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I present to you: an excellent naration of how Saschenka is dealing with being assimilated. ((USS Narendra, deck 1, Main Bridge)) Sasch wondered if this was what it felt like to die. Was dying being lulled to complacency by some nearly perfect song sung peacefully not just in your head, but throughout your whole body. It was a song she could feel as much as she could hear. Collective voice: Give in Sasch. The voice sang to her. Collective voice: You’ll feel so much better. You’ll feel whole and complete. You’ll never be alone. Remember that time you took your dad’s yacht out by yourself? You were old enough to know what to do in calm weather, but when you realized you were alone, you panicked. You will never be alone again. We will always be there for you. Kreshkova: ::Even while her skin took on an ashen hue:: Can’t….give….in… Sasch watched as Tito nearly fell near her. Now, the song changed. She could feel its lust for others. It wanted her to reach out and assimilate her friend. She pressed her eyes closed, so that she couldn’t even see Tito, so even if what was growing inside her got the upper hand, she couldn’t see to do its bidding. Kreshkova: Help … me … Tito. I don’t … want to … give in. Tito: Sacsh… Taybrim: Hold on a little bit, Ensign. I’m working on something. Kreshkova: Trying … so … hard. But Sasch’s eyes flashed open against her will. They were full of fire, but quickly softened as she - at least for the moment refused to give in and gained a slight advantage in their fight. Korras: mu'qaD! All forcefields have failed. Engineering is on it, but we are venting air. Taybrim: Keep us steady, keep us hidden in the debris. The Enterprise hasn’t seen us… yet. Tito: Keep fighting it, Lieutenant Kreshkova. Every ounce of her will wanted to fight, needed to fight. And while the cascade of this Borg nano virus or whatever it was hadn’t yet overpowered her, she could feel it growing inside her. She could also feel the part of her that made her who she was was waning. Once again, she said… Kreshkova: Help … So hard … hard to … fight. Taybrim: Can you administer that to Kreshkova – Doctor Foster confirmed it slows the progress. Tito nodded, taking the hypo in his hand. Tito: Consider it done Commodore This time, Sasch couldn’t even speak with her lips, but her eyes pleaded with her friend. Korras: ? Taybrim: Sickbay’s working on getting someone up here. We still have a job to do. Tito: I will apologise later Lieutenant. Sasch felt herself being roughly pulled up from the floor. The song told her to lash out. It grew to a harried pace - almost a chant - Assimilate. Assimilate. Assimilate. Assimilate. Louder and louder it grew in her head, but once the typospray found its prey - her neck - the song softened and lost much of its intensity. Once again, she could fight. Kreshkova: Zhank … you. … was all she could say. She once again was given the will to fight and a modicum of ability to fight that song that wanted to either lull her into complacency or to lash out and infect others. Korras: ? Taybrim: All the more reason we need to take out the flagship. It was at the epicenter of everything when the invasion first began, there’s a good chance that there’s some sort of hive function or relay point onboard the Enterprise. Tito: Please tell me that helped Lieutenant, we need you. You don’t want to rely on my piloting skills. Sasch simply stood there at Tito’s request. There was an intense internal battle going on within the young officer. Everything that was her - that was Sasch wanted to conquer this desire and end this battle. The problem was that two battles were raging - the one for her soul and the one for her ship. Kreshkova: I … can’t … Tito. Want … Want to. Korras:? Tito: We need another shot at the Enterprise, but we have to make sure our systems aren’t infected. As Tito guided her to the infected console, her hands flew up to her head. The song reached a frenzied pitch, and the young officer with green hair screamed as the voices tried to push through the advantage that the medication gave her. Her eyes were filled with a strange combination of fear and fire. Taybrim/Korras: ? But something in the scream drove back the voices. She had a moment of lucidity, and she slipped into the chair at her console, but as her fingers came in contact with the infected console, the voices surged back. She yanked her fingers away from the console as if she had set them in a pot of boiling water. Sasch closed her eyes trying to maintain the upper hand. She swiveled the chair around to face the others. Her face contorted into all sorts of expressions and shapes even as she fought each onslaught of the Borg nanoprobes that coursed through her system. Kreshkova: Infected. It was the only word she could get out. She hoped that they understood that it was the console that was infected. Kreshkova: Won’t … ::Sasch lost all ability to form words again, but one more gutteral scream once again gave her a slight bit of control over her abilities. Just enough to let her say.:: Console infected … won’t function. Tito: Lets take out one of its nacelles? Tito: Simple physics, we run a collision course and overpower our deflector, we just need to hit their weakest spot, one of the nacelles… I know its a crazy plan, kinda like my friend does it. But in a moment of mental clarity, Sasch had an idea. She turned back around to face the console and with everything that was in her, she did two things at once. First, she willingly gave into the nanites crying out for her soul. But as she did that, she reached out her hand and injected the console a second time. But this time, she cleared the console of the Borg virus, taking it into herself and at the same time, what little was left of Sasch reprogrammed the console to do exactly what Tito had requested. Kreshkova: ::With a loud guttural cry.:: Tito, done! But then she paid the price for trying to save the Narendra and trying to destroy the Enterprise. She stood, turned, and faced her comrades, now a full Borg. Taybrim/Korras: ? Kreshkova: Resistance is futile. Assimilate. Taybrim/Korras/Tito: ? Sasch lumbered toward the Commodore - a strange mixture of hatred and sorrow filled the young Borg’s eyes. Kreshkova: Resistance is futile. Taybrim/Korras/Tito: ?

Excellent three part JP between Kaito Moore and Charlena Vanlith. Part One Part Two Part Three

And yet another great President Chekov sim by @TAma:

Another great sim for President Chekov by @TAma:

I have been so impressed with the sims from @TAma representing President Antov Chekov during the Frontier Day Blockbuster and wanted to share them with the entire fleet. I don't know about anyone else, but I can literally hear Walter Koenig's voice as I read these. This is the first of several that I am going to post to showcase the great writing Melissa has done.

This heart-wrenching sim from @Sasch Kreshkova really got me good. Watching such a loved & bright member of the crew being turned really puts the Borg-horror on a new level. Excellent sim! 👏👏

FINALLY!!!! For once, Toxin gets to be the hero and @Erik Johnson took this moment and ran. We got to see not just the moment that Toxin Arlill stood up for greatness but also the greatness that his friends have seen in him. We also get to see him be assertive and we get a glimpse as to what kind of leader Arlill will become.

When you're writing the kind of sims that pull from a characters backstory, such as in this case where there is some kind of alien intelligence digging around our brains to pull out our very worst fears, it's easy just to focus on yourself. After all, these fears and anxieties are often private and even the most stoic character can crack. What is not easy to do is pull everyone in to the hallucinations in a way that is a) fun & b) helps us build our own stories, while also developing yours. @Alora DeVeau manages to do just that; she went not just into our wiki pages but also what we have written in the past and picked out that one little detail, that one little weakness, then stuck the knife in and expertly twisted it for maximum pain. This is the kind of pain and ✨️truma ✨️ that we love to write as simmers. In short, Amanda has set not just herself, but also the rest of us, for success and a shining example for the rest of us on how to pull it off

Once again, we dared: and @Kali Nicholottidelivered. Who ever thought you would get the feels for a torpedo?? ((Existence)) Space was a big place. As time moved through the eons, it became even bigger, wider, and more spread apart. That which was once a ball hotter and denser than anything that had existed prior was ever expanding and moving further and further apart, the atoms contained within spewed across trillions and gazillions of miles like the unsavory innards of some ill cosmic child. And from that goo came all that was and all that would ever be. There was a saying that the Terrans had which said basically that one was the culmination of all that had been experienced throughout their time existing, and perhaps there was some truth in that. As it moved silently through the darkness of an endless night, the torpedo that had missed its mark might have considered this in light of its failed mission, had it been able to think. Having once existed in a state of nothing, atoms and molecules had been manipulated and forced together by skilled hands, each lovingly formulating a different piece, part or line of code that would eventually come together to form what it had become. The slick, rounded casing was carefully assembled around an angry center, held back by little other than coded rules that designated when and where it could release the inner beast. Slowly it had coalesced into its final form, and only then loaded onto a ship and into the tube from which it had been fired. The small metal case, within which destruction and chaos remained safe and quiet, sailed through the bits of debris left from the destroyed Lattice Alliance ships. Two had fallen already, against the two warships that regrouped as inbound fighters made attempts to target one's weak spot in the rear. In retaliation, the two ships seemed to become one, rear end to rear end. Had the torpedo been able to process this internally, it might have thought the plan a good one, enabling both ships to redesignate resources in a way that would offer more protection. The icy fingers of the void were slick, and without anything to act on it, the torpedo sailed further and further into the contested system. In front of it, a cloaked area hid even more ships, each in a particular position forming something familiar to those on the ships it had left behind. Those who maintained cognizance would call it a Tholian web, and they would recognize how it was being used to charge weapons. Though the torpedo could not recognize this, it might have flown by in awe at the innermost cloak, which was hiding something big obviously, given the rocks that seemed to be in orbit of something ended abruptly in space just as the biggest void within the void began. Far in the distance, on a station it had never seen outside of it's designated sleeping tube, people scurried about. They were replicating inoculations, creating home bases from which to make a final stand, and coming up with new and unique ways of destroying their home should the enemy come knocking at their door. It was unfortunate that the torpeo was not there, nor headed in that direction, because it really could have been useful. As it were, the beings aboard the station would have to figure that fight out on their own, with limited fighters, small craft, and weapons. Oh, what it would be to be one of the limited 100 torpedos aboard DS33. They were certain to have made their mark, both in the moment and perhaps in the history books. Leaving the system was bittersweet, or at least it might have been had the torpeo been able to consider it. Having missed its mark, it was now sailing endlessly into the stars alone, without a target and without a goal. It was lost both to the universe and to time as it hurtled on. TBC -- The Lost Torpedo As simmed by: Commander Ash MacKenna Chief Intelligence Officer USS Khitomer R238605KN0

I loved this snapshot story of the action through the eyes of a civilian on DS33 as a young Kelpian shopkeeper strives to save his plants amongst the growing chaos. Can we keep him? @Sirok, I think that's the right tag?? https://sims.starbase118.net/single/Ronin/-O3TIqmR56zG_JNYf-Ah

@Gila Sadar manages to take an already horrifying moment (confronting the Borg that have taken over the bridge of the USS Kitty Hawk... as a pacifist doctor) and make it even worse. I've enjoyed reading this sim greatly, especially with all the description of how Gila feels in the moment.

@Morro Caras just coming in with an epic start to act 3 like it's nobody's business. Not only did Vio pick up on the hints that myself and @Erik Johnson had been dropping about the tension in Lhando & Tox's friendship, since the start of the last shore leave; Vio also gave us a great insight into not just Orion culture; how they can offend someone but still be charming enough to do business but also his background growing up as a pirate. Moreoever, He then tied that into what Morro was seeing in Lhando & Tox's behaviour and flipped the tables, setting us two up for what's next. Absolutely amazing work!!!!

We do not deserve @Kali Nicholotti. Thankfully, she loves and provides for us anyways ❤️ ((Bridge, USS Ronin)) There were few things that made their way into the annuls of history as quickly and as efficiently as the appearances of those writing it. All of the greats were known for something; Picard had his baldness, Kirk had his impeccably groomed hair even in the midst of a fistfight, Janeway had her trademarked stance, Sisko had his 'eff around and find out' look, and Niac had his beard. And while each was far more than the appearances themselves, it was the appearances that stuck into the minds of those who would follow. Consequently, even when the minds would wander, that which comprised a being retained the physical imprints of events. In this particular case there had been trauma that had led to its unkemptness, care that had come from a momentary visitor that had left it soft and reminiscent of a field of flowers, and the sweet caress of a lover in the height of passion that left it just out of place enough for others to notice. Each event had forced growth in some way, and in some way, growth had its own way of forcing an edge on future events. Tendrils of smoke drifted through the atoms and molecules that had come together to form the tribble-like substance, permeating the slightly ombre threadlike growth on which the touch of his lover still lingered. The scent overpowered anything that was there prior despite the far more desired, and as the bridge erupted into chaos, that was soon mixed with the damp thickness of blood as it trickled down his face from up above. While well kept that morning, the brain jarring shockwave somehow reflected in how it sat on the captains face. Or perhaps that was just the way he scowled. Voices reverberated through the dark brown filliments, telling of something large out beyond the third ship that had somehow gotten away. More voices spoke to the shields taking a hit and the rear emitters being down. Even more confirmed the sister ship in one piece and still in formation. The mountain of hair moved, the voice of the one who wore it ringing out clearly, mostly because it did not have need to traverse the thickness of it but instead came from within. It was time to see what was beyond the largeness that resonated in the distance. Could they survive? Perhaps. If they did not, so many others like it would perish without even the chance to experience half of what it had. To return to the softness of the conditioning treatments, to feel the flow of real water in an otherwise sonic shower, or to feel the gentle touch of one who would become one with them again, all seemed so distant then. But all of that was well worth fighting for. The flow of blood seemed to become thick, caking up in the fibers and leaving behind a dark patch that changed the overall look. Perhaps it would be this new look that would go down in the history books as determination on the captain as he faced the incoming onslaught of lighter fighter craft inbound from whatever was out there, just beyond the sensors. It was something, but what was it? The beard, and the man who wore it, would soon find out. TBC -- Niac's Beard As simmed by: Commander Ash MacKenna Chief Intelligence Officer USS Khitomer R238605KN0

"The lower deckers" One of the best B-plot ever! Thank you so much! @Josh Herrick @yinn

Anytime @Kali Nicholotti writes for the environment or ship, its gonna be a great time. ((Space)) The universe cared not for the battles nor the wars. It lent no backing to anything, save the discovery of its secrets and the use of its so-called rules regardless of the dark manner in which they were employed. The stars neither recorded history, nor integrated it into the making of the past, and as time inevitably marched forward, everything that was became a distant memory. To that end, the happenings in a little corner of the sector now referred to as the Alpha Isles was of little consequence to the universe as a whole. The shifting of matter and energy from one state to another was paid no mind as the seconds ticked by; a mere breath for the great void was an entire lifetime for any who sought refuge within the metallic skin of the great machines that traversed the stars. And yet, these moments stood as potential to change the path of history. At least for those souls who chose to participate. As a casual observer, the universe, the stars, and the Cimmerian Shade itself was not impacted. Tick. The ships prepared. Their occupants made ready in the only ways they knew how. Those known as healers prepared inoculations of arithrazine and hyronolin with the intent to distribute quickly as a way to protect against the perversion of Sencha Niac's once groundbreaking research. It did not harm the dark opacity of the night, but to a telepathic being with an enlarged midbrain, it would definitely wreck havoc. Tock. Like ants scurrying about, those with the experience and wherewithal climbed around and about the modern marvel the small creatures had built within the void. Through tunnels of their own making, on decks that kept the universe at bay outside of their small pockets of air, and in large gathering spaces, the beings erected ever more technology in attempts to prevent further perversion of Starfleet and Federation research by the enemy. What no one seemed to understand was that the battles were inconsequential. From the stars that bore them, to the stars they would return. Each short life would one day become no more than the elements baked in the eternal furnaces of the tiny points of light that looked on from afar. Tick. The trap was set. One ship drifted, playing dead, while the other lay in waiting. The enemy approached, ever arrogant and overly confident in their standing with the uncaring universe. They were better, in their minds, but in the end they were all just elements strung together by chance. And yet, they moved forward, entrapping themselves in the desire to kill those escaping. One bright supernova rendered one enemy bits of metal, a sacrifice to the great void. A second ship burned in space, the fires making it seem as if it were a messenger from the Terran hell, come to tell of the end of the world. Energy began building; a runaway train with a single destination back to those stars that looked on. The third ship that had come to join them backed off, retreating towards the border that prevented knowledge beyond, save for the tiny probes that had found their way through space and into the shell. While the ship remained outside, unwilling to fire its S-wave weapon because of how it would react with the cloak around the system center, scans within showed a massive superstructure. The beings that comprised the Lattice Alliance had built a listening post, as if the void cared what messages it could hear. Tock. Time stopped, as if the universe had any need nor knowledge of time. The ship with the overload of Sencha wave radiation finally had met its max and the waveforms burst it apart. If the first ship had exploded in a supernova, this one doubled that easily, sending out waves into the darkness around it. First, the S-waves, mostly unfelt save by the telepathic species. Those it impacted differently, depending on just how their brains were built. For everyone else, the shockwave that came after was enough to rattle brains. As the wave moved through the infinite, eventually diminishing, the universe continued on in its uncaring way. The war would come, and blood would spill, but absolution would never be found because the darkness simply did not care. TBC -- Space As simmed by: Commander Ash MacKenna Chief Intelligence Officer USS Khitomer R238605KN0

As someone who dearly loves the movie Hook, I appreciate this reference, and from what I know of Beck, this seems right on the money. Well done Sir. ((Sickbay Complex, Deck 10, USS Ronin)) Although the monitors in Sickbay were capable of displaying external views similar to the viewscreen on the Bridge, Quentin had opted to keep up the normal displays if only because he wasn't particularly keen on the idea of acting as bait. Sure, to some people it might have seemed appealing to jam a hook through their soft tissues and wiggle themselves onto it so they could properly catch a fish, but he liked his soft tissues and wasn't particularly a fan of impaling himself just to get someone else's attention. Of course, he was not the Ronin's Commanding Officer, and although he thought the whole damn plan was a bad idea, he kept his reservations to himself; there was a lot on the line here, between what little he knew was happening back at Earth and the rumblings of a potential assault by the Lattice Alliance. As much as he wanted to protect his own backside, he understood what was expected, especially now that he'd been promoted and was fully serving as Acting CMO, rather than waiting for Kel to take over the office again. So as soon as the order came to start prepping for the worst, Quentin shifted to Business Mode. While they'd been in spacedock, before he'd briefly departed, he'd done as much as he could to make sure the entire medical staff had everything they needed to function in the worst of the worst emergencies; considering they had managed to survive the attack from the Consortium, the Lattice Alliance seemed like small potatoes. oO Foghorn Leghorn accent - 'That's a joke, son.' Oo He'd divvied up the preparation to those he knew he could trust; these were, primarily, Chief Nurse Wyla Avae, Doctor Lana Morgenstern, and the exocomp orderly, Beguiling Enigmatic Charmer, in that order. His new minion— err, junior officer, Alyndra Syrex he opted to keep close by because he knew he'd need her help most of all, functioning as a veritable right-hand man, so to speak, since before his return he'd uh… well, lost his right hand. Each of them had been ordered to prep individual wards - Morgenstern at Ward A, where they would handle the simplest and fastest treatments, Avae at Ward B, where they would handle more advanced injuries that were just on this side of trauma, BEC at Ward D, where he could trust the Exocomp to prep for any incoming dead. That left Ward C for him and Syrex. The worst of the worst injuries would be there, the ones that would determine whether the injured officer walked out of Sickbay or was carted to Ward D. He'd been spending an awful lot of time in Ward C lately. Preparations for any incoming injuries were mostly done, so then it came to fulfilling mission parameters; he'd pulled Syrex with him into one of the medical labs to start synthesizing the known treatment for Sencha-wave radiation, and they'd been at it for a few hours by now. Quentin stood behind and to her right as he monitored her work, nodding his head slowly. Beck: Good, good, that's the tenth batch we've managed. You're getting better at this. Syrex: Response He glanced over his shoulder as the computer chimed, indicating there was another fresh batch of arithrazine ready to be distributed to each of the hypos. He crossed over to the chemical fabricator and raised his right hand to reach in to grab it… only to forget, once again, that his right hand was missing and he would need to grab with his left. Grumbling, he hooked his fingers over the edge of the container and dragged it towards the end of the fabricator panel, pulling it out and against his hip so he could carry it to the next table over. Beck: I'll grab the next pallet of vials. Once you're through with that set, let's load them on– Before he could finish the order, the Captain's voice filtered through the comm and overrode his train of thought. Niac: =/\= Bridge to Sickbay...how are you doing on those arithrazine inoculations, Doctor? If we get hit by one of those S-Wave weapons I want to have more than enough prepared for the entire crew. =/\= Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Quentin turned to approach the comm panel on the wall and stabbed at it with his thumb to open his end of the line. Beck: =/\= Steady going. Our new Ensign Syrex has almost completed the tenth batch of a hundred doses, and we're lined up to make at least ten more if all goes well. That'll leave us with approximately four doses per crewman once all is said and done. It's just time-consuming since we have to do a lot of this by hand. =/\= He winced a little at his own use of that word, jaw growing taut briefly as he shook his head at himself. Niac: =/\= I realize it's not ideal but it's the only protective measure we have at the moment. Make whatever final preparations you can, I expect things will get busy up here in the very near future. =/\= Beck: =/\= Aye, sir. I'll get a couple more sets of hands on these if it comes down to it. We certainly have enough for the initial assault, at the very least. =/\= There was a momentary pause, an audible beep coming in over the line. Something was up. Niac: =/\= Standby for action, Doctor. Bridge out. =/\= The freshly minted Lieutenant JG let out a bitter sigh and raised his hand to press the side of his pinky against the comm line to close it. Beck: I like action as much as the next guy but that usually means we're gonna be stupid busy. Syrex: Response Moving to the far wall, Quentin grabbed the handle of a hover cart that was loaded with multiple pallets of vials and dragged it over next to the table where he'd dropped off the arithrazine. Then he raised his stumpy right arm and glared at the fabric covering where his hand should have been before reaching into the pocket of his labcoat and extracting a hook that was mounted on a synthetic sleeve that fit neatly over said stump. Ohnari had told him no hooks on their last conversation, but he'd opted not to listen because he didn't know how the hell else he was supposed to use his right arm for anything until she managed to get him a prosthetic. That would unfortunately have to wait until after the encounter with the Lattice Alliance, assuming they survived it at all. That was a cheery thought. Beck: ::under his breath as he looks through the hook:: For reasons of good form, I have decided that the so-called 'Pan' will return in three days to commit the arbitrament of the sword. Syrex: Response He blinked, glancing over at her, his cheeks coloring a little. Beck: You, uh… weren't 'sposed to hear that. Syrex: Response He waved the hook dismissively and shook his head. Beck: Just me being an idiot. Are you almost done with that batch? Syrex: Response Tag/TBC Lieutenant JG Quentin Beck Acting Chief Medical Officer USS Ronin NCC-34523 A238810SA0

Doucet's bedside manner at the end, chef's kiss. Lean into it, jab'em.

@TAma This whole thing. Just

After taking a percussive blast of his own making straight to the face, Lt. Commander Kettick learns of the backlash. As always it is a comedic delight to read his sims. He writes a very alien race with such a distinct and entertaining voice. ((Maintenance Crawlspace, Deck 9B3/4, USS Eagle)) Harford: Lt. Commander. I really must insist you let me triage you properly or I'll be inclined to drag you to Sickbay… Sir. Kettick still found it hard at the best of times to parse the tone and body language of other species, especially with his antennae out of commission and only allowing him to understand one out of every three words... Maybe. But even then, the politely censorious tone of a fellow professional who would dearly like to be able to do her job was unmistakable. Kendrick: I'll take care of that, Kettick. Just try to lay still for a moment so the doctor can treat you properly. The Remmilian was more than willing to extend that courtesy to the Doctor... but quickly noticed that no matter how hard he willed himself to be still, his other neural ganglia seemed to have a mind of their own. Kettick: Apologies. Fidgets appear... Persistent. Nerve damage, perhaps. Zevash: Response As Kendrick was about to tap his combadge, it chirped. Kettick supposed that he could be glad that *his* commbadge had not activated. Judging from its state and the place it was embedded in, the Remmilian had an inkling that the result might have been unfortunate. Falt: =/\= Falt to Kendrick. What’s your status, John? =/\= Kendrick: =/\= Kendrick here, sir. Kettick and Ensign Zevash managed to create a radiation leak. It appears to have worked, but I'm afraid there are still intruders aboard. Unfortunately, they were able to kill three members of our crew. I suggest you seal off decks 9 and 10. ::looking at Kettick:: Commander Kettick was also severely wounded. Doctor Harford is treating his wounds as we speak.=/\= Falt: =/\= Response Kendrick: =/\= Acknowledged, sir. Kendrick out. =/\= The conversation flew over the insectoid's head, focused as he was on controlling his muscles to make the work of the Doctor easier. As such, it was easy for him to notice when Harford froze. The Engineer followed her gaze to the inside of a nearby Jefferies tube. Harford: Lt. Commander Kendrick ? Sir. There's a body in the tubes. That there was. Quite immobile, too. The human Commander unholstered his phaser. Kendrick: I'll get a closer look. ::at Zevash:: You keep an eye out for the doctor and Kettick. Zevash: Response The Remmilian shrugged slightly. He was not about to go anywhere, and would not trust his aim with the way his hands vied for independence. The way he saw it, Ensign Zevash had the floor. Approaching cautiously, Kendrick knekt down next to the inert figure and checked the pulse on her neck. He looked over at Harford and spoke, loud enough that Kettick could hear without having to try and read the man's lips. Kendrick: She has a pulse. Probably knocked unconscious by the blast. Suddenly, he tensed, as if listening to a noise that the Remmilian couldn't hear. Kendrick: The others are still out there. ::at Harford:: How's Kettick's status, doctor? Kettick had understood 'Kettick' and 'status', and the rest was easy to deduce from the general context; still, he knew better than to speak before the Doctor, and answering 'Crispy' would have been in pour taste anyway. Harford: Response The Remmilian thanked his lucky stars that his physiology meant that the translator allowed him to vocalize without having to struggle with uncooperative lips or tongue. Kettick: Can we all beam to Sickbay? The bridge could neutralize everyone left in the tubes. He cast a glance towards Ensign Zevash, who would know the state of their energy reserves. Harford/Zevash: Response DeVeau: =/\=Alora to Kettick, Harford, Zevash - is everyone all right?=/\= That gave Kettick the answer to a previous question, as his upper body spasmed and a smell of ozone and burnt chitin came from where the commbadge was fused to his chest. Quite unfortunate indeed. Kettick: :: in a shaky voice :: Log. Me. Off. Tags/TBC

I thought this was an excellent character development sim from @Sasch Kreshkova! ((USS Narendra - Kreshkova’s quarters)) Sasch lay on her back on the bed in her quarters aboard the Narendra. She knew that it would be a little while before they would reach the Sol system. Well, her mind knew it. Her body seemed to be totally oblivious to it. She stared at the ceiling, hands folded over her stomach, toes wiggling nonstop in time to the music playing in her head. The music that she couldn’t turn off. That annoying music which kept her toes wiggling which kept her awake. Or maybe that wasn’t the relationship between them, but no matter which came first the wiggling toes or the music - she was still awake. Sasch groaned in frustration and flopped onto her side, pulling her pillow out from under her head and fluffing it before replacing it. It wasn’t so much that she was a stranger to this phenomenon. It would often rear it’s ugly head before a written exam or a practicum evaluation. And while the newly minted Lieutenant knew that this could - and probably would - be an issue, she had never found a way to overcome this internal struggle between her inability to change the outcome at this point and knowing that she was walking into an unknown, potentially life-altering situation. Kreshkova closed her eyes and counted down from ten - as if that magical formula was going to accomplish exactly what she needed. Oo 10 - Rest is on the way. 9 - I’m going to get some much needed sleep. 8 - I might yawn…am I going to yawn? …. Nope. 7 - I’m getting sleepy. 6 - slow, deep breath. 5 - oO Kreshkova: Oh, zhis is just not vorth it! The green haired girl threw back the covers to her bed, slipped out of it with a grunt, and stomped off to the replicator. Her hair fell into her eyes, but she ignored it. Kreshkova: Mulled cider. Hot. The replicator sounded a short whir and a white mug filled with a rust colored liquid and billowing with steam appeared in the empty space. Sasch tested the temperature of the cup before picking it up in two hands and walking over to her couch. Pushing herself into the corner of her couch, she pulled her legs up in front of her and set the warm glass on her knees. She blew across the mug sending out a plume of steam in the opposite direction. Reaching out tentatively with her lips, she tried a small sip to see if it was too hot for her to drink, but she likely wouldn’t have known whether or not it was because she was suddenly caught up in a memory. ((Flashback - nine years ago)) Once when she she was about thirteen, she and her father were out on their boat together on the sea. The wind whipped the young teens hair all around her face, first from one direction and then from another as if the wind was fickle maid uncertain of which direction it wanted to flow, so it tried them all, never really settling on a decision. Dimitri Kreshkova: We haf to get the said down, Sashenka. Her father yelled over the din. Dmitri Kreshkova: I should haf seen zhis squall coming up. And it was true. The experienced spaceman and seafarer should have seen the signs, but he and his daughter were having a beautiful time fishing in the sea and making some great catches in the process. The tempest whipped in quickly from the other direction. The sea had gone from calm to seismic in a matter of minutes. The fishing gear forgotten, the two Kreshkova’s worked together to get the sail in before either it was torn assunder from the mast or it took the mast with it. Sasch strained to get to the correct halyard. Just as she would get her fingers in reach, the fickle mistress wind would wrench it from her hands with a snap and a whoosh. As a result the Osprey cut through the waves like medication injected via hypospray - with a force that couldn’t be fought against. Holding onto one of the railings, Dmitri hauled himself into position trying to get to the rope to lower the sail. He stretched forward, willing himself to go beyond his capabilities. Finally, he was able to grab the errant line, and giving it one solid yank, the entire sail collapsed down into its position. Father turned to daughter and yelled over the racuous din of the storm. Dmitri Kreshkova: Go below deck. It vill be safer down Zhere. Sasch Kreshkova: Nyet. Ve are a team, and you may need me. Dmitri gave Sasch a withering look, but the teen stood her ground. It took awhile for the duo to navigate their schooner into a port some distance from their home port, but Dmitri reminded Sasch - any port in a storm. The two waited out the storm in a nearby tavern Sasch drank hot, mulled cider while Dmitri chose something stronger. The younger of the two stared down into her drink. She was still wet through though no longer noticeably shivering - as she had been earlier. She still had to work to even her breathing and soothe her nerves from the ordeal. As she sipped slowly on the warm liquid, it was almost as if the warmth of the beverage was conveyed through her body from the inside out and from her middle to her extremeties. Along with the warmth it delivered a modicum of peace to her bristly spirit. After several minutes sitting in solitude with herself, Sasch looked over at her father. This was the scarriest thing she had ever been through. But he had been in Starfleet since before she was born. Had he seen horrors worse than this? She started softly. Saschenka Kreshkova: Papa. Dmitri had been watching his daughter. He would read many of her thoughts as he saw them fly across her face. When she spoke, his eyes softened and took on a gentle quality. Dmitri Kreshkova: Yes, Sasch? Sasch Kreshkova: Haf you ever been zhat scared before? The elder took a moment to consider her question. Of course he had been through many more harrowing circumstances than the one the pair had just come through. He wanted to be truthful without scaring his daughter, and that was a delicate balance. As he started to speak, he raised and lowered his head slowly. Dmitri Kreshkova: Vell…being in Starfleet brings all of us into unfamiliar circumstances. Some like zhe storm are dangerous. Ozhers are just frightening - because ve don’t know vhat to expect. It’s like valking along an unfamiliar pazth in zhe dark. You don’t know vhat to expect. Zhere may be danger lurking out zhere, but it also may be an easy stroll. Sasch Kreshkova: Vhat do you do, Papa, vhen you may be going into a dangerous situation? Dmitri smiled. That was an easy answer. Dmitri Kreshkova: I dictate a letter to your mozher. Vhen I focus on ozhers instead of myself, it helps calm my own nerves. And vhen I write to zhose I love, I remember how much zhey love me in return and are hoping and praying for my safe return. Sasch Kreshkova: Mama has never mentioned that you do that. Dmitri Kreshkova: ::chuckling:: Vell, I doubt your mozher tells you everyzhing zhat I do, but also, I don’t always send zhem. You all are in zhe safety of our home here on Earzh, and I don’t vant to vorry you over somezhing zhat may never happen. But even just writing zhe letters helps me feel better. And if somezhing ever does happen to me, I’ve told the computer to send the letters out, so zhat you all haf sometzhing to remember me by. ((Present day)) The pungent smell of the cider broke through Sasch’s reverie. A cloud swept across her blue eyes as she thought of her father. And at that moment she knew what she needed to do. Sasch Kreshkova: Computer, begin recording letter. Computer: Commence Recording. Sasch Kreshkova: To Admiral Dmitri Kreshkova. Sasch Kreshkova: Papa, zhis is zhe first time in my career zhat I vill be valking down zhat unknown pazth in zhe dark. It is different zhen I expected. Vhen ve vere caught in zhat storm vhen I vas young, I didn’t haf time to be afraid until ve vere on land because zhe storm hit us all at once vizhout any varning. And now, I find myself unable to sleep or rest before vhat may be a battle because I don’t really know vhat is coming at us. But I remember our conversation after zhe storm and how you told me zhat you vould vrite to zhose you loved, and zhat vould calm you down. Sasch Kreshkova: So Papa, I vant to say, I know ve hafn’t been very close since I vent to zhe Academy, and I know zhat is my fault. I hope you know it is not because I vas mad at you. I needed to stand on my own two feet, to be judged by who I vas - not who my fazher vas. Sasch Kreshkova: Zhen vonce I graduated, everyzhing happened so fast, and I didn’t know exactly how to mend zhe fences zhat I bent out of shape during my time at zhe Academy. But I vant you to know zhat I love you. I miss you. And if ve bozh zhrough zhis to zhe ozher side, I vant to find a vay to make zhings better between us. Sasch Sasch Kreshkova: Computer end recording. Computer: Recording ended. Sasch Kreshkova: Computer, save file. Computer: Would you like me to send the communique? Sasch paused for a moment as she thought over her conversation with her father all those years ago. Sasch Kreshkova: Computer, only send it if I am killed or incapacitated. Computer: Acknowledged. By this time the mug of cider that Sasch held in both of her hands was lukewarm - at best, but lukewarm cider was better than no cider. She drank it down in several gulps, walked back to the replicator, and recycled the cup. Then, tossing her hair out of her eyes, she made her way back to her bedroom and climbed back under her covers. This time that elusive phantom sleep acquiesced to visit her bedroom, and moments later, with her heart now - mostly - quieted, she drifted off into a peaceful slumber. ~*~ LtJg Sasch Kreshkova Helm SB 118 OPSO240103SK2

@Kirsty L. Carpenter is such a joy to write with. She and Beck are forming a very interesting friendship based a lot on their shared trauma on Grus Beta 3 and their shared admiration for the Ronin's former CMO, though it manifests a little differently for each. The letter at the end nearly made me cry

@LuxaLorana knocking it out of the park with another hilariously interesting and wonderfully antagonistic PNPC. Another one Beck is looking forward to working with, if only because she reminds him of Princess Peach EDIT: fixing by making it a quote and not code, always click the wrong one!

I have to admit when I first skimmed this I thought Quentin wasn't going to like @Alyndra Syrex because she's so bubbly, but when I got around to writing my response I found he was pleasantly amused by her and is looking forward to working with her. Fantastic first meeting post EDIT: again fixing with quote instead of code

This was the final scene in a fairly short initial interaction between myself and our new sec officer T'Fearne, and I really enjoyed the responses to his explanation. It's been awhile since I tried to explain how he got from point A to point B and it's always nice to see what someone thinks of it. Plus that last line was very, very sweet

What does a robotic suit for a Galadorian "sound" like when it's been assimilated by the Borg? Read on the see @Gnai brilliant sim that tells you! ((Deck 1, Bridge, USS Kitty Hawk)) WARNING: TANK BREACHED. WARNING: TANK BREACHED. WARNING: TANK BREACHED. Objection: Irrelevant. Order: Suppress breach warnings. CRITICAL WARNING: LIFE SIGNS LOST. Correction: Resistance purged from system. Eleven of Eleven: Unassimilated excised. Six of Eleven: Eliminate the- CRITICAL WARNING: LIFE SIGNS LOST. CRITICAL WARN- Order: Suppress life sign warnings. Observation: Connection lost to Six of Eleven. ** Six is disconnected from The Collective. Re-assimilate or Eliminate. ** S. Richards: YOU %&$*@#$ STUNG ME! Commentary: Language. S. Richards: ::Quietly while breathing heavily:: I’m going to get you out of here. WARNING: PHASER FIRE DETECTED. ** Re-assimilate, or Eliminate. ** Observation: Phaser rifle misplaced. Status: Searching. One of Eleven: Six of Eleven. Resistance is futile. Status: Searching.. ** No. Simulations predict success. Starfleet will be Borg. Earth will be Borg. The Federation will be Borg. ** Status: Searching… Search Complete: Phaser rifle re-acquired. Eleven of Eleven: Re-assimilate. Observation: Six of Eleven fleeing. Target: Six of Eleven (moving). Status: Tracking target. S. Richards: ::To Five of Eleven:: Listen to me! ::ducking behind a console:: Fight this! Fight hard! Get a lock on this Jellyfish and beam it to sickbay. Someone there has to be able to help it. ::looking down at the Galadorian she was now holding like an infant:: Don’t sting me again please, I’m going to get you somewhere safe. ALERT: WET SURFACE Observation: Other drones responding to situation. Conclusion: Haste not necessary. Order: Heed slip warning. Status: Tracking target.. Five of Eleven: I will assist. Observation: Connection to Five of Eleven fading. One of Eleven: Five must not assist. Stand down. S. Richards: :: To five:: Come on! Let’s get this thing out of here! WARNING: PHASER FIRE DETECTED. Status: Tracking target… One of Eleven: Noone leaves. We are The Eleven. Five, assist in the re-assimilation. Eliminate the Galadorian. Observation: No further orders for Eleven of Eleven. Conclusion: Continue tracking of Six of Eleven. Five of Eleven (Yirah): Order Acknowledged. Observation: Connection lost to Five of Eleven. WARNING: PHASER FIRE DETECTED. One of Eleven: Five of Eleven. Cease and desist. S. Richards: ::To One:: Screw off you Borg Queen wannabe. ::to Five:: Keep fighting it! Target: Six of Eleven. Status: Firing. WARNING: PHASER FIRE DETECTED. Observation: Miss. Five of Eleven (Yirah): transporting now. One of Eleven: Resist or you will be eliminated. Target: Six of Eleven. Status: Firing. WARNING: PHASER FIRE DETECTED. Observation: Miss. S. Richards: Resist this $%&#@. Observation: Unassimilated Galadoran transported off bridge. Pending Order: Determine location of transport. Indirect Observation: Three of Eleven reassimilated. WARNING: PHASER FIRE DETECTED. One of Eleven: ::To Six:: Allow the assimilation. Observation: Six of Eleven subdued. Observation: Five of Eleven still resisting. Conclusion: Subdue Five of Eleven. S. Richards: Let.. Go.. ::Gasping:: of me! One of Eleven: Allow. The. Assimilation. Target: Five of Eleven. One of Eleven: Resistance is futile. S. Richards: ::Gasping:: Shut… Up… Five of Eleven: Response Order: Follow instructions or accept elimination. Commentary: Eleven of Eleven following instructions. Observation: Eleven of Eleven not given further orders. Observation: Connection to Collective active. Observation: Drone damaged from contact with unassimilated drones. Query: Communication with Collective interrupted? Conclusion: Possible damage to subspace antenna. Eight of Eleven: Five of Eleven. Report your status. Eleven of Eleven: ::pointing phaser rifle at Five:: Re-assimilate. Five of Eleven: Response S. Richards: ::To One:: I’ve had enough of you. Observation: Six of Eleven fleeing. Target: Six of Eleven (moving). Eleven of Eleven: ::swinging rifle to S. Richards:: RE-ASSIMILATE. Five of Eleven/One of Eleven/Eight of Eleven: Response Tracking. S. Richards: Deck 36 Tracking.. Five of Eleven/One of Eleven/Eight of Eleven: Response Tracking… Observation: Turbolift doors closing. Target: ERROR. Status: Firing. WARNING: PHASER FIRE DETECTED. Observation: Miss. Eleven of Eleven: ::lowering phaser rifle:: Six of Eleven lost. Five of Eleven/One of Eleven/Eight of Eleven: Response Indirect Observation: Elimination of Rahman of Rahman failed. Observation: Five of Eleven outnumbered. Conclusion: No further danger of escape. Order: Resolve pending order to locate unassimilated Galadoran. ALERT: WET SURFACE Observation: Operations console remains broken. Eleven of Eleven: ::standing in the puddle around the operations console:: Repairs needed. Five of Eleven/One of Eleven/Eight of Eleven: Response? Observation: Science console intact. Conclusion: Relocate. Eleven of Eleven: ::suit tapping mechanically at sciences console:: Unassimilated Galadoran located on Deck 2. Six of Eleven approaching Deck 36. Five of Eleven/One of Eleven/Eight of Eleven: Response Tags/TBC! ((OOC: Hopefully this isn’t too weird/confusing. Just wanted to try something different. Bonus points if you can tell the inspiration!)) -- Eleven of Eleven Borg Drone USS Kitty Hawk as simmed by Ensign Gnai Science Officer USS Artemis-A A240102G11