not just because it was the end of the story...surely more details could be added, but he felt further disappointment not knowing whether his algorithm had worked in the chemical reactions. Kudon was in a variety of ways disappointed in his performance. His algorithm had worked at detecting the Death Fog initially, but it underperformed expectations. And he had no idea if the second use of the algorithm in triggering an explosion had worked at all. Then it crept into his mind again how his fear in battle had rattled him so much, leading him to overestimate the chances of success and not think through all the consequences of his decisions. This had come out in a sudden burst of a sort of confession to Galven down on the planet. He wanted to process of all his feelings about this in his personal log, but right now it was all too much. Kudon closed his eyes and took two minutes to do Vulcan meditation. He opened his eyes and left engineering to find some distraction. NT Ensign Kudon Starbase 118 Ops Engineering Officer O239703K10
  18. ((IKS qulCha’par, Shuttlebay)) Korv had made it to the qulCha'par's shuttlebay unnoticed and he was just outside in the corridor looking at a bundle of wires spilling out of the door lock panel that he had pried off using his trusty dagger. Korv: ::irritatedly under his breath:: Argh, more locks to open. What did the old bat say again? ::scratches his chin:: Red and blue... Brainpower was not Korv’s strong suit and now his right arm was broken he was not being delicate with the wires either. He punched the wall with his good hand and proceeded to simply rip all the wiring out. To his surprise the shuttle bay doors opened and he rushed inside, glancing around to quickly find cover. There shouldn’t be any opposition there yet, but just in case. You never knew-- he had heard those Starfleet officers were like nasty rodents... they are everywhere and hard to get rid of. Luckily there was no-one. The shuttle bay was deserted. At the far side of the room stood a small craft. Korv: ::huffs:: Just my luck. A flying tin! It didn’t really matter that the shuttle was the tiniest he’d ever seen, barely room for two people, it would serve his purpose, to escape and limp back to the Cult’s main hideout. There he could warn them of the events, and after that, hopefully let him live to fight in the name of Molor once more. Leaning against the outside of the tiny shuttle, he took a minute to examine his broken arm. He had left a messy trail of pink blood, dripping from a wound that - he only noticed now - had a piece of bone sticking out of it. Back in the test facility, the rush of battle had numbed all pain but now, even though he would never admit it out loud, he felt pain. He made a rip in his uniform shirt and tucked his hand inside to support it like a makeshift sling. Then he felt a tremor starting to build up. It resonated in the floor and the walls. He knew exactly what it was - the qulCha’par’s engines were ramping up. Korv: oO Hopefully this flying tin is too insignificant to have any extra security on it. Oo Resolutely he got back to his feet. He had to move quickly now to be ready if his escape was going to be successful. The shields could only be raised if the large vessel was high enough up from the ground and when they did, he would smash to pieces on the inside of the invisible containment field. Korv wasn’t smart, but this he knew. Korv: ::plonks himself down on the pilot seat and taps the console:: Let’s see. Good. Not long now. Hopefully I will be gone before anyone realises. A flick of a switch initiated the opening of the shuttle bay door. The screech of an alert sounded throughout the bay and to Korv it seemed as if the door was opening in the slowest way ever, as if it was taunting him on purpose. Korv: ::yells frustratedly and smashes his fist down:: Aaargh! Open, you stupid door, or I will blast my way out! There were no weapons on the tiny flying tin and he knew it. Still, he was angry and screaming felt good. He held his hand over the power controls, ready to speed off. When the tiny shuttle finally did shoot away, like a cork out of a bottle of fermented bloodwine, he realized he wasn’t all that far away from the ground at all yet. He was speeding towards the test facility, that was crumbling and nearly falling apart. Computer: Pull up. Terrain. Pull up. Korv: I can see that. Shut up! ::punches the controls frantically with one hand in an attempt to raise the little craft’s altitude:: It was working, he was on course to just skim over the top and have a clear getaway. He allowed himself to sit back more comfortably in the pilot seat and let out a loud relieved laugh. Korv: Ha ha ha! Honor is useless. Survival of the fit-- ::eyes wide with horror and mouth breathlessly open:: As it was passing low over the top of the building’s large dome, a wall of flame and debris shot up from the production compound. There was no time to react and the tiny shuttle flew right into it, completely being engulfed by the explosion. It didn’t come out of the other side, not even a trace. Bullying only works when you know your target is not capable of fighting back. Ironically, being bullied in his past had made Korv a bitter and cowardly bully himself and drove him to join the Cult of Molor, a group of Klingons who ruthlessly terrorized their own kind to gain support for their twisted ideals. He had helped kill and torture countless people in the name of the Cult in the misguided hope that someone, someday would be proud of his achievements. It was all he really wanted. But who could be proud of a broken honorless lost soul like Korv. (END) -- Korv Klingon follower of the Cult of Molor simmed by Ens. Romyana Casparian Engineering Officer Starbase 118 Ops - USS Narendra O239703RC0
  19. Slight warning - Klingon justice is pretty dramatically dark, but this was a fantastic read to the end of a very nasty villain! ((IKS qulCha’par – Interior)) Luthas picked the cult leader up by his feet and unceremoniously dragged the man behind him as he followed Lofsha to the bridge which wasn’t the best action to take because now his gag had come off as it untied itself when it scraped against the floor. Gach’ah: Such imbeciles! ::head bumps on the ground:: Oof! You cowards! ::head bump:: Oof! They entered the bridge to find Lofsha’s crew powering up the ship and beginning the processes for take off. Lofsha: G’maj, find Asoq, beam him to the bridge. G’Maj: Yes, Commander! Lofsha: How long until the Death fog is expelled? Luthas: :: Luthas shrugged :: I lost track when the fighting started so anytime between right now and 7 minutes. :: Probably should have had a timer running. Oh well. :: Gach’ah: ::chuckles maniacally:: Any moment now and every single one of you will be choking to death on the gas! Lofsha: No worries, Gach’ah. You will see your plan in its glory up close and personal. Luthas: You’re going to kick him out the airlock? :: That didn’t seem very Klingony but what did he know. :: Gach’ah: Oh, so dishonorable of you, Commander. Maybe you should join the Cult of Molor. ::winks with a nasty smirk:: Lofsha gave a single nod and one of her crew punished the cultist with a blow to the chest to keep him still. He laughed as a few coughs expelled from being hit in the ribs. Golden light filled the area as the battered but honorable form of another Klingon appeared. No doubt the one she had asked to be beamed aboard. Lofsha: Asoq. ::A curt greeting:: Friend of my family. I trust you have made the cultists blood run freely? Asoq knelt down and put his fist to his chest. Asoq: Commander, it is an honor to be in your presence. I took the lives of many traitors today, but far too few for what they all deserved. Lofsha: This is Gach’ah, dishonorable leader of this despicable place. ::She waved towards the cultist.:: Do you think he should see his handiwork up close and personal? Asoq rose to his feet and as he glanced Gach’ah’s way, the cultist snarled and then spat at the Klingon, but it missed by a long shot. Asoq: Yes! Only the beginning of a fitting punishment! Luthas: If you’re gonna leave him there alive, might I suggest a cement shoes approach. Prevent him from leaving wherever you drop him off. Gach’ah: ::confused:: What is cement? Lofsha: Get one of the cargo weights. The one that weighs 800 kilograms. Chain it to him. Asoq: Commander, let me have the honor of chaining him down. What in the world? Gach’ah had never heard of these tactics before. He wasn’t sure if they were still messing with him with their own mind games or if they were actually serious. For the first time ever, words escaped him as Lofsha stepped forward, getting right up close and personal to Gach’ah. Lofsha: I’m going to beam you into your compound, right by the tanks so you can have an up close, front and center personal view of the chaos you have created. You know, Molor would want it this way. Both of his thick eyebrows arched clear up his forehead, then when Lofsha stepped away, Asoq took his turn to look into Gach'ah's eyes with his face no more than 6 inches away. Asoq: I want you to remember that for every honorable Klingon that you had tortured or killed, for every dishonorable act you did, for all of your supposed shrewdness, I was there for the Empire, passing along your every deed. Doesn't it bother you that you never knew until today that you let a spy into your inner ring? What would bother him about that? He had done the same thing when he fooled everyone in the Empire. The previous cult leader came up to him during his earlier years and spoke off Molor and what their purpose was. Gach’ah was already sold on the idea essentially just before the leader ended his speech. What was even better had been the fact that the man was someone he would have never guessed to be against the Empire. Gach’ah hissed at them both. More so at Lofsha which caused his action caused him to cough up some blood which he spat at them which landed perfectly between their feet. He was about to stand up when all of a sudden, a colored hue of the transporter whisked him away and mere seconds later, he was now back in his compound ((Inside Compound, Vankoth II)) He didn’t have much mobility since he was still tied up. He pushed himself up as he rested his shoulders and collarbone on the wall, then with some leg strength still available, Gach’ah finally managed to stand. Although how he did that only caused more severe pain from the beating he took from Lofsha’s crew. Galven: =/\= Just a few more seconds, sir. =/\= Mr. Taelon, come on! Let’s hurry! Taelon: I need to shut down the full release or this is pointless. Just - give me a moment - The cultist heard a couple voices that echoed down the corridor which was pretty far away. They sounded like Starfleet officers which tickled Gach’ah because he knew that he would’ve been able to kill at least two people. He started off with a limped half jog, but wasn’t that much successful at really going anywhere, but there were maybe a few inches he had managed to get out of his efforts. Nijil: =/\= Is everyone in your team with you? =/\= Galven: =/\= Negative, sir. I told them to head outside towards your location. =/\= Nijil: =/\= Understood, ::he had to pause to catch his breath.:: Prepare for transport - =/\= Gach’ah: Transport? What?! You filthy miscreants will not hear the last of me! A loud rumble which caused a thunderous cracking sounded which caused Gach’ah to turn around since he was actually curious as to what was happening. Not a nanosecond later, an enormous fireball lit up the corridor, then as if sound itself left him behind, a shock wave threw him backwards and he landed with a thud on his back. He weakly sat up, but there wasn’t even much of a moment for him to digest as the billowing explosion reached Gach’ah which caused him to start screaming at the top of his lungs as he was engulfed in flame. ((OOC-The End of Gach’ah!)) ---- Gach’ah Former Cult of Molor Leader V239507GG0
  20. ((Bridge – USS Narendra - Azure Nebula)) After having received a knife in her right shoulder from a foul move of their own helm officer, who beamed away before being able to get caught, Romyana had been quickly patched up by doctor Foster and continued to work. The erratic flight moves in the exceptionally rough ship battle caused her to topple over and brought the pain back. Casparian: ::flinches as the doctor deftly adjusts the bandage on her shoulder:: I’m sorry for being snappy, Sir, it’s just that there is a lot going on right now. ::taps a few more buttons on the beeping console and huffs:: The hypospray hissed against her neck, taking effect almost immediately. The throbbing pain in her shoulder began to ebb and her snappy behaviour faded away with it. She always reacted cold and defensive, sometimes up to the point of aggressive, when hurt or wronged. It was the quarter Vulcan in her that heightened her emotions without ever having been trained to subdue them. Foster: Don’t feel bad. I’ve been in the fleet for seven years and this is a new one on me. Casparian: ::gives him a quick appreciative smile:: Really? I wish I could say that makes me feel better, but truthfully… it scares me a bit to know that this is a highly exceptional situation even for the senior staff. How can they stay so calm? The blue skinned Andorian doctor cast a glance at Taybrim and Maxwell. Foster: Experience. ::he stated simply. He just knew it in his bones. There were things that didn’t cause him to flinch anymore either because of experience.:: They’re done this before… and lived to tell the tale about it. Casparian: ::nods:: This is my first time as a bridge officer on a starship and-- ::beeps on her console briefly took her attention and she entered some commands using both hands:: Anyway, I joined Starfleet to meet and learn about new things and meet different people, but I know this is part of the job too, to defend. There was determination in her eyes when she said that last remark and subconsciously she stood a bit taller. She was proud of what the federation stood for and she was going to do her best to defend it against rogue organisations such as the Cult of Molor who tried to undermine it. Foster: This is true. He finished up the better bandaging to ease the majority of the pain and gave her arm a gentle pat in the uninjured area, both for support and to let her know that everything was done. Casparian: What about you, Sir? ::gives the bright blue eyed Doctor an inquisitive look and a friendly smile:: What appealed to you to become a doctor on a starship, if I may ask? Foster: Grew up on a Starship, Dad was a Starfleet Doctor. I followed in his footsteps. Casparian: ::nods thoughtfully:: Foster: What about you? Casparian: Why I joined Starfleet? Because...::drops her head briefly:: because of many reasons, ::looks back up at the doctor:: but mostly to see all the wonderful things that the universe has to offer, to explore, ::her eyes brightened more and more with every word:: explore places, explore cultures and meet people--really get to know them. She stopped there, though she could go on and on. She felt at ease talking to the outgoing and talkative Andorian doctor. If he had lived on a starship he must have seen a lot! So many questions popped into her head. Though, maybe the ship’s bridge in the middle of a death defying ship battle, it wasn’t the place to talk like this. Foster: You know what? If we live… ::he paused, looked at her, realized he had three pips on and corrected himself:: When we live through this, let’s sit down and just chat over coffee or something. Something normal, quiet, not-shooty. Casparian: Yes, it’d like that very much, Sir. ::smiles joyfully:: Someplace where there are no knives! Foster: It’s a deal. ::He looked up as the Captain raised his voice again to address the whole bridge:: Oh boy, I think it’s brace for impact time again… Casparian: It is. Hold on tight, Sir. ::grasps the edge of her console firmly with one hand and slightly bends her knees to brace herself.:: With the pain gone, her normal positive attitude was back completely. And the little chat with the Andorian, who was rather more expressive than usual for his kind, made her anxiousness fade, now replaced with renewed confidence and determination. Taybrim: After this is done, we have to prepare for the final stand. The loq’Noom should be in place. We’ll take any opportunity we can get. ::He sat in the command seat again.:: Prepare the slingshot, on Lt Blackwell’s mark. Maxwell: ::To Blackwell:: How far up their noses can you get us? Blackwell/Taybrim: ? Casparian: The repair teams are still working on the shields, Sir. We need...more time. She wished she could give them an exact number, but she knew the time her colleagues were trying to buy them was measured in mere minutes. None of the repairs would be fully complete, emergency patch-ups perhaps. She could only signal Chief Engineer Hael who was orchestrating everything down in engineering to hurry, and be ready for some more heavy duty flying. Drevas: We could give them a couple of shots across their hull, draw attention to us as we move, sir. Get them angry so that they become reckless. Maxwell: Ever heard the old earth term, “kamikaze”? Casparian: ::flicks her head around to Maxwell:: Surely you don’t want us to actually... ::swallows:: collide? Her eyes were wide with disbelief and terror. She could already imagine the structural damage such a move would make, if they would survive the move at all, they would be dead in the water and easy pickings. Blackwell/ Taybrim: ? Maxwell: So we give it clogs tae make some space between us and them and boost what repairs we can. Then the fun begins. ::He leaned back in his seat slightly.:: We drop impulse and pull a one-eighty via thrusters. ::He grinned again as he thought of it like a handbrake turn.:: Then we give her all she's got and go at them. Blackwell/Taybrim: ? Casparian: The engines and thrusters are fine, Sir. They can support that kind of move, yes. Before she could warn them about the need for the shields and integrity fields to keep the ship from ripping itself apart, the tactical officer already continued to explain the rest of his daredevil plan. Maxwell: We'll be down their throats before they know it. We give them volley ae everything as we pass by and it'll take them fair time tae turn about and chase us. By that point we can scoop the away team and be halfway home before they have chance tae scratch their heads. Blackwell/Taybrim: ? Casparian: Aye, Sir. She was definitely not happy with the plan, but she had learnt in the academy that it was not her place to question orders, out loud at least, and when a plan was decided upon, to work as a team to make the best of it. She began dancing her fingers across her console to get everything ready for their, hopefully, final stand. ((Short Timeskip between part 1 & 2)) (END of PART 1) -- Ensign Romyana Casparian Engineering Officer Starbase 118 Ops - USS Narendra O239703RC0
  21. ((Bridge -IKS Deshk-Var.)) In light of the Chang-Vorch's departure, the Deshk-Var and Vr'Chok had moved alongside each other for a full frontal assault on the Narendra. Janul gripped the arms of his command throne as the vessels powered onwards. This was going to be a day to remember. His House and the Empire would be rid of a great enemy. The sensors bleated as the USS Narendra hammered over the planets horizon at what seemed to be full speed. There had been no warning of a course change, and Janul was quietly taken by surprise at the sheer aggression shown. He knew the Narendra's crew were far from cowards, but this was completely unexpected. Janul: Helm, maintain postion with the Vr'Chok. Allow Starfleet to pass between us. Helm: Aye, commander. He glanced over at the Warrioress at the tactical/weapons station, the two sharing a slight nod. It had taken heartbeats for the Narendra to be right on top of them. Almost close enough to reach out and punch. Janul: Get me the Narendra. The viewscreen changed to show the Narendra's bridge, with Captain Sal Taybrim sat at its centre. Janul didn't even rise from his seat. Janul: =/\= Friends are the family we build for ourselves, captain. =/\= And with that, he jabbed a button on the seat arm, killing the link without ceremony. Glaring about the bridge, he allowed his control to slip a little, the anger that forever boiled within him beginning to leak forth. Janul: Helm, roll to port. ::He raised a gloved hand, signalling the moment had arrived.:: Fire! And his vessel fired everything it had into the Vr'Chok's weakend starboard shields as seconds later the Narendra followed suit. The comm sounded almost immediately. Comms: Vr'Chok is hailing us, Commander. Janul: Ignore it. Comms: It's General Krala! Janul rose from his seat, hauling the officer from his seat by the collar and right up to his face. His voice was like the roaring of the gods themselves. Janul: I said, IGNORE IT!!!! Great gouges were torn from the massive Vr'Chok as the Narendra's weapons struck home, and the Deshk-Var continued firing until the very last second, sending explosions rippling along the length of the cult flagship. Mere seconds away from hitting the battered Starfleet vessel, Janul ordered the weapon to fall silent as the Narendra squeezed between them. Colliding shields shrieked all around as the vessels all passed each other by. As the Narendra broke clear, Janul dropped his dangling comms officer and turned towards his weapons officer. Janul: Fire everything. Helm, bring us about. Line us up for torpedoes. Explosions from massive disruptor blasts tore out great pieces of the Vr'Chok, even as the dying cruiser continued to hail it's former ally. As the huge Negh'Var-class began to spew plasma and gasses, the hull too began to break apart from the punishing volleys. Janul turned and pointed at the comms officer, and the hail was answered. Krala: =/\= Janul! My son! What are yo- =/\= Janul: =/\= You are no kin of mine, General. =/\= The link was cut just as dismissively as before, and Janul took his command throne once more. He began to drum his fingers upon its arm. The dying Vr'Chok came fully onto the viewscreen as the Deshk'Var repositioned. His weapons officer turned to face him. Janul: Target the Vr'Chok with everything we have. ::He leaned forwards.:: Rid the Empire of this stain upon her honour. The wepons officer – his cousin Tahl – nodded and turned back to her screen. tbc -- Commander Janul Klingon Defence Force. Simmed by; Lieutenant-Commander Arturo Maxwell. Chief Tactical Officer. Starbase 118 Operations. O239311AM0.
  22. I am constantly impressed by how well Ben writes for the duty post of ship's counselor. His character's comments are always just so perfect for each scene he is in. I really enjoy this scene the ships XO and Counselor are involved in, and it shows a really stellar side of a Trek story that I think we often overlook: the human element. Bravo gents, and keep on killing it Ben. =============================== ((Chief Counsellor’s Office, Deck Ten, USS Thor)) Alex was sitting reviewing some case notes and closing out some files. The pile wasn’t the usual stack that built up while he’d been on a mission – staying aboard the Thor had been almost like working from home. He took a glance around the room and moved over to one of the storage crates. He’d nearly got it looking how he wanted – slowly unpacking what he had brought from his main office at the Embassy and setting it out in what was his temporary, now permanent, home. He took out one of his doctoral certificates and was hanging it on the wall when the buzzer went. Brodie: Come. Brodie just got the frame hung where he wanted it as the door opened and he turned to face his guest. It was a surprise. Teller: Counselor Brodie? Was wondering if you had a few minutes for me. Brodie: Of course, Commander. Please, do come in. Teller: Thank you. Brodie stepped down from where he had been standing and moved towards his own desk. He watched as Teller stepped into the room…almost fearful…or was it an air of wonder. He was certainly the first officer to have come and seen him since the move to the Thor, it was all very new in some ways. He’d have to see when his last visit was – it must have been a while if this was the reaction. He gestured to a the corner sofa and for Geoff to sit and he did likewise in a separate chair – a small coffee table separating them Teller: So, Counselor, does your rate go up for walk-ins? Brodie: ::Smiling:: Only for private clients. Starfleet has a pretty comprehensive all-inclusive package. It was a terrible opener but sometimes it just needed something like that to break the ice. It seemed to do the trick. Teller: I've been meaning to do this for a while, but things have been a little...hectic, recently. Besides, I've been telling the crew to take care of themselves - be a bit hypocritical if I don't do the same. ::He smirked:: Just don't tell Addison I said that or she'll drag me in for a physical. My hypocrisy be damned. Brodie: Well, if it’s any consolation she’s already caught me. Like I said though, it’s fully comprehensive…so please, any time and all the time that you need. Teller: Appreciate it. So, where do we start? Brodie: Perhaps at the end? You mentioned you’ve been meaning to do this for a while, so what made today the day? Geoff sat, but couldn't find an especially comfortable position. Perching forward felt too stiff, leaning back too informal, and laying down wasn't even on the table. The fault was neither the couch or the Counselors still in progress decorating efforts. Geoff huffed, slid back, and crossed his legs, attempting to forcibly relax. It was about as effective as telling a Vulcan to 'loosen up.' Teller: Last few days I've noticed my focus slipping a bit. Happens when I've got too many things on my mind and I'm having a hard time deciding where to sink my teeth in. Just feels like this is the first chance I've really gotten in months to plant my feet and my head is still spinning, I guess. Geoff slumped back and shifted, trying to wrap words around it that just seemed clunky. Brodie: Tell me a little more about that. Teller: Well, five months ago I was Chief Engineer of a starship. Wasn't anything as fancy as this ::Geoff extended his arms, taking in the grandeur of the Thor:: but I knew my place there, and I was happy. Then Admiral Turner reached out and, well....::Geoff's shoulders slumped::..here we are. It's been a long road...getting from there to here. Brodie: ::Nodding:: That’s understandable – there have been a lot of changes recently…for you more than most. Geoff let out a sort of begrudging laugh. It was true though - Geoff had seen more changes than most. He’d arrived at the Embassy with Addison, but she had retained the same position as a doctor. Teller had been moved to a new role and then had his immediate superior swapped out in pretty short order. Teller: Yeah I suppose that's fair. It's not the duty, or the missions...it's...it's hard to put words to it... Brodie could see the man was struggling - although the only thing that was stopping him saying what was troubling his mind, was him. Brodie: It’s okay, Geoff. That thought…just say it out loud. The man steeled himself and then started to speak. Teller: Well, it's like this I guess - when I was wearing a gold collar, I could look at the master status board and know the ship was right. Got sensors, diagnostics, computers - an innumerable pile of gadgets and gizmos that tell me, to a margin of error I can see right on the screen, if things are working well or if they aren't. Brodie: And you feel that you no longer have access to that level of detail? Alex knew it was a leading question…he just wasn’t entirely sure where it would lead. Teller: Oh I can still pull those diagnostics up for the ship, but that's not my job anymore. It's the crew. I'm just.... And there it was, laid bare, the complexities of the human machine. Brodie: Feeling overwhelmed? Teller: They're my responsibility, but I have a hard time figuring out if I'm taking care of them right. If I'm doing everything they need? It's easy to know when to purge the injectors or change out an ODN conduit but with people, it's hardly that cut and dry. Any ideas? Brodie only understood part of what Geoff had said…he wasn’t even sure what ODN stood for? Everyone had areas they knew well – Alex didn’t understand engineering or science in more than passing detail. Kells and Wilkins discussed chroniton particles on the bridge and he’d been…totally lost. Teller knew engineering. Brodie...he knew people…and it was people he was here to help. Brodie: People are, by their very nature…variable; and complex one’s at that. I think, however, the fact that you’re here, sitting on my couch, and worried that you’re not doing the right thing…means you’re doing the right thing. Brodie could understand the concerns of the man and where it was stemming from. He had barely had much time to get settled into his new role and responsibilities without interruption. He had arrived, been shot down and wounded, then he led the team to recover Addison. Then the transfer had occurred and Kells had come aboard – new command and new commander. Then he’d been on the surface of Vel Maijan trying to locate and rescue colonists lost for over two centuries. Through all this Brodie had taken temporary command of the bridges of both the Thunder and then Thor. Teller was a man who needed to get involved, that much was obvious, but perhaps he hadn’t been able to get involved in the right way? Teller: ??? Brodie: You worry you don’t know them? You? The man who hand carved a personalised shield for every one of the senior staff for the wall of the great hall? Teller: ??? Brodie: If I may ask a question, when you were an engineer…how did you approach a new ship? Learning what made it tick? Teller: ??? TBC ------------------------------------ Lt. Cmdr. Alexander Brodie Chief Counselor USS Thor NCC-82607 dualitygamer@gmail.com Writer ID.: A239005BM0
  23. This came from our newest Engineer on the Atlantis and it cracked me up. 😂 Hope you all enjoy as much as I did. ((Security Director’s Office, Mephinii Spaceport, Illara Prime)) Lephi made her way way back over to the console, working away on her PADD as she went and muttering to herself about the faces on the screen in front of her. As she set it down to inspect the environmental controls she heard Yogan speak up. Yalu: Thoron particles. Ganarvuss: What about them? Yalu: There are very faint residual thoron particles in the room. ::sweeping his tricorder in a wide arc at hip-level:: Thoron radiation has a pretty short half-life, but I’m definitely reading decaying thorium isotopes right around here. Lephi: Thoron particles? Any chance the readings are picking up on older radiation? Anyone: response(s)? Yalu: If a medical thoron generator was used, the rate of decay would suggest it was fairly recent. Brex: ::brow furrows:: Could this be connected to the projector your Ensign Lephi spoke of earlier? oO Is this how it's going to be while I'm an Ensign? I'm standing right here! Ask me! Oo Lephi tried to shake the rage she felt at being ignored and talked about like she wasn't in the room at all. It brought back many memories of females trying to integrate into regular society on Ferenginar. Logan: response Yalu: I’m not sure. I’ve only ever used a thoron generator for medical treatments. What else could it be used for? Lephi continued to work away at the console. It wasn't exactly the most user friendly for a Ferengi, but she was making it work as best she could. She looked up at Yogan to answer his question. Ganarvuss: Blocking our scans. Thoron radiation can interfere with tricorder functions. It doesn’t have to be concentrated, just unexpected. The question is what were they hiding? Lephi: Yeah, it's a real pain in the lobes to try to get accurate information from the readings with that stuff floating around. Immediately after Gararvuss spoke, the room was plunged into a momentary darkness. Lephi: When it thloppers it really glebbens. We've got to get these systems functioning again. Logan: Responses Ganarvuss: What’s the situation with the environmental controls, Lephi? Lephi: There doesn't appear to be anything wrong with the actual controls that I can tell. It seems that there's some fluctuations in the power that might be having an impact causing it to get warmer since the system can't constantly monitor like normal. Logan: Response Ganarvuss: Could someone be tampering with the power grid? Lephi: It's definitely possible. No offense to the people of the Freeworlds, but system security doesn't appear to be a strong suit. Logan: Responses Lephi turned her attention back to the console in front of her. If someone was tampering with the system they were either too stupid to siphon a continuous amount, or they were stealing power for something in bursts to try to remain under the radar. Either way, she was determined to figure out the secrets the system held. Ganarvuss: Give me the short list of our suspects. I don’t think time is on our side. Lephi looked up and watched as Yogan handed the PADD containing the four shortlisted names to Ensign Ganarvuss. Brex: I apologize for the interruption, but this artifact. ::motions to the broken artifact:: Caught my attention. ::motions to the shelf:: It appears to be the only artifact that was disturbed in whatever ensued. Also, it is unusual in that it’s not something I would expect to find in the office of an Ilaran Security director. Lephi glanced in Brex's direction to see what he was referring to. She couldn't see what all the fuss was about, the thing looked like it might fetch a few bars of latinum on the market but was otherwise not interesting to her. She still thought it strange that other species measure value so differently and subjectively. She turned her attention back to her work. She was having greater success with the system since the lights flickered. It was responding to her input faster and putting up less of a hassle as she navigated through it. It didn't take her long after that to stabilize the environmental controls. Lephi: Looks like whatever that power fluctuation was that turned out the lights seems to have fixed the environmental controls. Anyone: Response(s) Ganarvuss/Logan: Responses Brex: Ensign Ganarvuss, there is something inside. At the mention of something being hidden inside of the artifact, Lephi's interest was peaked. People didn't hide routine items very often in her experience. She left her post at the console and headed over to get a closer look. Lephi: Could it be the source of the thoron radiation? Ganarvuss/Logan: Responses Brex: ::shakes his head:: I can’t determine that without disturbing the artifact further and I don’t have the protective equipment to examine it properly without potentially tainting it. Does one of you perhaps have gloves of some sort? Yalu: I do. Lephi watched Yogan dig out a pair of Federation standard gloves from his med kit for the Representative. Yalu: ::handing over the gloves:: Here you are. Lephi: Do be careful, Brex. It might be valuable ::speech falters:: I mean, it could be important to the situation at hand here. Ganarvuss/Logan: Responses Brex: ::pauses:: Is it possible this is why our culprit was here? Lephi: Seems like an awful lot of trouble to go through for something so small. Anyone: Responses Ganarvuss/Logan: Responses Lephi: Do you think it's valuable? Anyone: Responses ---------------------- Ensign Lephi Engineering Officer USS Atlantis NCC-74682 A239706L10
  24. ((Comet Surface)) ((OOC: All thoughts are strictly in-character.)) To say Noa was nervous was an understatement. And even though she was safely encompassed by an EV suit, that would limit what the other would see of her - practically eliminating any and all chance to see her facial expressions. Yet, she chose to remain completely still. She was, after all, in the company of people who were nothing but strangers and shipmates to her. And if there was a way to act around those people, is the utter maximum possible professionalism. At that moment, however, she was stuck. It was like she was squeezed between a hostile situation, that made the emotions inside her boil like steam, while at the same time being in unknown company - in which she was practically incapable of expressing herself, or any of the building up nervousness. She was practically a pressure pot, building up its pressure on the inside. She had to release it somehow. If she were to stay focused at all for this mission, she had to vent it. Somehow. And she never did something like that around a group, let alone a bunch of strangers! Yet her logic relented, and agreed that special circumstances require special measures. And what could those special measures be…? What could possibly serve as a relief for her, while in such a situation? Then, it was as if a lightbulb lit up above her head, and she suddenly knew exactly what to do. She had to crack a little joke. Otherwise she wouldn’t be able to stand it. She bit her lower lip only ever so slightly, to make sure that whatever eyes were inside the EV suit couldn’t see it, and told it. Levinson: I do not believe they would answer to knocking, would they? It may not have seemed like much, but to Noa, it was a huge relief. She pretty much has never done that, and under normal circumstances she would even chastise herself for even thinking about doing something like that. But this time, she was glad for it. It certainly eased the situation. Eiris: You can give it a try Levinson, but I wouldn't count on it. With Elris’ reply giving her just a tiny bit of reassurance, she nodded and gave a reply before approaching the panel. Levinson: I will begin immediately, sir. Noa approached the panel, pulled her tricorder out, and began working. While it was mainly a scanning device, during her Academy time, she experimented a bit with interfacing it with various computer systems - mainly Starfleet and Federation in origin, but she was sure she could try more systems. And that was the perfect opportunity for it. Some may call it hacking. They would probably be correct in that case. Slowly but surely, she began connecting the interface, and tested it slowly - while making sure not to trip any security, of course. Each successful connection improved her mood, and swayed her mood to the better. Hontrú: Response Eiris: We'll cross that bridge when we need the explosive. A few moments passed, and the connection seemed stable - and sufficiently secure to not trip any security alarms. A few taps on both the panel and the tricorder later, the door hissed open. oO Gotcha! Oo Eiris: Of course, this way maybe our hosts don't know we're here. She disconnected the tricorder from the panel interface, and held it firmly while the marines led the way inside. The interior was… odd. Not exactly what she expected - Not that she knew what to expect in the first place. At first glance, it looked… somewhat familiar. Workstations, an odd shape… She couldn’t quite place her finger on it. And once she looked down at her tricorder to get some readings after getting inside, she noticed one more detail - the nearly complete lack of Eichner radiation on the inside. Of course, no amount of Eichner radiation was safe, but that gave them a considerably larger amount of time to be inside - assuming the rest of the interior was devoid of radiation as well. Any: Response Eiris: I was thinking it looked a bit like the bridge to a ship? oO A bridge! That’s it! Oo It certainly made more sense than building a facility for whatever reason on a comet. Oliver: Response Noa nodded at the pilot. Levinson: It would certainly be logical. Hontrú: Response Her tricoder gave of a soft beeping, and she raised it up and took a look. She then raised an eyebrow at the readings, stopping the urge to frown. Levinson: The Eichner radiation levels are considerably lower on the inside than on the outside. I do not recommend opening the suits, though. As for the tricorder’s notification, ::beat:: I am detecting five lifesigns, headed our way. The radiation still is still obstructing any identifying signs. They are emanating from that ::She pointed at the opposite direction to the one the team entered from:: direction. Any: Response Levinson: I cannot be certain. Any: Response TAG/TBC -- Ensign Noa T'Nessa Levinson Science Officer + Wiki operator USS Juneau E239701NL0
  25. ((OOC: Awesome sim, Ensign @Keneth Nakada!)) (( Shuttlebay 2, USS Arrow )) Nakada: ::whispering:: Commander, those are some very primitive suits. Collins: Indeed, Ensign, but maybe we can turn that to our advantage. Scan for any junction points, exposed areas, or weak points in the structure of the suits if you can and as quick as you like, thank you... Keneth took a second to steady his hands. He was scared. Really scared. First time, eh? His brain chirped a little too cheerily. Adrenaline kicked in pretty quickly and he fumbled his tricorder open, carefully breaching the dampening field with just the front of the sensors pack. A reassuring stream of data began appearing. Atmospheric pressure, spatial volume … engineering schematic breakdown. The device’s scans showed what appeared to be unibody insulated construction, except for ... Nakada: The sides.The tiny black indentations on the sides of the suit appear to be exposed circuitry, maybe to ground it, or externally deactivate the suit. Regardless, I they appear to connect directly to the internal systems. Probably. Most of it was just guesswork. It had been a while since he’d read an engineering schematic raw. He was too used to nice holographic representations with simulations. Collins: Of course they bloody are. ::He turned to the warrant officer.:: Would shooting those kill them? The warrant officer thought for a second. Kingsley: It should - or I imagine it might cause an overload in their power systems and cause them some time to reset. Even some time to reset would be helpful. Collins: Okay, good. I want to stem any more loss of life if we can avoid it. Here's the play. I am going to get them to expose that area and then you two, being the hip young gunslingers you are, are going to disable them. Hopefully allowing us to ask them a few questions and get up to the Bridge to hopefully kill that ruddy dampening field. Everyone clear? He nodded, fighting an impulse to giggle at hip young gunslingers. It was a snort-worthy comment. Nakada: Yes, sir. Collins: If I told you that, you wouldn't let me do it. Just be ready... Keneth watched keenly. Maybe the commander had some further knowledge about them that he could glean from what he did next. Then the commander raised his hands and sprinted comically at the suits. He was torn between calling the commander a fumbling idiot and simply saying it was technically the simplest trick in the book. So simple it would work. The warrant officer looked like she wanted to have an aneurysm as she bit her tongue. Collins: Heya, boys! The suit let out a noise. He sincerely hoped it was a similarly raucous introduction. Collins: SAY, this isn't Deep Space 12! Gee, Stellar Cartography isn't what it used to be, is it? Keneth had to actively remind himself of what was happening to stay focused. This was hilarious. Collins: I tell ya, boys, you think you know a map and then it just spits ya out right where ya least wa- In a flash that broke his semi-unfocused state of befuddlement, the creature got over its confusion and grabbed the science officer, lifting him up like a helium carcass. Damn it, the commander couldn’t be hurt now. He had to find out what Skeets was. Just as he began to calculate how to get within range of the creature safely, Kingsley sprinted ahead. He wasn’t completely sure what to do, so he followed, staying to the side. Boarder #1: STARRRRRRFLEETERRRR. See, that was an aberration of Federation Standard. Kingsley raised her phaser and fired straight at the narrow strip of exposure. In a moment of horror Keneth realised he was directly where the creature would fall. Cursing his absentmindedness, he ran around the creature, hoping he was still hidden, though that probably meant very little to the boarder’s sensors. Kingsley: That was stun! Increase to full power! He could hear faint beeps as the warrant officer adjusted her phaser settings and fired again. CRACK A small plasma shockwave went through the corridor as the electrical discharge arced outward. The boarder holding Collins dropped to the ground, though he couldn’t see what happened to the commander. He also very quickly realised that the other boarder was very quickly approaching him, raising his arm. Keneth was still dazed from the shockwave and wouldn’t be able to aim and Kingsley’s phaser was probably completely discharged … So he did the one thing he had been told never to do. He aimed his phaser at the access hatch across the hallway, closed his eyes and fired. He couldn’t risk announcing it - hopefully the other two would duck. SNAP The plasma conduit exploded, the remaining superheated gas in it dousing the other creature, ions overcharging their suits. A loud snapping sound came as a pungent odour of burning bulkhead material filled the air, another flash searing his retinas. The remaining boarder had dropped down. Nakada: HELLO? Commander? Kingsley? Anyone there?! He coughed violently as he steadied himself against the wall, desperately searching for the other two in the haze. He could feel his jovial nature wearing off as the situation settled and he realized what had just happened. Collins: Response Kingsley: Response Nakada: ::coughing:: I can’t, I don’t - He wanted to pass out. He was in over his head. He was supposed to tinker with EPS efficiencies and Warp XV drives. This wasn’t fair. It had been twenty four hours. Barely any time to do anything he’d imagined. Time to be a normal officer. He fought his nausea, his head spinning. Well, he thought ironically. He had the opportunity so many dreamed of – to make a difference. His crewmates were depending on him. Collins: Response Nakada: I don’t know how long we have. They seemed to be able to abs, ads, absorb ::heaving:: a fair amount of energy. We should assume they’ll wake up within fifteen minutes I’d think. He dropped to the floor and shook his head clear, fragments of debris falling out of his hair. They’d come so close to being puddles of soup. Collins: Response Kingsley: Response Ensign Keneth Nakada Engineering USS Juneau, NX-99801 J239706KN0
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