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The tension, the yearning, the stifling of emotions. A brilliant sim from @Bryce Tagren-Quinn in what has been a fascinating story to read during this shore leave. Also kudos to @Tahna Meru too! I'm hanging on by a thread in every sim. 👏 Ensign Bryce Tagren-Quinn - Of Realities (google.com)

@Alora DeVeau is an excellent writer, this post being just one amazing example out of many, showing how descriptive writing can bring characters, scenes and emotions to life. Definitely a role model! ❤️ ------------ (( The Inkhawmna, Yansamin Anchorage, Outskirts of the Esh-O star system )) Despite being on duty, Peri was not in uniform. In accordance with Commander Etan’s order, she had elected to dress in simple, civilian clothing. A simple shirt with a high v-neck of a medium green was overlain by a laced overs shirt of dark green. Her slacks were of the same green hue. The very Bajoran style matched part of her heritage, but unknowingly punctuated the other part of her heritage. Her earring dangled as usual from her ear, and her hand reached up to check for the pendant which was now missing, in the care of the man who held her heart. Letting it fall, her fingers traced the lines of the brown satchel that hung from her shoulder. Dark eyes fell upon the Commander who had dressed just as casually. He looked every inch the wandering trader, and Tyber? Who would dare to try and hurt them with a man like him around? Peri silently admitted, he cut an impressive figure, and she found relief settling within her breast at the idea that he was with them. Arlill was, perhaps, the most conspicuous of them all, but only due to his own heritage which was quite evident. Even so, his clothes as casual as everyone else’s helped sell the idea that they were certainly not trained Starfleet Officers. Etan: No ranks from this point on. :: he said quietly, affecting the air of somebody talking casually. :: Given names only. :: he looked at Ensign Tyber, remembering a notation in the half-Klingon's personnel file. :: Apart from you. Tyber will do just fine. Tyber: Thank you. :: the Klingons voice rumbled in the lower octaves of hearing :: Arlill: My first name might be ill-advised as well, being so easily translated into a potential hazard? Katsim: Oh…yes, si…Iljor. So Peri she was and Peri she would be. She was not used to being called by her name when on duty, nor was she used to calling others in such an informal fashion. She made a mental note to be certain that she would not let her tongue slip, for by doing so, she could endanger their mission. Glancing over at Toxin, both eyebrows arched upward slightly, uncertain as to whether she should use his last or first name, but Etan himself continued on. Etan: Try not to get distracted. :: his eyes fell upon a slender young man carrying a steaming bag of something that smelled divine. As if to underscore the point, his stomach rumbled. : As difficult as that may be. Remember, we are 'on mission'. Poor Etan looked positively famished, and his stomach’s protest was loud enough just to be heard. Tyber must have had the same temptation, for he had already already approached a vendor and procured four skewers of meat. Turning, he lifted the skewers high as if he had achieved a great victory which, in a sense, he had. Tyber: What? I got enough for all of us Arlill: :: looking at the others :: I could eat. Peri accepted the bit of meat and inclined her head. Katsim: Thank you. She hadn’t expected anything, but offered a tentative smile to the mighty half Klingon before nibbling on his gift. Etan: We're looking for information. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the place on this station supposed to be the bars? Tyber: :: quickly swallowing and pointing the empty skewer to a seedy looking building :: I think the bars are over there S....so if you want to buy us all a round Etan. Arlill: :: quietly to Tyber, in a low breath :: Smooth. It was smooth. All of them would have to watch themselves and make sure to prevent slip ups. Peri herself didn’t relish drinking, especially while on duty, but she’d sit and nurse a glass if need be. At least now there was something in her stomach. Katsim: Should we? Her eyes traversed upward to fall upon signs that indicated what was in which direction how to get there. Without hesitation, Etan made a choice and beckoned the rest of them. Etan: Come on. :: he said, jerking his head in the correct orientation. :: This way. Everyone followed diligently and without protest. Peri kept her head down in an effort to look as inconspicuous as possible. She wasn’t the only Bardassian in existice, and considering the closeness of the Celestial Temple to Bajor especially, and Cardassia in general, she doubted she was the only one in the quadrant to be seen. With the increase of traffic through the Temple’s portal, people like her wouldn’t necessarily be common, but also not unheard of. Still, the lifestyle she was meant to portray was an antithesis to her personality. For her, it was best to remain simply quiet and compliant, a diligent underling who answered readily to her leadership. Her nose wrinkled as certain scents wafted her way. The pleasantries of food, the sizzling tang of meats, sharp slice of spice accompanied with the sweeter aroma of pastries and confections mingled with the rolling sourness of bodies that hadn’t elected to clean themselves in who knows how long. Her eyes darted upward, taking note of her surroundings, the mass of bodies that flowed like a river two and frow. People jostled each other without apology, a few grunts, and occasionally a shout or a growl before moving on their way. Meanwhile, the cacophony roared unceasingly between the voices of humanoids and non humanoids alike. Should they get separated, they would be hard pressed to find each other without using their hidden communicators, and doing so could still risk detection. Peri’s thoughts continued to run until she heard Tyber casually address Etan, his voice low so only his companions immediately surrounding him could hear. Tyber: Etan. don't look now but we are being followed. Peri wanted to glance back, but refrained from doing so, for that would surely tip the tail to its detection. She noticed Toxin take a glance in a window, but she was in a bad position to catch a glimpse of anything, so simply continued on and remained close to her companions. Under the cover of their bodies clustered fairly close together, Arlilly pulled out a tricorder, then tapped his badge which he must have squirrelled away in one of his pockets. Arlill: And don't look now, but we're also being watched from above. :: casually pointing his eyes down towards the tricorder :: Peri only offered the briefest of glances toward the device, for she didn’t want to draw attention to it, but it was enough for her to see exactly what Toxin did. Katsin: This isn’t good. Tyber / Etan: responses. She could hear him take a slow, deep breath and let it out in a controlled manner, as if trying to prevent himself from doing something impulsively. Arlill: I might be able to disable it remotely, but they'd know we knew. Katsim: I…I don’t think that would be a good idea. From her pouch, a soft chirp could be heard and Peri patted it once, as if to reassure the occupant that everything was all right. While she had managed to train Echo to remain behind on the ship, a feat in of itself, and one only possible if the creature was not actually *alone* but with another trusted person, Peri had elected to bring her along. Echo had proven useful in subtle ways. Although their connection was empathic only, the creature was sensitive enough to understand certain things simply by Peri using those emotions. There was not another peep and the dragonet settled down. Arlill/Etan/Tyber: responses. Katsim: It might be better to continue going as we are. We’d draw more suspicions by acting like we know we’re being watched. And the observation may simply be because we have not been seen before. While it was impossible for even a group of people to keep an eye on the incoming and outgoing visitors to a hub, a computer program with facial recognition software could compile a database and run a continuous watch. If the hub was equipped Arlill/Etan/Tyber: responses. Katsim: From what I have read of the Esh-o, some of their main exports are various metals used in shipbuilding, certain types of cheese…um…various agricultural crops, and a line of liquors they are particularly known for and are quite popular. Nervousness crept up, but Peri managed to keep her voice steady. Her eyes darted from one companion to another before she tried to settle them ahead of her and ignore the tingle that ran up her spine with the knowledge that someone tailed them. Katsim: Si…so…Iljor you mentioned a bar? She motioned ahead where a couple of different establishments offered to quench the thirst of any weary traveller. She had no doubt more lay beyond, sprinkled throughout the hub. It was not the sort of place she wanted to go, but maybe it was the sort of place where they could get some information. Arlill/Etan/Tyber: responses. -- Lt. Katsim Peri Chief Science Officer USS 'Oumuamua M239008AD0

@Vitor S. Silveira is perhaps better known for a bit of humour, but he can write truly heart-breaking stories as well. This was an amazingly and painfully realistic sim; technology and species might be new, but the story, the story never ceases to be relevant. Absolutely great work! Original: Weights on the soul.

Since we’ve been on shore leave, @Vylaa has graced us with many sims where we get a glimpse of the Andorian life and their extended/complicated family life. Like the three-parter where Vylaa met her partners. This one is just another amazing sim with more of that and the usual humorous tone that Andrew always adds in his sims. ((Vylaa’s Rented House, Lortos City, Bajor)) The big house was quiet for once. Vylaa walked down the staircase and paused at the bottom, thinking. Her mates were out; it was still hours before they had planned to meet at a local lake for a family picnic. Vylaa and her sisters were taking the children early for a fun day. And her children were what had given the zhen pause. If the house was quiet, they must be up to something. She checked the large family room, and the kitchen just beyond. But no, she found no tiny blue people. She even looked inside the lower cabinets in the kitchen, and under the couches. She moved on to the houses small library, where her sisters were engrossed in some of the musty old books that lined the shelves. Sataa: ::Looking up.:: Are you ready to go? zh’Tisav: Yeah… Once I find the children. Where are they? They were down here playing. Thyssa: Oh, uh, they said something about the back garden. zh’Tisav: And you just let them go back there? You were supposed to be watching them. They could be doing anything! Sataa shared an awkward look with Thyssa. Sataa: Well… They kind of…. Snuck off. Vylaa grumbled a few words she wouldn’t want her children to hear as she turned and stormed out the back door. The back garden was, well, impressive, and it offered many hiding places for three small Andorians. The huge walled in space was packed with flora from all over Bajor, to the point where one could argue that they weren’t inside a large bustling city. The foliage of the trees even dampened the sounds from beyond the walls, allowing Vylaa to take a moment to listen, her antennae drifting in gentle arcs searching for the mildest chatter, the quietest giggle to tell her were to look. zh’Tisav: Hmmm… The giggling really wasn’t all that quiet. The trio of siblings had yet to learn how to hide effectively, they were simply terrible at the Terran game hide and seek. She turned her head to the right, the densest side of the garden. zh’Tisav: I hear you… Giggles erupted from a clump of ferns. zh’Tisav: Thought so. She made her way down a pebble-lined path, pretending she was looking for them. She even made a show of peeking behind flowerbeds and shrubs, all the while heading directly to the ferns. The zhen stopped beside the big green clump and looked about the garden one last time, all while the fronds of amazing Bajoran Giggling Fern waved gently in the breeze She reached out and pushed the fronds aside. zh’Tisav: Ah… ha? There, in a small open space between the ferns, were her children. Athyn and Sivaa were sitting opposite each other, their hands and clothes covered with a muddied mixture of fingerpaints. Between them stood their little brother, wearing nothing but about 8 hues of paint and a smile. zh’Tisav: Why did you paint your thi?! Sivaa: Um, amdanalnar? zh’Tisav: Try again. The paint’s supposed to be white. Athyn: ::To Siyaa.:: I told you! zh’Tisav: Again, why? Athyn: Becuse he likes it. zh’Tisav: He’s a toddler, he’d laugh if you rubbed dirt in his face. Don’t! She had seen the glint in her daughters’ eyes as tiny blue hands began edging toward the dirt, so much were they like she and her sisters when they’d been that age. Vylaa groaned with frustration. Any other time, she would not have cared. In fact, she probably would have encouraged it. But now the spanner was firmly lodged in the days plans, and made worse when Thyl ran forward and wrapped his arms firmly around her legs in the biggest hug he could give, leaving a child-sized smear of paint all over her clothes. zh’Tisav: ::sighs:: You knew we were going to the lake… You could have done it there, I would have let you go swimming to clean off! Now you’re trading the time you would have had there for the fun you had here. Thyl needs a bath, and all of us need clean clothes. She stepped back and held the ferns aside while pointing to the door. As they filed by, their feet leaving tiny paint prints on the ground, Athyn looked up to her zhavey and asked with a straight face… Athyn: Can we take our paints to the lake? zh’Tisav: Not now you can’t. Go tell your aunts they have to help you get cleaned up. They let you run wild, so they get to help with the clean up while I give Thyl a bath. They entered the cool darkness of the house, eyes blinking to adjust. There they found Vylaa’s sisters, whose own eyes were wide with shock as they drank in the carnage. The twins marched u to their aunts and stopped, arms held out with palms up, and gazed into their eyes. Athyn: Zhavey said… Sivaa: ...clean us up. Sataa and Thysaa each shrugged a shoulder, opposite shoulders, and took a paint smeared hand and lead the girls upstairs. Vylaa, meanwhile, herded Thyl to the bathroom, doing her best to keep him from touching any walls. He jumped straight into the tub as Vylaa peeled off her paint soaked garments before kneeling beside the tub. She turned the water to a comfortable temperature as she upended a bottle of baby soap over Thyl. zh’Tisav: Seriously, and we’re having another? Lt JG Vylaa zh'Tisav Engineering Officer USS Gorkon

Finally, I can send in a proper appreciation for @Alora DeVeau. Who I have admittedly kinda stalked the writing of for a while on Ops. But with her transfer over to Denali, I can now reasonably be someone who gives her the appreciation that she so readily deserves for her beautiful writing. This is beautiful. It's emotional. Outstanding. I'm so excited to have her on the Station with us.

As a newly appointed ensign, it falls to my senior officers to show me the ropes on the ship. And while everyone have been extremely kind and helpful, it must be super hard to both be welcoming and helpful and at the same time exemplify that a good Simmer isn't just good at simming their main character, but also create compelling and entertaining MSNPCs! @LuxaLorana has managed this on my very first mission, with her Suliban terrorist Nirra. Not only is she so amazingly chaotic and unscrupulous, but at the same time, she's managed to make her motivations easily followed and heartbreaking in their own right. A tragic (maybe end?) to a very entertaining villain, who really pulled their weight in making 'Drill' a first mission I'll remember for a long time ❤️

Another Mirror Universe classic, this time from @Rebecca Iko. There so many classic and funny lines and moments in this sim, I decided to post the whole thing. Let's see what happens when a hybrid Human-Klingon Sydneysider from the Prime Universe meets her 100% Klingon counterpart from the Mirror Universe... (along with a blonde Klingon from Hawaii!) (removed flashback at the start for brevity) ((Bridge, USS Independence-B – Kirilow System)) But there was a whole lot to get done before they got home. Bec had had her back to the viewscreen, hiding her face as she tinkered around on the console in front of her. She had needed something to keep her hands busy as the Betazoid Emperor spoke to them, announcing her custody of Richie and Polgonz and using them as leverage to get what she wanted. Bec wasn’t empathic, but she was empathetic, and she felt fear for those two beyond what she had ever felt for herself. Ukinix: ::Staring at screen:: Holy $@^#. Keehani: ::Ignoring Wil:: Madam Ambassador, this could be a trap. Are you certain you trust her? The conversation had steered to talking about the "Mother Eternal" rather than to her, so Bec turned to face the rest of the bridge crew again. Vataix: No, I don't trust her--certainly not completely. But she is holding two of our own and perhaps this summit of hers can buy us some time. Ukinix: Now that the cat’s out of the bag, we may not have much time. There are thousands of patrol ships out there, and long-range scans are telling us that thousands more are coming back. This ship is tough, but we don’t have that kind of defensive firepower. Bec nodded. Truths were truths. Carter: Response Keehani: Then we should attend the summit in good faith. And a prior meeting with… ::sigh:: *her* to discuss matters before the summit may be a proactive de-escalation tactic. ::To Rivi:: Bi-lateral relations of sorts, Madam Ambassador. Iovianus: Response Iko: The people here know nothing of diplomacy. ::looking to Keehani:: but you could teach them. Any: Response Vataix: All right, Keehani, you're coming with me of course. You too, Robin. Keehani: ::nervous swallow:: Yes, Madam Ambassador. Bec was probably going to check up with Wil’s cousin during shore leave. Hopper: Response Vataix: We'll be bringing the prisoner the Resistance caught, the version of Nathan Richards in this universe. I believe I can convince Dro to come with us to see to it that our Tri'lea is returned. I don't know if the same can be said though for the other Betazoids native here, including his actual daughter. Keehani: ::Quietly:: Ergh, they can *have* that Richards. Yes, they could. Take the Initiate away before Bec could lose control again. She was still trying to figure out exactly what it was that had made her tip when they had been on the planet. Perhaps it was a combination of everything that had happened over the last little while. Or perhaps it was that he'd called her "little one" and deserved several punches for that. She at least deserved to give Cara an explanation. Hopper: Response Ukinix: Abassador, we have to be careful. We can’t just hand over the other Tri’lea Polgonz if we know she’s going to get killed. Protocol Parallax says we’re to interfere at a minimum, but I think we’re past that point now. We can’t just stand by and let people die. Really, by simply stepping foot on a planet you interfere with whatever fate it's writing itself. And they'd done far more here than just show up… Carter: Response Wong: I haven’t seen many individuals from this universe. But it seems to be a rough one. There appears to be a survival of the fittest mentality. Definitely a lot more brutal. Iko: This place is merciless. It runs—it thrives on spilt blood, power and hate. "Rough" and "brutal" only begin to describe it. She had kept talking to try and avoid thinking of an answer to her question: oO Who have you met? Oo. There had been the mention of a Klingon ship nearby, and she… Bec didn’t want to know. Any: Response Vataix: Wil, John, I want you to head to the outpost for this summit between the Betazed imperials and the Klingon-Cardassian Alliance. Ukinix: ::nod:: Aye, Ambassador. Carter: Response Vataix: Bec, Ikaia, head with them. It can't hurt to have a couple of Klingons on our side as well. Bec nodded a terse nod. Their stay wasn't over yet, and the only way it would be is by following out these orders. Even if it meant continuing to be seen as a Klingon. Iko: Understood. She looked to Wong and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. Wong: …. Alright. I’ll help the best I can. Vataix: Ensigns Kiani and Esma, go with them as well to observe and assist in whatever way Commander Ukinix sees fit. That was the other thing. While they had been gone, several ensigns had arrived at Amity, roped in to rescue their fellow crewmembers that they hadn't met yet. Kiani: Response Esma: Yes, Madam Ambassador. Vataix: Cassian, I'm leaving you in charge here on the Independence. Iovianus: Aye, ma’am. Vataix: All of you remaining on the ship, it's your job to find us the best plan to get back to our universe. Have a plan ready when I get back. Iovianus: At your request. Moore/Blackwood: Response Reade: Understood, madam Ambassdor. Veers: Response Vataix: All right, let's get to it. As everyone scattered away, Bec turned to Wong. The man was like a brother to her, and the two were going to have to lean on each other if they were going to be able to do this. She tapped him on the shoulder a couple of times and rubbed his upper arm Iko: I'm here. Wong: Response? (Optional) ((Later - Bridge, IKS ngem qul – en route to Outpost Supremacy)) Out of all the Klingons anywhere to have possibly met, the universe had chosen to have a Klingon by the name of “Rebekah” as the commander of the Bird of Prey they were stationed on. It was as if it was messing with her personally at this point. Bec hung back, behind the others, not really caring about the hair that had fallen in her face. Right now she was kind of preferring it that way… Ukinix: Awesome ship, Warrior Iko. ::Turning to others:: Right, gang? Bec managed a small nod. Wong: Ah yeah… it’s ah really… ::He knocks on the side of one of the consoles gently:: rugged. Nalkaji raised her eyebrows to the rugged Klingon, wondering for the tiniest moment how good he was at poetry and ducking. What she had established about this "gang" was quite clear: these Terrans were different to ones she had met before. Most had been either loyal sheep scared out of their minds or fools plotting a weak, defective plan in the hope to see revenge through. But these Terrans… These Terrans carried themselves and their values in a different way, not motivated by blood but the connection between one another. Which was why they had come from their universe in the first place. And the Klingons that joined them held themselves similarly. Carter/Kiani/Esma: Response M-Iko: ::addressing them all, but eyeing Wong:: It is a pleasure to meet your true crew. Their leader took a bottle of something from his bag. Although these Terrans were nice, she still didn't give them the blind trust they asked for. At that moment, Ukinix pulled out something from the bag slung over his shoulder. It looked like a bottle of wine to Wong. He wondered why the Commander had brought that along. Ukinix: Hey, I don’t suppose you’d be up for a trade would you? ::lifting up wine bottle:: Good quality Earth wine, for a bottle of genuine blood wine? M-Iko: Earthen wine is just the juice from a common vine you incorrectly call alcohol. Pathetic, just like you. She took the bottle from Wil anyway. M-Iko: We should be close now. She pointed to a member of her bickering crew, who promptly showed the upcoming outpost on the viewscreen. Bec had guessed Outpost Supremacy would be a knock-off version of Amity, but the closer it got the more Amity felt like a knock-off version of this spiked powerhouse. Ukinix: ::Staring at screen, slightly awed, slightly perturbed:: Well this wasn’t on my mission bingo card. Wong: You know, I’m starting to think that Betazoids took a lot of their design cues from a cactus. Nalkaji shrugged. Carter/Kiani/Esma: Response Wong: Alright. What’s the ah… plan? M-Iko: We find the empress and crush her slowly. Ukinix/Carter/Kiani/Esma: Response Fine. Unusual Terran ideals be damned. M-Iko: Then we go along with the empress's plan and await her next attack as she drags the Alliance into a false sense of security. Wong: Truthfully, I hope it doesn’t come down to that. I’d rather not fight anyone. Nalkaji smiled at the man. He held the Terran's ways higher than she expected. Almost as if he were one of them. She couldn't put his face or ridges to a name that she knew, but there were many in the Alliance she didn't know the faces of. M-Iko: That's quite ambitious. Ukinix/Carter/Kiani/Esma: Response Wong: And ah what is the backup plan if that fails? M-Iko: Then today is a good day to die. Her crew cheered in honour. Ukinix/Carter/Kiani/Esma/Wong: Response Bec spoke up from behind the commotion. Iko: No, it's not. Nalkaji stepped forward and looked into the eyes of the one she had been told about. A version of herself softened and sweetened by both the universe she was from and her impure blood. So soft, the half-Klingon had been hiding. M-Iko: Why? Iko: Today is not a good day to die, otherwise I'd be letting my enemies win. Ukinix/Carter/Kiani/Esma/Wong: Response Nalkaji pulled back slightly, deterring the conversation from that topic and her counterpart's accurate words. M-Iko: What is your plan for this then? Ukinix/Carter/Kiani/Esma/Wong: Response Tag/TBC -- Lt. JG Rebecca Iko Security Officer Amity Outpost + Nalkaji Iko CO, IKS ngem qul Klingon-Cardassian Alliance A239810RI3

This JP is a continuation of an ongoing scene between DeVeau and Foster, and I really enjoyed how much context and history it gives, particularly about Wyn. What makes it particularly interesting is that most, if not all, of this actually occurred in sim within the past eight or so years, and I think it highlights not only the importance of realism but also of IC consequences for IC actions. It was a heavy read but I appreciate the effort that was put into it! Well done @Alora DeVeau and @Sal Taybrim

Amity is currently lucky to be participating in a Mirror Universe mission. Of course, there are mirror version of our characters there, including "Initiate Nathaniel Richards", a inquisitor and torturer for the Betazed Empire, and MU version of the loveable @Nathan Richards. This sim is a really alternate view of the Federation and Starfleet, from a dark madman who wants chaos. (Also credit to @Rebecca Iko for helping to make this scene so tense!) ((Sensor Hub, Resistance Camp)) Veers: Bec, could you put some muscle on this bolt, it seems to be seized. Richards turned again, reaching the end of his pacing path. Veers: Appreciated. M-Richards: Teamwork. How beautiful and quaint. Iko: ::To Cara:: I’ll be right back. The Klingon moved into Richards’ path, stopping him in his tracks. Iko: You wanna be helpful? She grabbed him by his shoulders, shoving him towards the console. He had to quickly adjust his footing to avoid falling directly into the equipment. M-Richards: ::Chuckling:: Oh, you know, I would but…::Holding up bound hands:: I’m a little tied up. Veers: Response Iko: I’m FINE! Richards turned back to look at the Klingon. The rage was apparent on her face. Veers: Response M-Richards: I do believe that one of our friendly escorts said it best. If you are fine, you are fine to keep going. ::Twirling a hand in the air:: Or something to that effect. Iko: ::To M-Richards:: Do you even expect me to be capable of helping? I’m a Klingon. Better: A Klingon-Human mutant, who can’t find a brain small enough to fit behind half-arsed forehead ridges. There it was. The break. A smile grew across the Interrogator’s face. Veers: Response M-Richards: ::Placing bound hands against his chest, sarcastically:: And how does that make you feel? Iko: And you, you are a coward who hides behind a stupid mask and shows up to join whatever group happens to be in power because that’s safer. Richards let his hands fall in front of him, his smile never fading. He knew they couldn’t see behind the mask and wanted them to believe she had just struck a nerve. M-Richards: You would think that, wouldn’t you. Richards slowly walked around the Klingon and back onto his pacing path. M-Richards: United Federation of Planets. Starfleet. Federation Diplomatic Corps. You all hide behind masks in your own universe. ::Turning to look back at Iko:: The Terran Empire had a fairly extensive database on your people. Before it was all destroyed with the fall. Iko: ::Raising eyebrows:: I’m sure they did. Veers: Response M-Richards: You call me a coward, but those who rely on Diplomacy are the cowards. Power is what matters. Negotiation is weakness. He continued to pace, watching the two as he did so. M-Richards: I don’t need this mask. It has become apparent with our little “Chat” here that all I need are words. Iko: I’m not a diplomat. ::beat:: If you don’t need the mask, take it off. Veers: Response Richards ignored the officers as he continued to pace. M-Richards: You hide behind the people who lead you. Their…protocols. Their morals. The Mother Eternal, as well as all others who have risen to power, have relied on pure tactics. Relentless and vicious assaults on those who came before them. Resistance Fighter: I said that’s enough. Iko: And what do you care? The Klingon’s anger seemed to be growing even further. It appeared that she was beginning to lose control. M-Richards: ::Gesturing towards the rebels:: These are cowards. Hiding. Plotting. Never actually taking action…::Chuckling:: No wonder they are so few. So weak. Richards twisted his wrists against the restraints as he had his back turned towards the others during his pacing. There was a faint *pop* as he slid one of his hands from his restraints, followed by another faint *pop* as he fixed what he had done to slip free. M-Richards: It’s no wonder the Betazoid Empire will strike them all down. There is a reason that the Mother…is Eternal. Iko: Just like how the Terran Empire was eternal. Veers: Response He turned around to face the others again, very obviously moving his hands behind his back so they could see he was no longer restrained. One of the rebels raised his rifle and leveled it at the Interrogator, making him laugh. M-Richards: Go ahead. ::Holding hands up:: Add fuel to the fire of this war. ::His tone suddenly dark:: I welcome it. Iko: Well– The Klingon suddenly reached out and grabbed onto the beak of his mask, pulling it downward against the mounting points that lined Richards’ face. While he was hunched forward from the sudden attack, a kick collided with his side that sent him stumbling somewhat. The sudden outburst was what Richards had been hoping for. Opening that door into the innermost depths of his target. He let out a cackling laugh as he stood up straight again. Resistance Fighter: ::Aiming rifle:: Stand down. Veers: Response M-Richards: Perhaps you should listen to them. Wouldn’t want you to go hurting yourself any further, little one. She paid the warnings no mind as she rushed forward again. Richards held his hands out in an attempt to stop the Klingon’s assault but she continued to duck his hands and landed a few small punches into Richards’ body before she slammed him up against a was and hold him there. M-Richards: Well, now you have me here. ::Tilting his head to peer at her through one of the eye holes of his mask:: What’s your next step? What is it that you want to do? Could you hurt a facsimile of one of your friends? Veers: Response She stood there, staring at Richards and weighing her options. He could see it in her eyes as she processed everything in front of her. M-Richards: ::Quietly:: Weakness… Veers: Response Two rifle shots rang out as the rebels finally decided to do something about the confrontation. The Klingon slumped to the ground in front of Richards as he felt a searing pain pass through his abdomen. The edges of his vision grew dark as he himself slumped to the ground and was overcome and slipped unconscious. TAGS/END ACT 2 **************************************************** Initiate Nathaniel Richards Betazoid Imperial Interrogator United House of Betazed A239905NR1

This is our first insight into the situation on the USS Aldrin as told from one of the crew, namely the Captain. It's an amazing piece of writing and I wanted to give a shout out to @Esa_Darkkdust for writing it so well. Great job! -------- ((Jefferies Tube Seven-Alpha, Deck Four, USS Aldrin)) The Jeffries tube echoed as Serena-Marie pulled the small make-shift sled behind her, the sound of metal scraping against metal had been a constant as she’d moved around the ship trying to make whatever repairs she could. The last ten days had been actual hell. Of the fifteen people she’d volunteered to come with her, only eight were left. Seven had succumbed to the madness of the Cloud and had lost their lives. One of them she’d ended herself. She called it self-preservation, but the moment still played out in her mind. Over, and over, and over, and over. She’d been on the bridge with one of the junior officers who worked as a helmsman on one of the late shifts. A good man. Solid worker. He’d managed to pilot the Aldrin far enough away from that station so that they could attempt repairs… Then that crazed Vulcan scientist had snuck their way in and murdered him. Plunged a sharpened piece of duranium into his back before he could react. Then they came for her… Their strength was enough to knock Serena-Marie to the ground, and the two of them subsequently engaged in a struggle. Through some… sheer dumb luck… she’d managed to grab a piece of debris that had fallen from the ceiling and cracked it against the side of the Vulcan’s head, who proceeded to fall down like a sack of lead on top of her. She thought she’d made the right decision, saving the ship and the majority of the crew. She had to assume they were safe. Her First Officer would take care of them… oO Right? Oo Now she was second guessing herself. Seven dead… That left herself, the Operations Chief, two Scientists and four Engineers. She didn’t even know if the others were alive. Internal sensors were temperamental at best, and communications were still down. She had left Lieutenant JG Tenaya and three other engineers down in Engineering behind a forcefield, but that was several hours ago. Hopefully they were still there. She and Ensign Bradshaw were on their way to the bridge. Lieutenant Moore had gone to the Science deck with the other scientist, from the Lighthouse, attempting to clear the gaseous soup that still infested the lower decks so that they could get to the shield emitters… She and Moore hadn’t exactly seen eye to eye over the last ten days. Deep down, she blamed him for the whole situation. From her point of view, if he had just listened to her and secured the research before they’d arrived at Outpost Ceti, then they wouldn’t be in this mess. At last, they reached the ladder. Wallace: Still alive back there, Bradshaw? Bradshaw: ::Breathlessly:: Yes… Captain. Wallace: Nearly there now, Ensign. Just four decks up and we’ll be on Deck One. We can take a break then. She turned at the last moment to see the Ensign nodding, before gathering up the small sled full of tools in one arm and pushing it up the ladder. ((Bridge, Deck One)) A few minutes of climbing later, and the pair emerged into a tube that led to the side of the bridge, just next to the Engineering station. In the distance, she thought she could hear voices? As they got closer, she was more and more sure of that. Unknown: Do we have a crew and body count yet? And any indication for the whereabouts of any crew who may not be accounted for? Body count? They must have found the body of the Helmsman… A few more voices chimed in, before the first voice spoke again. Unknown: Do the logs have anything to say on that? They were accessing the logs… Raiders? Pirates? Were they after the rest of the crew? Serena-Marie waved her hand at Bradshaw to stay back, as she pulled her phaser from her hip. She switched the SIMs beacon on her wrist on, but kept it pressed against her body while she slowly and quietly opened the hatch onto the bridge. When it was opened enough for her to poke the barrel of her phaser and the beacon through, she called out loudly. Wallace: Identify yourselves! She hoped that the darkness, coupled with the bright light from her beacon aimed at their eyes, would be enough to dazzle them slightly, giving her an advantage if they started shooting. Wallace: If you’re here to scavenge, I warn you: This phaser is set to kill! Away team: Responses Serena-Marie scoffed, audibly enough to show her disbelief to the intruders. Wallace: Oh yeah? Prove it! There’s no way Starfleet would send another ship out here to die! Away team: Responses PNPC Captain Serena-Marie Wallace, PhD USS Aldrin Simmed by: Lieutenant Commander Esa Kiax Chief Operations Officer USS Astraeus – NCC 70652 A239511ED0

As CO, Tony's sims are often focused on helping encourage other writers and facilitate teamwork. This scene of his character alone was a nice payoff to a slow burn around a number of things that had been hinted at before, an opportunity to delve into particular character issues, and an excellent climax-builder near the end of our first act.

Welp, there's two of them! Just kidding. 😁 Here's another amazing read from @Doz Finch. How dare you to leave us in suspense like that. ((The Apa Farm, Bajor)) The Apa Farm was a towering sage spectacle; fields upon fields of the curious crops stretched for miles in the middle of nowhere, bleached by their warm and life-giving sun and touched ever so gently by a breeze that dared not blow too hard for fear of disturbing the peace. The smell in the air was just as dreamy, just as invigorating, with bits of the green stuff floating within it in tiny speckles—no doubt distempering the walls of her lungs with its natural tinge. It was ironic therefore that the reason she had found herself out there alone was not to volunteer herself to the efforts of the local agriculture, or even to sample and procure a basket of the farm's freshest corn, but instead to return a mischief-making robotic dog that she had, only half accidentally, temporarily adopted. Apa: Remarkable. Finch: It is, isn’t it? Apa: And it was found where, again? Finch: Toppling tourists on Deep Space Nine! I wound up on a goosechase with this stranger who claimed he bought it from you. Apa: I see. And he left it with you? Finch: Forced it on me! He said he couldn’t cope with it anymore. Said it was the single worst investment he had ever made. I mean, if I’m being honest with you, it isn’t hard to see why. Apa: It isn’t? Finch: Well, you tell me! The robotic dog chased after its metallic tail at high speeds, circling on the spot with just enough momentum to suck in any wandering insects that happened to glide idly by. Its head was a simple square, and its eyes a vestigial remnant of what was once a set of eyes, now instead a muddied screen of stains and scratches—and a mechanical panting also emanated out of hidden speakers, almost gurgly, as if it had at some point in the past taken a deep dive into a local riverbed, as would any adventuring dog. In the distance, hovering over the fields, she could see a drone sprinkling water in precise lines, cylindrical and silent, and moving along a dirt path between crops further along was another machine, almost humanoid, brushing and clearing the ground beneath its wheels. A brilliant blend of glistering silvers, browns and greens. Apa: No… I suppose it isn’t. Finch: Returning it to you seemed the only right thing to do. Apa: ::Hesitantly:: You can't take him? Finch: I would if I could. But I’m a visiting Starfleet Officer. ::She looked down at the dog, biting her bottom lip in thought:: I think it would be better off here, on the farm, where it can run and really, you know, ::waving her arms:: be a dog! Apa: ::Scratching his head:: I see. As the three of them stood there, momentarily in silence with only the sounds of the benign winds tickling the tall stalks of the sage coloured crops, Doz did all she could to suppress another memory resurfacing. Try as she might, though, it had become immensely difficult not to dwell on the past. It was as if her mind had become a boundless filigree of memories; an endless spider's web that she, quite like a little vibrating bee, constantly found herself entangled in. She thanked god that most of her memories were, however, very joyous. Memories such as the image of Murphy’s infectious smile, and the fragmented echoes of his laugh irradiating her thoughts, brightening her eyes from within. Or the better days of her childhood, when her home was a jungle of machines and contraptions thrown together by her brothers who all believed they were going to be the next greatest inventor, even though half of their inventions spewed sparks and had the tendency to spiral out of control. She had only ever seen her friend Murphy cry once in all of the years that she had known him, and it had been when the robotic dog that she and he had helped to repair was unfairly seized by another officer, and destroyed. A cruel act by a cruel woman—Gepe Grasa. That was the memory she so carefully tried to ignore. Apa: Follow me, would you? Finch: Right you are. Come along, you! ::she said, clapping her hands to the robotic dog:: Apa: I’m not optimistic. It looks quite broken. I think it may be the end of the road for it, but we’ll see what can be done. Finch: I’m an engineer myself, so I’ll help you however I can. Apa: Oh, you won't be helping me. I’m just a farmer. It’s my friend who designs the robots and the machines—he’s on the other side of the house, in his little scrapyard. Finch: In his little scrapyard, eh? Sounds promising! Apa: Yes. ::A curious look on his face:: Come to think of it… you're quite alike. That “accent”... strange. As Apa walked around the outside of his farmhouse, made entirely of wood, and decorated with bits of reflective metal and mirror along its beige panels, coruscating under the brilliant light of the sun, Doz and the dog followed behind him, both with quick steps due to their shortness. She smiled at the sights that came into view as soon as they turned the corner; piles upon piles of steel and metal were scattered around a yard, as well as bits of dismantled machinery, bolts and tools, a roofless shuttle and a handful more of the hovering drone she had seen earlier on, some with busied arms and one, even more obscurely, with an umbrella fixed on top of it. A smile instantly filled her wrinkled face. It truly was a marvel. The Bajoran farmer stepped over a box of wires, and looked back to Doz with a nervous laugh, as the two of them approached a table, upon which a half-balding man wearing a welding helmet was hard at work, fusing together two components, his back to them both. Apa: We’ve got a visitor. The half-balding man didn’t respond, but continued on with his work. Apa: I said, ::poking the man in his back:: we have a visitor! The man instantly stopped and turned around, his voice muffled under his mask. Doz tried to contain a laugh. Apa: We can’t hear you, you old fool! W. Finch: ::Removing the mask:: I said, you shouldn’t sneak up on an old man like that! I’ll end up having a heart attack, and then you’ll be sorry. As if she had been winded, air rushed out of her mouth with a gasp, her body stumbling back a touch. It was impossible, improbable, and yet it was true. She squinted her eyes at him, her heart racing in her chest at the unlikely coincidence. It was her brother Wallace. TBC -- Ens. Doz Finch Engineering Officer USS Gorkon

@Quinn Reynolds Just because this is an awesome read. ((Holodeck, USS Gorkon)) A ribbon of crystal water weaved through rolling hills which stretched toward the horizon, finally flowing into sea waters which glittered in the sun like liquid sapphire. Ancient trees reached for the sky, their lush boughs swaying in a summer breeze. Flowers bloomed among the long grasses, their colourful faces turned toward the light. Their fragrance drifted through the air, sweet and perfumed, mixing with the rich scent of warm soil and wood. A paradise. Lost. A Romulan walked among the wildflowers and long grasses she played among as a child. Her short hair framed a face with high cheekbones and striking green eyes, pale skin which probably hadn’t bathed in the rays of a real sun in quite some time. She moved with the feline grace of a predator, a sinuous mix of lethality and artistry, the figure of a martial artist who fell in love with dance. In her arms, she carried a baby nearing the celebration of her first year. Hazel green eyes, a subtle echo of her mother’s forehead ridges, and her father’s luxurious mahogany hair. Sienelis: This, Rybka, is where Mama was born. ch’Rihan, although the Federation called it Romulus. Isn't it—::she paused, correcting herself::—wasn’t it beautiful? Llaira looked around with a curious gaze, drinking in this new experience with the innocent wonder only children had. Valesha smiled, but the expression wavered at the corners, unable to quite shake the hot coal which had burned in at the bottom of her ribs since waking from the Skarbek. Sienelis: This is where our people settled at the end of our long journey through the stars, after the Vulcans forced us from our home. Two thousand years later, they preach Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations—but only if you’re not Romulan. Then you can only be a liar, a spy, or happy to murder your own family for reasons they cannot explain. Her dark, straight brows pulled into a frown, and Valesha took a deep breath. The ship’s new counsellor had cast herself into the role of Romulan spy in Skarbek, and it cut the scientist to the quick. Another Vulcan who looked at her people and saw only deception and menace. The meal at the tea room in Japan with Alieth still ricocheted through her mind, every humiliation engraved in her memories. Vorin’s accusations, and the accompanying investigation, still hung over Valesha’s head. Now T’Lar, whose Skarbek persona—the worst version of herself she could imagine—had been a Romulan spy. Because a Vulcan simply couldn’t imagine being deceiving everyone around her without being Romulan. Sienelis: Pay no mind to Mama. Things will change. It will be better for you. She grimaced, trying to ignore the barbs twisted deep in her heart. Was that hope, or foolishness? Her greatest fear was that her daughter was going to suffer through the same sort of prejudice as she did. It was exhausting, fighting every day for what so many others took for granted. To have her integrity assessed on the basis of her actions, not her genes or birthplace. To have her work judged on its merits, and not the author. Sienelis: That isn’t why I brought you here. ::Valesha took a deep breath, trying to push away the hurt, and gestured ahead of her.::This is the Jhianhre province. Do you see that cottage and the building next to it? That’s where Mama grew up. A solitary cottage in white stone stood not far from the treeline, windows sparkling in the bright sunlight. A garden bloomed behind it, filled with brilliant colour and life, clearly the result of a dedicated steward. Smoke rose from the tall chimney beside it, and light glowed inside. Sienelis: That was your uncle’s garden. ::She smiled, melancholy threading through.:: Taeval had such a way with plants and flowers. Now he cares for people the same way he tended to his garden. If you ever have a problem and Mama and Papa can’t be there, you go to your dinam-ri'ranai.¹ He’ll take care of you. Few moments in Valesha’s life compared to the rare joy of finding her twin again. Thought dead in the supernova, discovered alive via a chance meeting during the Warp XV tests, and finally reunited on Ketar V. It had been like finding the lost piece of her soul, though she still wasn’t sure how he felt about having to leave his home shortly thereafter. They had both changed in the intervening years, and he was no longer a teenager too easy for his sister to read. Sienelis: That, ::she gestured to the building with the smoking chimney,:: was our forge. The House-Clan of t’Sienelis is very old, one of artists and craftsmen. Your grandmama, your hru'nanov, she was one of the finest smiths on Romulus. She made dathe'anofv-sen² for the high houses, and tan qalanq³ for the Qowat Milat. People used to travel from across the Empire to beg for her work. It’s how she met your grandpapa, your hru'diranov. She paused at the mention of her father. Valesha had no idea what he thought of her current situation, though she didn’t doubt he knew of it. Things had been quiet of late, no more attempts to cajole, push, or physically drag her home. Maybe he had accepted she was where she wanted to be. More likely he was simply being patient. What were a few years, or even decades, to a Romulan? Sienelis: That’s a... complicated story. ::She smiled ruefully, and shook her head.:: Not one for today. Today, we are going swimming. Perhaps in response to the smile and the shift in her mother’s tone, Llaira excitedly babbled, clapping her tiny hands together. Her mother’s heart grew several sizes, still finding ways to be amazed at how her daughter could both wrench her heart and soothe her soul simultaneously. Sienelis: My little fish likes the sound of that, hmm? ::She laughed.:: Swimming in the same river Mama learned to swim in? Maybe we’ll teach you to dive when you’re older, too. There’s magic in the sea, Rybka, and don’t let anyone tell you different. The happy chattering from her babe in arms confirmed that Llaira would, indeed, refuse to stand for any contrary opinions on the matter. If she had even a gram of her parents’ stubbornness, that would be a battle she wouldn’t lose. Feeling a little lighter, with the grass and wildflowers tickling bare dancer’s legs beneath her skirt, Valesha picked up the pace. Sienelis: Come on then. Papa will be here soon. ::She shared an impish grin with her daughter, mischief reflected back toward her.:: Let’s see if we can get in the water and splash him first. ¹ Romulan: Uncle, maternal. ² Romulan: A traditional weapon which translates as “honour blade”, passed down through Romulan families and ritually sharpened. ³ Romulan: A straight, singled edged sword preferred by the Qowat Milat. -- Lieutenant Valesha Sienelis Assistant Chief Science Officer USS Gorkon simmed by Vice Admiral Quinn Reynolds Commanding Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0

A good NPC is worth its weight in latinum but the challenge can often be bringing life to a character or species that we have very little canonical knowledge of. Here Lt. Jg. Hobart swings for the fences and nails a delightfully disgusting characterization in this introductory sim. It's the first sim I've posted in appreciations that made me nauseous, so, cheers! ======================================== ((Command Hub, Central Ventrical, SCS Imperative)) An alarm chimed strangely at Senior Associate Regional Vice Director Of Exploitation Goo’py. The alarm itself was perfectly ordinary, but the fact of it was strange. The humanoid tenant of the Federation facility, one Boo-Fard, had requested an arrival at a specific time, but Vice Director Goo’py didn't get where he was by taking directives from lesser species. He departed Shev’Unden when he was ready, and not a moment earlier or later. But the strangeness of the alarm bothered Goo’py. A ship on an intercept course, of unidentified allegiance, was detected by the Imperative's long range scanners. The trajectory matched a Ferengi origin. The Ferengi, as a species, were easy enough to corral. Their sense of independence could be easily and entirely subsumed by their desire to reap a profit. But their nature of profit was deeply flawed. Measured in terms of currency, the Ferengi were a people wealthy beyond imagination. In terms of power, their greed was a flaw to be exploited. But also managed. On Naz, they had been allowed to fester as an infestation. It was a tale as old as time. Director Flur’psh had thought to allow the Ferengi access, as something of an invasive species. It was on the surface, a sound idea. Mining operations would continue, but the burden on corporate assets would be reduced. Flur’psh was an idiot, who had lingered far too long in a position he clearly couldn't handle. His mind had grown sloppy, and his folds sagged and reeked of a career gone stale. He was, to Goo’py’s photoreceptors, ripe for the picking, and Naz was where he was softest. A victory here would not only reinforce the vital flow of resources from within Naz, but secure Goo’py’s future within the Corporate hierarchy. As his ship blurped out of warp within sight of the horribly spindly looking Deep Space 33, Goo’py gripped a control crystal and accessed the ship's navigation and control suite, setting course for an open bay. Not waiting for instruction from the station. If he was forced to wait for the Federation to catch up with his requirements, he would shrivel and die of old age before even setting foot on their ramshackle excuse for a Starbase. No, Station Ops would accommodate him, at his leisure. The Federation wouldn't risk anything else. With the course programmed and autopilot engaged, Goo’py disabled the Imperative’s artificial gravity. He was no longer required to stay at his station, and zero-G movement was, of course, the most expedient way to get from one compartment of the compact destroyer to another. Leaving his small crew behind, Goo’py prepared himself for the inglorious work of interfacing with lesser lifeforms. ((Timeskip, Docking Bay, Deep Space 33)) Vice Director Goo’py loathed the station from the beginning. The atmosphere was appropriate, but the architecture was gaudy and insistence on making him fight the artificial gravity was obnoxious. He surveyed the motley arrangement of officers and diplomats. In contrast to the Ferengi, the Federation was resilient, a begrudgingly-acknowledged threat. The variety of cultures contained within it meant it could at times struggle to survive, but, in doing so, became more resilient against manipulation. The treaty, for now, held, but the Federation was not his concern this day. Naz was. From his core a deep bubbling and burping, a glopping and sloshkng preceded his speech. Goo’py: Speak carefully or your own words may doom you. The traditional Sheliak greeting was true enough. It's why speech was often a last resort. Script and law and rules could and should be made as lengthy and complex as they needed to be. But the inferiority of the meatier species inevitably presented itself in their preference for speech. Hasty and vague, Goo’py often wondered if it was due to the fear of their meat going to spoil. Any: Response More gurgling and squicking could be heard in the room, as Goo’py formulated his speech carefully. Goo’py: I am the Sheliak Corporate Authority in the Naz region, and, for the extent of thisss… summit, on thisss… space station. When you address me, you address Shev’Unden. Any: Response TAG/TBC ——— Goo’py Senior Associate Regional Vice Director Of Exploitation Sheliak Corporate Authority as simmed by Lieutenant Junior Grade Nolen Hobart Engineering Officer USS Arrow (NCC-69829) A240001NH3

Of course, I had to submit this excellent piece from @Jalana with Queen dealing with the loss of Lazurus due to the quantum swap that brought the Connie Azura Ada.

I've been a fan of @LuxaLorana since she came aboard the Artemis, but this is a really lovely "nothing" sim. My act three opener for our current mission was intended to communicate time and boredom, and Olivia has seized upon that and taken it to wonderful depths. I particularly like the note on Genkos' drumming fingers and how she has built upon it beautifully. Keep up the good work!

The contrast between @Zenno's training flashback and his speech is marvelous. May we all stay at zero.

I really enjoyed @Randal Shayne's use of flashbacks, here! I read this on my phone yesterday and just now remembered to share it here. It's a solid sim that gives us both an understanding of the coming mission, and the character. It was a joy to read, and, as I said when I finished reading it: "I guess that's why he gets paid the big bucks."

((Promenade, Miranda VII, Early 2378)) What had drawn Nestira Aristren to the Trinity Sector and surrounding areas was the fact that it had remained relatively untouched by the devastation of the Dominion War, which made it the preferred location for anyone trying to get away from haunting memories and remaining obligations. And while the Klingons and Federation were focussed on rebuilding, there were several smaller and larger groups that benefited immensely from the lack of regulation that opened up creative ways to trade and seek entertainment. The Rodulan found observing these customs a worthwhile passtime, but despite having been on Miranda VII for several months, never partook in either, and with each passing day, she grew more desolate. She was lonely. She wanted to interact with the different species that called the spacedock their home or came here for business, but had quickly learned that blending in was far more difficult than it seemed. She couldn’t quite understand why that was, she only knew that it… was. There was a Trojan class I spacedock closeby - Starbase 118 - that Nestira considered visiting, hoping for the officers to be a little more accepting. But not now. For now, Nestira was content to simply observe and try to figure out what to do next. Tucked away in a quiet corner of a not-so-quiet establishment she kept her eyes fixed on the beverage in front of her, and on blocking out the vibrant minds of the people who had come here to relax, celebrate, or simply grab something to eat. Anethra was on Miranda VII for one reason. To seek out new pieces of art. One didn't open a gallery with nothing to show in it. The war had not been kind to her trade, and in fact many people had been hoarding various pieces of art, secured away in vaults all over the quadrant. War was not good for business. But the war was over. And the Ferengi had another saying; Peace was good for business. Anethra certainly hoped that was the case. For now though she was hungry, and hunger overrode pretty much every other desire. So the Rekarian had made her way to a mostly full eatery on the Promenade. It was noisy and there wasn't much seating, so when she found an empty seat at an otherwise occupied booth she decided to simply ask to sit. Anethra: Is this seat taken? The Rodulan looked up in something that was supposed to convey surprise, but in reality looked like her staring the woman down, wondering what species that one might be. Vulcan? But Vulcans all had the same haircut, and this one did not conform. Interesting. Anethra stared back at the dark-eyed woman in front of her, waiting for an answer. She couldn't say she was enjoying the gaze she was under, but again, hunger overrode most things, so she waited still. Nestira, who had fixed her gaze on the woman, returned her attention to the mug in front of her. Or rather, she sensed her discomfort and decided to alleviate it by simply looking away. As she responded, her tone was flat and unanimated. Aristren: This seat is empty. Silence spread between the two women, and Nestira realized a split second too late that she should probably say something more. The telepathic undercurrent of her statement relayed interest and an invitation to join her, but of course the Vulcan-eque female was unable to perceive it. Perhaps, Nestira considered, she should ask a question in return to show interest. She just wasn’t sure what. Anethra in the meanwhile glossed over the fact that it wasn't a yes or a no. She shrugged, choosing to sit anyway. If the woman hadn't wanted her there, she would have just said so. Once a waiter had provided food and drink, she turned her attention to the Rodulan woman on the other side of the table. Anethra: So what brings you to Miranda VII? Aristren: Visiting. ::there was a long and somewhat awkward pause as Nestira convinced herself to ask a question of her own, and then had to think about what to ask the stranger:: Is there something wrong about being here? While the woman considered her response, Anethra took a bite of her food, savoring it. Anethra: Nothing wrong, just don't normally see a Rodulan so far from home. It makes such an encounter unique… Rodulans were indeed rare - many did not want to leave Basul Rodul. Which in turn meant that many other species weren’t even aware they existed, which explained why Nestira struggled to blend in. Aristren: I decided to travel. ::pause, then a sudden raising of her eyebrows as she finally thought of a question to ask in return:: Do you travel? Anethra: I do. :: She chewed for a moment, then continued after swallowing. :: Quite often in fact. This was going well. A lot better than most of Nestira’s other encounters. She was pleased, deciding to take a leap of faith and trust the woman with her name. Aristren: You can call me Nestira. Anethra: I am Anethra. Anethra observed the beautiful woman in front of her. A curious sight on a station full of curious sights. Aristren: What do you do here? Anethra: I travel for many things, to see new places. Meet new people. For business and pleasure. :: She paused. :: Currently, I do so for business. Aristren: What kind of business is it you do? Now that she had started to ask questions, she was getting the hang of it, and she quickly realized that asking them was not considered intrusive. At least not in this setting. It seemed Anethra enjoyed talking about herself. Anethra: I am an art dealer. Looking for pieces to go into a gallery I intend to open one day soon. The Rodulan’s face seemed to light up at that - or at least she no longer motionlessly stared at the other woman. Aristren: My mother is an artist. Her paintings have been shown in galleries for a long time, and I am very proud of her. My sister was like her, I am more like my father, but perhaps in the future I can learn to create something so expressive. ::pause:: But she paints differently now, my mother. And my sister does not at all. The words came quickly and with an inflection that seemed …. off. But it was the most she had spoken for quite some time, which was reason enough to forgive the overload on personal information and context that had not been requested. Anethra: A shame… I've found most of the pieces that have come out of Basal Rodul to be incredibly beautiful. Nestira could sense that there was something more to the statement, but after a few minor telepathic incidents, she had grown increasingly careful and almost distrustful of her senses. And so she decided on another question instead. Aristren: You like our art? Anethra nodded, taking a sip of her drink. Anethra: I especially like the basotile sculptures that I've had the pleasure of viewing. The Rodulan nodded. Basotile was an integral part of her culture, and the sculptures crafted from it were deeply personal items that were said to contain part of one's soul. Amongst their own kind, those pieces were gifted to each other, and returned when a relationship changed or a bond broke apart. Many possessed personal pieces of basotile, and Nestira was not an exception. Aristren: I have one. You can look at it if you want. But I am not an artist. Anethra’s eyes widened slightly. She nodded enthusiastically. Anethra: I would very much like to see it, yes. For a moment, Nestira was hesitant. She did not usually showcase something so personal to a stranger, but in many ways she was starved for social contact, and Anethra seemed.. nice. Anethra: Shall we go somewhere a bit more private? Aristren: We can go to my quarters. The quarters I… rented. Anethra: Sounds good. ((Nestira’s so-called ‘quarters’, Miranda VII, Early 2378)) Calling Nestira’s home ‘quarters’ was perhaps a little too generous. She had rented a small room in a larger apartment, and that room fit not much more than a bed and a desk. There were a few possessions strewn about, but it quickly became clear that she did not, in fact, own much. Anethra: Its very…. cozy. Anethra hadn't expected much. The Cardassian designed space station did not provide much in the way of amenities. Even her own quarters were not much. Aristren: I am … not sure I will stay long. It's very complicated. Living here. Here, on Miranda VII. Here, away from home. Anethra: How so? Aristren: I am not yet sure how things work. Anethra: Ah, I understand. :: She nodded. :: I found it similarly hard when I first started out… That was interesting to Nestira. Her own species valued and understood progression and development - but also had several centuries to do so. Other species had a much shorter lifespan and her assumption was that they were simply born with a skillset that lasted them for the entirety of their existence. Aristren: When was that? Anethra: Many decades ago by now… it took time to figure out the best ways to blend in… and just what I could get away with. Another aspect that was interesting to the Rodulan. She enjoyed being apart from the group, but she did notice how detrimental it was to finding a footing in this new environment. Blending in seemed like an appealing skill to have. Aristren: You look and seem just like anyone else here. Which was her way of affirming that Anethra was, in fact, blending in. Anethra: As I grew older… I stopped caring so much… Nestira was unsure how to reply to that, and simply opted not to reply. Instead, she made her way to the desk, where her travel-crate was sitting. Opening it, its contents were revealed, and they were …. not much - largely clothes. Clothes which seemed to cushion the sculpture settled in the middle. While light-reflecting glass was popular on Basul-Rodul, the variety of basoltile that Nestira had chosen for herself was ivory in color and its sharp edges had something tribal, almost feral about them. Anethra’s eyes widened slightly taking in all the various facets of the ivory coloured sculpture. It was unique, though pretty much every Basotile she had seen was, but most of the ones she had seen were much more flowing in contrast to the one in front of her now, with its sharp edges and comparatively muted ivory colour. Anethra: Wonderful. Simply wonderful. :: She looked to Nestira. :: How long did it take you to create? Aristren: It takes a very long time to make something like it. I practise a few hours every day. Because she did not have anything else to do. She hadn’t made any friends here, and she spent far more time alone in this room than she cared to admit. Anethra nodded slightly. Anethra: You said you weren't an artist, but you sell yourself short. Aristren: I disagree. She gestured to the sculpture. Anethra: I know many who would desire such a thing, simply for its unique beauty. Curious, but understandable. Aristren: I have found people desire a lot of things. And she had no intention of gifting her basotile sculpture to someone else. Because that was what she assumed was meant. Anethra knew the significance basotile held to Rodulans. She nodded slightly. Anethra: That is true… have you ever considered selling it, however? The Rodulan frowned deeply and pressed her lips into a thin line - an expression she had seen on others, and was now trying for herself . Sell it? That seemed like an utterly alien concept to her. Aristren: I did not know someone would want to buy it. Anethra: As you just pointed out, people desire a lot of things. Most will pay to acquire what they desire. That gave her pause. She had hoped to find some kind of work to do, but with her current adjustment issues, that was… difficult. And eventually she would run out of funds and have to return home, much earlier than she was planning to. Anethra: If you plan on travelling for long, having latinum to spend will be an unfortunate necessity. Aristren: Do you know people who would want to buy it? Anethra nodded again, considering for a moment just who might make the right buyer. Anethra: Yes, I think I know just the right buyer for such a sculpture. A collector who can appreciate its elegance and beauty. She nodded. She had seen those people who visited Miranda VII to conduct business, and who showcased their wealth with intricate jewellery and costly looking dresses and robes. Part of her had liked what she saw. Aristren: And can you show me to appear like them? You said you learned, I want to learn too. But I don’t want it to take me a long time. That hadn't been an expected request. Yet it was intriguing. Anethra smiled faintly. Anethra: I can't say how successful I’ll be, but I can try to teach you how to blend in more. Aristren: Good. Anethra: But first– She looked back to the sculpture, then to Nestira. Anethra: You are certain of this? If it is sold, it may not be easy to reacquire, and certainly not for a small sum. After all, one didn't get repeat business by taking advantage of people, and Anethra tried never to do that. Aristren: I am… very uncertain ::she admitted:: Can I think about it first? Anethra: Of course. I will be here for a while yet. There is no rush. Nestira gave a nod. She did not truly want to part with something so precious to her, but the alternative was having to return home because she had failed to blend in and explore the galaxy. And that would turn her promise to Elidi into a lie. The loss of a piece of basoltile was a small price for keeping a promise. END SCENE Lt. Nestira Aristren Strategic Operations Officer Starbase 118 Ops J239809TA4 and PNPC Anethra Wandering Art Dealer as simmed by Lt. Commander Solaris McLaren Director of Intelligence Starbase 118 Ops C239210SM0

If you know me at all, then you know I'm a fan of a good antagonist. And I love this one from @Freck The sass is my favorite. "It was reckless. It was practically suicidal. It was downright rude, is what it was." is hysterical to me, but honestly, this whole sim just rocks overall.

This is an incredible debut sim from our newest recruit, @Enzo Solari, who has joined us fresh from the Academy! — Personal log, stardate 240006.18. Dr Enzo Solari, Medical Officer, USS 'Oumuamua reporting. It has been a whirlwind since my arrival on the ‘Oumuamua from Starbase 118. I am excited to have graduated after a final training exercise on Starbase 118. Since my arrival, I have had just enough time to unpack my belongings in my small cabin before checking in with my superior officer Dr Vlen Kel. Unfortunately, I did not have enough time to meet with Dr Kel for more than a quick greeting before he rushed off on preparations for the mission to the E-Sho. Now, I am getting settled into one of the desks in Sickbay, minding the store while Dr Kel runs some errands. I hope to develop a good working relationship with him. ((Deck 7, Sickbay, USS 'Oumuamua)) Solari: Computer, end personal log. Dr Ensign Enzo Solari yawned. He stretched his legs under a pristine white polymer desk attached to the wall. No rest for the wicked, he thought to himself. The courier vessel to the 'Oumuamua followed a different clock that left him space lagged. It feels so nice to have a real sickbay job after so many years of training, he sighed to himself with tired satisfaction. He stared outside the office partition. The Sickbay sparkled with metallic surfaces and glowing state-of-the-art monitoring equipment. Rows of biobeds lined the circular wall as if waiting to welcome any patients. V'Airu: =/\= Bridge to Sickbay. =/\= Enzo started in surprise. He quickly reeled in his limbs and tapped his combadge. Solari: =/\= This is Doctor Solari. Go ahead, Bridge. =/\= V'Airu: =/\= Report to the bridge, please. I have some (beat) unusual symptoms to discuss. =/\= Solari: =/\= On my way. =/\= Enzo stood up and grabbed his plain gray standard issue Medical Kit and hurried out of Sickbay. Alrighty! First day on the job, he thought excitedly. ((Deck 1, Bridge, USS 'Oumuamua)) The turbolift doors whisked open to show the bridge abuzz with voices, computer beeps, and officers moving around. In the center, a viewscreen of swirling blue and gold colors caught his attention. That must be the micro-nebula everyone is talking about, he thought. He glanced away before he got dizzy. He shook his head and walked towards the dais where the Commodore sat with her other bridge officers. He heard the Commodore conversing with them as he stepped up. He suddenly felt his heartbeat pick up, feeling nervous. Solari: ::speaking quickly:: Dr Solari reporting, Commodore. What can I assist with? V’Airu: Response Solari: Please hold still, sir, as I run some quick scans. Enzo opened his gray medical kit case and removed a medical tricorder and scanner. He activated the tricorder and leaned over to wave the scanner slowly around V’Airu’s cranial region. He half-listened in on the conversation between the Commodore and the other officers he hadn’t formally met yet. Herrick: I’m not detecting anything internally; all green signals on my end. If we’re experiencing this here, do you think the away teams are also experiencing it? Katsim: My first assumption would be yes, however we have no empirical evidence to support that hypothesis. Enzo noticed some slightly elevated readings. These readings don’t seem out of the ordinary but who knows the effects of this space phenomena, he thought, nodding to himself. Solari: Sir, if I may, your scans show nothing particularly concerning aside from slightly elevated neural activity in your amygdala. This part of the brain is responsible for emotions. Have you experienced any abrupt shifts of mood? V’Airu: Response Katsim: The readings are not any clearer, but they do seem to spike with those waves. They get stronger, then fade. Enzo suddenly felt excitement and exuberance, flooding his mind, his eyes unfocused for a moment. Then it faded away. Whoa I haven’t felt like that since the day I received my medical school diploma, he thought to himself. Solari: Did anyone else feel that? ::voice cracking:: Herrick/V’Airu: Response Katsim: Commodore, it seems to be coming in steady intervals. Enzo ran to the various bridge officers waving his medical scanner like a wizard casting a spell on his subjects. Herrick/V’Airu: Response Lastly, Enzo awkwardly waved the scanner over his own brain. Solari: We all show signs of elevated neural activity in the amygdala. I would like to see everyone come to sickbay for scans when able, Commodore. Herrick/Katsim/V’Airu: Response --- Ensign Enzo Solari Medical Officer - USS 'Oumuamua Writer ID: O240006ES4

I absolutely loved this sim, @Doz Finch. The dialogue ("All I’ll say is that I’ll be sleeping with my eyes open from now on."), the descriptions, and present events and how they relate to the past. There is so much I adore about this and if I listed them all... I would just end up rewriting your entire piece here, haha. 👏 Nicely done!!

All I did was laugh from start to finish, reading this sim. Cain is so playfully and deliciously satirical, from the narration right through to the dialogue. Just brilliant 👏 Ens. Xandria Cain - The Enthusiastic Diplomat Special (google.com)

I really enjoyed this submission from our newest Ensign, @Josh Herrick. He perfectly captures that undeniable thrill of a first mission! -- (( Herrick’s Quarters, Deck 7, USS-‘Oumuamua )) Josh looked around his new home; it was certainly quieter than the bunk he had been in since boarding the ‘Oumuamua. He had inquired about his room assignment after he noticed that Ensigns Dahlquist and Tyber were assigned to quarters and had a more comfortable living space. It was at that time that the logistics officer realized that an error had been made, mixing him in with the enlisted crew when there were available quarters. Josh had moved in the previous night with what little belongings he had (a poster, a plasma extinguisher shaped magnet, and a few padds). He hadn’t yet seen his roommate, but he suspected that it wouldn’t be long before they bumped into each other. Overall, the young engineer didn’t care whether it was a small bed or a room to himself, but he had found it easier to sleep in the less-tight space. Herrick: (excitedly) oO I’m going to be on the bridge! Oo He did a final once over in the mirror, making sure he looked picture perfect. This would be the third time he’d meet the Commodore, and the first time he’d see the bridge in action; both equally exciting. In the Academy, Herrick had taken the initial command training courses and had been exposed to some bridge operations, but this would be his first real mission as a commissioned officer. He headed to the turbolift, and extra spring in his step and after stepping inside the pod, he called for the bridge. It was perhaps a bit too excitedly, but no one was around to judge the green ensign. After a few moments, the doors slid open to reveal the bridge. (( Bridge, Deck 1, USS 'Oumuamua )) Josh stepped across the threshold and took a moment to let it sink in. Just like his time in the arboretum, meeting Kammus, and seeing everyone at the awards ceremony, he wanted to burn this moment into his mind. He turned his head to each side scanning the room, and while doing so, realized that he wasn’t quite sure where he should be. Herrick: oO Do I ask someone? Oo At that moment, he noticed a lieutenant approaching him. Katsim: Response Herrick: Yes, I am. Ensign Josh Herrick, Engineering. Katsim: Response Herrick: It’s good to meet you, Lieutenant. It’s my first time on the ‘Oumuamua bridge, so bear with me. Katsim: Response The doors of the ready room slid apart and V’Airu stepped on the bridge. As she approached Herrick and Katsim, she invited them to take the co-chairs beside her and asked for the viewscreen to be activated. The blue-gold cloud was beautiful to Josh. The shifts of colour were almost hypnotic in a way; he felt more at ease as he continued to stare at the image. V'Airu: Before we turn to our sensors, which are likely to operate below peak capacity, let us consider. Have either of you seen a phenomenon like this before? Josh racked his brain; he hadn’t focused on interstellar space phenomena in the Academy. His studies had mostly focused on making sure that the ship’s internals worked as expected, something he would need to correct as time progressed. Katsim/V’Airu: Response The newbie was glad that Katsim had spoken first, it had taken some of the bridge jitters away. It appeared that commanding officer wanted more analysis, as she continued to prompt. V'Airu: What do you see? I don't expect a diagnosis, but let's use our own senses, limited though they may be, for a moment. What could this phenomenon be? Herrick: If we’re going on looks sir, forgetting the gold for a moment, it somewhat looks like a cerulean nebula? oO Was that the right name for it? Oo It was a shot in the dark, but Herrick wanted to contribute something to the conversation so that he’d be invited back to the bridge again in the future. He also hadn’t remembered a nebula to be so relaxing when he had seen them on his cadet cruise. It didn't seem very scientific but he didn't want to leave out anything that may be material. V’Airu / Katsim: Responses Herrick: And, to me at least, it seems to have a calming effect. V’Airu / Katsim: Responses Tags! and TBC! --- Ensign Josh Herrick Engineering Officer USS ‘Oumuamua O240005JH3 he/him/his (player/character)

Oh man, I just loved everything about this sim from @Freck. Funny, clever and imaginative. 👏🏻 (( Temple Grounds, Oslau III )) Freck: Wait a second...I'm picking up an anomalous lifesign. There’s someone on temple grounds who doesn’t belong here…and I don’t mean us. Oddas: More details, as in another species? Some other anomoly? Freck looked closer at the data coming in. Essentially, there was a mobile object – a person – that was so bathed in a mixture of tachyon and chroniton radiation that they were practically putting off the same readings as the Orb itself. Fairhug: Someone who survived the time jump like us? Freck: I think you’re right on the money, Commander…if I’m reading this right. Whoever it is, they’re saturated with chroni- A loud laugh, a clap, and some more quiet laughter made Freck and the others pause, ensuring they weren’t being listened upon. Oddas: ::narrowing her eyes:: Can you track it to its source? Freck: Yes, sir, as well as we can the Orb. They’re on the other side of the temple grounds from us. Fairhug: Surely whoever that is knows what the *orb* really is. It’s too much of a coincidence…and I’m willing to bet that’s our Xern. Freck: You’re right, it’s probably the Xern, but they might just be irradiated after carrying it back here. Well, okay, they are still mobile, unlike the people in the village, so the radiation doesn’t appear to have debilitated them, but I can’t get a read on their species, so I can’t tell if they’re native or not. Oddas: Response Fairhug: It does put a crimp in the plan ::he paused, stroking his beard again:: but does it *have* to be a Xern? If we can get our hands on any monk's robes, it should be enough to at least get us inside, right? Freck: Logically? I’m no Vulcan, but with a decent enough distraction, I don’t think anyone’s going to be looking at anyone in robes. The Xern robes would probably be safest, but…well… Freck shrugged. Risk yourself procuring a disguise or risk being detected while in disguse? This was a decision he didn’t have the experience to make. Oddas: Response Fairhug: Then I say we stick to the plan. Freck, you create a distraction, I’ll get the robes…somehow…while the Captain contacts Ton and Raimor. Agreed? Freck nodded. Standing up, he slipped the tricorder back into his pouch, but slipped his phaser into the box in its place. Oddas: Response Fairhug: Response Freck: Aye, sir. The Ferengi turned and broke away from the others, leaving the tent. Walking back in the direction they had arrived in, he pretended to scope out the merchant stalls that had been set up while they were planning, but in actuality, was looking past them. The temple grounds were surrounded by stone walls, so if they did set a fire here, even if it got out of hand, it should hopefully be kept within the complex and not spread to the village itself. Plus, the cleansing fountain would be a very convenient source of water, even if it had to be bucketed. After several minutes of looking at the merchants’ wares, he spotted something that looked promising. A small wooden shack in the corner of the complex. Smiling wordless greetings at the various monks and other members of the crowd, Freck meandered his way as discreetly as he could to the shack. Expressing fake exasperation, Freck set down his box and knelt down to fiddle with his shoes. He didn’t exactly have laces, but he figured having to mess with one’s footwear on occasion might be a universal issue. In actuality, he was using it as an excuse to check out the shack door. It swayed gently in the morning wind, kept shut by a simple latch. Thankfully, there didn’t appear to be any kind of lock. Looking around one last time to see if anyone was eyeing him in particular, Freck casually stood up, unlatched the door, and stepped inside with his box of goodies, shutting the door behind him. Immediately, Freck pulled out his tricorder, and scanned the area behind him through the door to see if anyone was following him. Then, he looked up and realized he should have probably checked to see if anyone was inside the shack before pulling out his futuristic technology. Thankfully, it was empty. Even better, it was filled with simple tools, for farming and cleaning. Things that could be replaced. Besides, if this temple was anything like his culture’s religious centers, they’d have more than enough money to replace a few tools. Still, he kicked himself for not checking, especially after already being in hot water for having to barter his comm badge away…which then reminded him that he didn’t have any means of calling for backup. If he was caught, or worse, there really wasn’t an easy way for him to call for help. Taking a moment to breathe, and calm his nerves, Freck took in the details of the shack. In terms of needing to start a fire, there wasn’t much working against him, thankfully. The shack had a dirt floor, but the entire building was old and dry. There was even some sort of lantern hung from a rope which ran the breadth of the ceiling, but he couldn’t just throw it to the floor and let it consume everything while he was still there. Even if he got out, he wouldn’t make it far before he was grabbed and accused (correctly) of arson. What he needed was a fuse. Something that didn’t start a fire immediately while he was still in the shack, giving him enough time to get away. Something like exactly what was in his box of souvenirs! There were plenty of necklaces and bracelets, made with stone and probably clay beads, but strung on flammable twine of some description. A plan suddenly formed in his mind, he set down his own box, and pulled a larger crate of some unknown supplies from one of the shack’s corners. Next, he grabbed one of the surprisingly numerous brooms lying against the wall, before setting it up on top of the crate so that the wooden handle was leaning against the rope holding up the lantern. After making sure the broom wouldn’t fall over, Freck reached into his box and pulled out two long necklaces, breaking them and letting their attachments scatter, before tying the strings together, which he then tied to the bottom of the broom. Finally, the rest of the brooms in the shack were placed so that their straw was directly under the lantern. He’d use his phaser to light the necklaces, which would burn slowly but steadily up to the broom, which would hopefully light up fairly quickly. The flames would lick up the broom handle, lighting the rope on fire, breaking, then allowing the lantern to fall and set the rest of the brooms on fire. The shack itself would likely follow. Satisfied with his plan, Freck took one final look around the shack, made sure his tricorder was secure in his pouch and his knick-knacks were packed away in their box. Finally, with no other reason to stall, Freck pulled out his phaser, and lit the fuse. TAG/TBC ---------------------- Lieutenant Junior Grade Freck Science Officer Denali Station D239911F12