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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you have a small baby you do what you need to do. Unnofficially, Llaira is Alieth's fav Romulan now, since she has a good taste in books @Jo Marshall ((Personal Quarters, USS Gorkon)) Chris yawned into the crook of his elbow as he carried Llaira back and forth, back and forth, through the living room. Despite her small stature, being that of a baby touching five months with a slender arm and dainty feet, their beautiful perfect creation sat heavily in his arm. Like her mother, her Romulan side had strong muscles, and at present Llaira used those muscles to move her head around, looking at everything and anything she could. And crying. Loudly. C. Sienelis: Hey, hey, come on now. Papa's got you. ::He bounced her up and down as she wriggled in his arms.:: Космос, космос, что за звезды? Они светят там, в небе высоко1. Of course, singing to her in Russian was the best way to get a child to calm down; the lyrical language was poetic and beautiful to the soul. Llaira, however, was not in any mood to be sung at, played with, coddled, cuddled, cradled, or set down for the nap she desperately needed and entirely refused to have any part in. No amount of brightly coloured and pleasantly textured toys could soothe her. Wandering his hand through his chestnut hair, Chris yawned again through the next chorus of the nursery rhyme. C. Sienelis: Мы летаем в космическом костюме, И все это так круто2. A complex array of vocal sounds emanated from their daughter at a rate of a sonic boom as Llaira dug her feet into her father's ribs and pushed. He caught her as she headed for the sofa and dropped them both down onto it with a soft whump of material. Llaira rolled away, grasping at her feet as she continued her warble; less of a cry and more of a protest. Of being awake, of being alive, Chris couldn't say. Bereft of options, he leaned forward and picked up the PADD from the coffee table. It was still on, the little green light shining unobtrusively, and he swiped up on the screen to see what Valesha had been reading that morning before her duty shift. C. Sienelis: "It was not logical for her to feel such strong emotions towards him, yet her heart could not be swayed. Despite their differences in upbringing and values, she found herself inexplicably drawn to him." He looked to Llaira, who looked back up at him with her big, hazel-green eyes, the wailing ceasing almost instantaneously. Flipping through a page, he found the title "Vulcan Fever" emblazoned back at him, with a tantalizing description. C. Sienelis: "As they try to find a balance between their opposing worlds and desires, T'Pria and Janus discover that love knows no boundaries and that the greatest challenge to their relationship may be the judgment of their own society. Can their love survive the trials of logic and tradition, or will it succumb to the pressures of the universe?" Cocking an eyebrow at his daughter, Chris tested his internal hypothesis again and continued reading aloud another passage. C. Sienelis: "He challenged her to look beyond the confines of pure reason and embrace the chaos and beauty of love. She knew then that she was powerless to resist the allure of his captivating presence." No crying emerged from their beautiful daughter, only captivated interest as she kicked her feet out at the back of the sofa, her delicately pointed ears twitching at the tips. C. Sienelis: Oh, it's like that, is it? This is how Mama gets you to sleep? Her bright smile shot him like a phaser to the heart. A direct hit. Shields rendered inert. He grinned back and picked her up, lying the both of them down on the sofa with Llaira nestled on his chest. Tiny baby hands gripped like claws into his green t-shirt. C. Sienelis: Alright then, where were we? ::He squinted at the PADD as the computer lowered the lights.:: "She knew that he was her rock, her foundation, and the only being who truly understood her. She had always admired his sense of wonder and duty, but now she yearned to see the passion and desire that she knew to lie beneath the surface." He continued to read through the novel passages in his whisper-soft voice, a gentle rumble in his chest. Each time he paused he listened to Llaira's breathing; the butterfly flutter of air escaping from tiny nostrils. Time passed as he read, several pages absorbed and taken in, lessons about Vulcan logic compounding with so much inner conflict. C. Sienelis: "...And she said, 'Logic may dictate that emotions are a weakness, but I have found that when it comes to love, reason alone is not enough. The heart wants what it wants, regardless of what the mind tells it.'" Chris paused, his thoughts crossing to Vorin, and a palpable sadness gripped him by the throat. Was his friend this conflicted all along? Why hadn't he spoken to him about it? Were all Vulcans brought up like that? Soft sounds of the snoozing baby brought near-instant relief. Llaira cooed to herself as she fell into her dreams, snuggling down into her father's chest, little hands catching and releasing his shirt with each breath she took. Picking up the PADD, Chris continued his reading. C. Sienelis: "He reached out to her, knowing that their passion would ignite the flames of desire within them both. She felt herself melting into his embrace, tracing the lines of his angular features with her fingers. 'Live long and prosper, my love,' she whispered, as she pulled him close and surrendered to their bond." ::Dark eyebrows lifted as he read the next passage in his head.:: And that's the end of Story Time with Papa. Gingerly, he placed the PADD down on the coffee table, trying his best not to move from his horizontal position and nestled back down into the sofa, his hand resting lazily on Llaira's back. He kissed the crown of her head, filling his lungs with the scent of baby-soft hair, and closed his eyes. C. Sienelis: Think Mama will notice if I start speaking to her in "Vulcan Fever" quotes? In response, Llaira blew a raspberry from her lips. 1 Russian: Space, space, what are the stars? They shine there, in the sky high. 2 Russian: We fly in a space suit, and it's all so cool. -- PO First-Class Christopher Sienelis Operations Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0

Although I am using @Kettick's sim for this post, credit really goes to all the writers in this scene ( @Oddas Aria @Freck @TLea. It's a hilarious spin off of the old "Who's On First?" routine, and actually starts with that. Great job and a fun read... ((The Beach, Denali Station, Ring 42)) Kettick: I never understood the one about Who, What and bases, but apparently humans find it hilarious. Captain Oddas tilted her head sideways slightl. Oddas: ::puzzled:: Baseball? T’Lea: How did you get baseball out of that? Freck: What in the world is “baseball”? The Remmilian tilted his head backwards, trying to remember his rather disjointed conversation with Ryan, before nodding. Kettick: I think I remember 'baseball' being mentioned, yes. Although I can't say I know anything about it. Have you played, Captain? Oddas: Played, never - I'm afraid I'm not particularly athletic. T’Lea: Baseball… that’s the one with a long stick and people run around the circle tagging each other with a ball? Freck: Wouldn’t that just be stickball? Or something? I think I heard of that one. Kettick: I thought the name had something to do with primates and their tendency to climb trees. But I could be wrong; I rarely took part in this kind of activity back at the Academy. Remmilians did not have sports, per se, and while he could see their interest for training purposes, the competitive aspect was completely lost to him. Oddas: response T’Lea: What’s the one where you throw the ball at people and try not to get hit? Freck shrugged. Kettick shared his frustration. Kettick: Is that the one with the ballistic weapons that fire paint balls? I think it's called paint balls. Or paint tag? Oddas: response T’Lea: I think that’s the one where you use your feet and kick the ball at people standing in a big net. ::beat:: Dodge ball! That’s the one I was thinking about. Brutal and slightly cruel in certain curriculums. ::pause:: We should choose an official Denali sport and have a friendly annual game. Kettick chose not to comment. Although if someone entered a competition against Commander T'Lea and believed it would remain friendly... well, he guessed the Universe did noy need every idiot it produced. Freck: Maybe we could have a tournament of sports to decide the official sport? Assuming we can weight the scores properly, it might work. The Remmilian scrateched one of his feelers against his faceplates. Kettick: Wouldn't that method weight the choice in favour of the game with the most accomplished adepts, instead of the most popular? Oddas/T'Lea/Freck: Response Kettick: I believe Medical would have a few choice words to say about the inclusion of some Romulan or Klingon bloodsports. From what I understand, they already consider Parrises Squares as borderline. Oddas/T'Lea/Freck: Response Kettick: I cannot say I practice any sport, unless you count the standard physical fitness program. But I suppose since I am looking into leisure time activities, I will have to investigate the subject.

Very touching @Aratta ((Arboretum, Starfleet Research Station, Ring 42)) The public gateway transporter has just delivered the Bajoran Ensign right outside the incomplete and developing Research Station. Despite the crates, boxes, antigravity sleds and various containers scattered along the way to the research center, the place had an unmistakable beauty. Many tree and plant lifeforms could be seen in the background, revealing the direction for the future arboretum. Commander Falt told him that there was a peaceful lake with a small central island, right next to the Arboretum, and Eriddu thought it would be an ideal place for the burial ritual. He walked towards the gray bushes carrying a cubical wooden box in one hand and a bottle of water with a bizarre seed inside in the other. The seed was from the Timpok tree, a common type of flora found in the province of Kendra on the planet Bajor. Despite all the historical events of that place, this particular tree was part of his childhood memories with his mother. Eleven years ago, he had lost his mother during an undercover mission and his life changed drastically after that. Forced to live with his uncle on New Bajor, then with his biological father on Earth, he hasn't heard from his mother's disappearance for quite some time. Now he had her ashes and was about to find a place to bury her. At least he would be able to pick a place where he could pay his respects from time to time. On the way to the lake, the Bajoran officer nodded to a few crewmen and a few civilians, but none of them stopped his walk or bothered him in any way. It seemed that Commander Falt had explained in advance the purpose of his presence there. At the edge of the lake, he found a small antigrav sled with a long pole carefully laid out for him to use. The central island was just a few meters from the shore, but there was still no bridge or walkway built on the site. So that would be his transport across the lake. Aratta: ::with sad expression:: C’mon! Let 's do this. He jumped on the sled, giving it some momentum. Struggling to keep his balance and avoid dropping the precious urn into the lake, he began his journey towards the small island. After a few minutes he arrived at the small open hill, beautiful bedecked with colorful flowers. Aratta: Lindoya! ::teary eyes:: Mother! Before the excruciating emotion could overtake him, he bent his knees to the ground and began to dig with his bare hands, following an old tradition. He soon realized that if he didn't do it quickly, he wouldn't be able to do it anymore. Aratta: I therefore commit your remains to the ground… ::breathing deeply:: ashes to ashes, dust to dust … ::choked voice:: Almost crying, he took the wooden cubic urn and placed it carefully over the small hole he had dug. It was only about a foot deep, more than enough to put the seed and cover it with soil. Aratta: May this seed bring once again your fruits to this world. ::he lay down the timpok seed over the urn:: With that last sentence, he quickly covered the seed with soil. Then he took the bottle and watered the spot where he had just placed his mother's ashes. Aratta: Let life bloom once more! ::closed eyes:: Tradition has it that if you could actually say goodbye to your loved one, the seed would grow strong and tall. Otherwise, if you are still attached to the person, the seed will not bear fruit. In that case, a lifetime of sadness and pain may follow the individual. But before he could complete the ritual, he heard a strange, loud hiss. Startled, he quickly opened his eyes and to his astonishment he was no longer in the lake. A vast, massive metal dome had completely replaced the lake. He turned, trying to identify any landmarks, but he couldn't find any. Eriddu didn't even know where the light that illuminated that structure came from. Confused and scared, he lowered his head, preparing to stand up, but in the blink of an eye, the landscape returned to the previous one. He stood up and felt a shiver run down his spine. Aratta: What was that? ::eyes wide open:: ----- Ensign Aratta Eriddu Science Officer Denali Station J239903EA1

((Sera's Quarters, StarBase 118)) Sherlock: Ok. ::taking a deep breath and folding her hands in her lap:: I'm ready. As Sera shifted positions towards her, Shevon sat still, only her head and eyes tracking the Vulcan. She could feel heat rising in her cheeks and her breathing became slightly hurried. She was nervous. She still didn't understand how this all worked. How suddenly, she'd just know what she needed to know. Nonetheless, she tried her best not to pull away. Sera: This will be a superficial meld. I shall reiterate that I have no intentions of accessing any of your thoughts or memories, Ms. Sherlock. Shevon did her best to try and relax. To drive out all thoughts and keep her mind blank. She didn't have many secrets really. But she drifted to them and when they appeared, she did her best to "hide them behind the curtain." Sera's hand extended towards Shevon's face and when contact was made, Shevon could feel the warmth of her fingertips. Sera: ::intoning the ritual words:: T'nash-veh kashek tor ish-veh kashek. t'nash-veh nahp tor nahp... A sudden rush. Shevon couldn't think of how to describe it. At once, it wasn't something visible, but yet she felt like she could see it happening. And as it did, it seemed the curtains weren't holding. Sera: ::in a soft, yet slightly-strained voice:: Ms. Sherlock…please control your thoughts… Sherlock: ::nervously:: I'm trying. There's so much. Too much. It seemed the more she attempted to drown out the bad memories, the more they were coming forward. She wondered what she was doing wrong. Nervousness was beginning to turn into fear. Fear of failure. A tightness came into her chest like she was holding her breath. She heard Sera's next words, but not aloud. It was as if Sera were walking around in her thoughts, speaking to her from within like one's own mind. Sera: ::emphatically:: ~Ms. Sherlock, you must desist—clear your mind~ Sherlock: I can't... It was with those words a memory suddenly burst forth. But it seemed more than a memory. It was as if she were there again. Back on the Delight. A child. Her mother had passed, unexpectedly, when she was just seven years of age. She was left to the "world of men." There was one who had taken her in, the man her mother called Captain. In time, she would too. In time, she'd even call him father. But he wasn't there. In this memory, she was on her own. She remembered how big the Delight had seemed to her as a child. It was a maze of crawl spaces, tubing, wiring...a mess of a ship. In her memory, it seemed even bigger. The man she would call father had told her to stay in his quarters, but she was afraid to be alone. She would venture out, sometimes even getting lost. And this time was no different. A man was there, but not her father to be. She'd seen him before. Her mother never trusted him. And now he was there, cornering her. His voice was deep and he spoke kindly. The things he said were nice, but Shevon, by instinct, knew not to trust him. With her back against the wall, she shook her head no again and again. She wanted to scream, but who would hear her. And it seemed just as the man was about to grab her, there appeared the Captain. He lifted the man with one arm around his midsection, slamming him into the nearest bulkhead. The Captain had always been a nice man and Shevon did not understand what she was seeing. He was suddenly scary. When they dropped to the floor he grabbed the man by his head repeatedly slammed it into the bulkhead. Shevon was frozen in fear. All in the briefest of moments she'd been subjected to the scariest things she'd ever seen. Shevon of now seemed to stand, frozen just as the child she was in the memory was, watching. She wanted to reach out, to help, but she couldn't, something was stopping her. Sera: ~STOP~ Sherlock: She needs me. Sera: ~This is a memory. The past. Yet it is…a living thing for you.~ Sera was correct. It still lived with Shevon. In her life since that moment, she'd never had to hurt someone and she hoped she never would have to. Both the idea of someone trying to hurt her and someone even hurting someone to protect her were terrifying. The violence was something she hated. Something she feared. Something she wasn't capable of. Sherlock: He was evil. But ::beat:: I don't want anyone hurt. Sera: ~I am sorry. It is a fear no child…no one should experience. ~ Sherlock: I don't want to be hurt. Sera: ~But you were protected, and yet you focus solely on the traumatic event just preceding a heralding that protection?~ Sherlock: response Sera: ~You must shift your perspective, Shevon. If you can learn that lesson, you can master anything.~ Perspective...Shevon had always looked at that moment in time from the point of view of herself that was seven. Maybe this was why she was afraid to accept help from others, like her sister. Why she didn't want to rely on anyone. Because helping her meant someone was going to be hurt. But maybe, sometimes that was just the way things had to be. Sherlock: How? How do I change the way I see things? Sera: ~?~ Shevon took in Sera's words. She went back to the memory. She walked past the point the where the memory normally ended for her. She could see the man laying on the deck of the Delight. He was dead. The Captain was on his knees next to the man and he was breathing heavily. The look on his face was anger. More fear creeped inside the child and Shevon could feel it. She could feel the child's thoughts, she was afraid he was mad at her. She watched as he stood up, towering over the child, his shoulder heaved as he breathed. He stepped towards the child slowly and reached down for her with both hands on either side of her body and under her arms, scooping her off the ground as if she were a feather. Shevon stepped closer to him and her child self. She never before remembered this part. He pulled the child in close and whispered, she could hear his words echoing in the memory. I swore I would take care of you. I swore I would protect you. This will never happen again. I promise you. I promise. The last words echoed. A sense of calm came over her. Brief flashes of future memories, times when she may have noticed nothing at the time but it was clear now he had watched over her, protected her, just as he had promised. All those moments, up until the end, he had kept his word. And with the sudden realization and calm, her mind went blank and the memories seemed to slip away in the distance and in her mind, she stood in the nothingness. Sera: ~?~ Sherlock: I can see now. She wasn't sure what she was saying. If it made sense to Sera. It just made sense to her in the moment. She could see that her mind was clear. She could see how she perceived things wrong in the past. Everything was clear now. Sera: ~?~ tag/TBC Petty Officer 3rd Class Shevon Sherlock Engineering Technician StarBase 118 R239712AS0

((Corridor, Denali Station)) Kettick did not look away from his PADD, and did not give any exterior sign that he had even acknowledged the presence of the two humans he had just walked past. What he did, however, was mark the time and his location. As soon as he had turned the corner, his walking pace became noticeably brisker, short but fast strides taking him towards the Security Department. He *had* to report this, a life was at stake. ((Security Department Upper Level, Soldotna)) The Upper and somewhat more public level if the Security Department was bright and inviting, almost too cheery for the gruesome report he was about to make. Walking towards the Klingon crewman at the closest workstation, he spared a nod for the sake of politeness before stating his purpose. Kettick: I would like to report a possible conspiracy to murder. The crewman did a double take, but showed commendable professionalism by pulling up a suitable form, before silently inviting Kettick to continue his deposition. Kettick: Suspects are two human civilians I overheard talking in one of the corridors. Sending you the time and location. The Klingon acknowledged reception with a nod. Sec. crewman: Excellent. This way we will be able to check the surrounding camera feeds. No names? Kettick shook his head. Kettick: Sadly no. But the intended target is named Holly. Tentatively identified as a Human female, probably civilian contingent. The crewman frowned. Or at least it was Kettick's impression. The ridges made it rather hard to tell. Sec. crewman: Definitely human origin, but Holly can be a first or last name. I'll run a search. Anything else, sir? Timeframe, possible M.O. ? Kettick: The presumed conspirators were talking about the end of year festivities. Mentioned that since it was their first year at Denali, they wanted to, I quote, "go all out and deck the halls with the bowels of Holly". The Klingon cursed quietly. Sec. crewman: Gre'thor. That's graphic, and the description makes it sound like there is a ritual or serial aspect to it. Kettick did not comment. He was not familiar enough with human traditions to offer any insight on the matter. Sec. crewman: That whistling sound was this report rocketing so far above my paygrade it left the galactic cluster. I'm flagging it red and sending it up. In the meantime, can you spare a few more minutes? Kettick nodded. This was important enough to override his other missions for the time being. Sec. crewman: We have several Hollies on record, both as first and last names. Our best chance is to identify the conspirators. Would you be able to ID them on a security feed? The Remmilian hesitated. Kettick: I saw their faces only in passing, and humans are sometimes hard to differentiate. But I will do my best. Sec. crewman: Thank you. ::He gestured:: Please move forward to the console. Tags/TBC -- Ensign Kettick Engineering Officer USS Juneau G239107LR0

((Cargo Bay 7 - Deep Space K-7)) He could've been on Risa right now. In fact, that was where the official travel plans he'd filed back on DS224 said he and the XO were going. It had been a funny little inside joke at the time, but he now found himself wishing he was there or on the Excal or anywhere. Just, not here. A dilapidated, filthy, urine-scented, ancient cargo bay; That was where Talos Dakora was going to die. At least, that was looking like an uncomfortably probable outcome at the moment. Their anonymous contact had turned out to be a small army of Klingons, seemingly bent on killing them for... Well, Talos really didn't know what the hell they'd done to wind up in the Klingon's sights and as another phaser blast spanged off of a cargo rack just a few centimeters above his head, he didn't exactly have the time to give the question a thorough analysis. Soon, their enemies would get their acts together and hit them from multiple sides at once and then it would be curtains on the MacKenzie-Dakora Show. He pared down the rapid-fire stream of thoughts into just the important stuff and spoke. Dakora: We need to move before they flank us. He blind-fired over the top of the crate with his tiny little Type 1 phaser, wishing like hell he had a nice compression rifle set to wide-beam right about now. MacKenzie produced a phaser of her own from her boot and Talos couldn't help but grin a little, despite their grim circumstances. It seemed neither of them were particularly good at "coming unarmed." MacKenzie: Let’s go for the door before they have a chance to get it together. We can use the crates for cover if we need to, but I’m hoping we have the advantage of speed. She looked him dead in the eyes. MacKenzie: Cover me. With heavy-booted footsteps fast approaching, Talos didn't hesitate. Popping up from his cover, he did his best to lay sweeping streams of cover fire from his under-powered weapon. At the same time, MacKenzie launched into a sprint toward the exit. Talos gave her a sort of abbreviated two-count, before he darted off in the same direction, zigging and zagging a bit as phased energy impacted spectacularly all around them and occasionally firing wildly behind him to slow down their pursuers. He stumbled as a massive impact crashed into his upper back, but he managed to keep his feet. A little-known feature of the sim-leather jackets often worn by SFI Officers was the layer of monotanium weave that covered the vital areas. That, coupled with a set of high-impedance polyduranide capacitors, would absorb a hit or two from a high-powered phaser before losing their effectiveness. It was the only reason Talos persisted in wearing them on missions like this, despite Commander Niac's constant ribbing. That, and he thought they looked pretty damn cool. Judging by the pain radiating from his back and shoulders, he wouldn't be shrugging off another hit. Ahead, he could see the doors with the large white seven painted on them. They just had to... He gritted his teeth and hissed in pain as a shot passed so close to his head it singed his ear. He'd just turned back to loose a few shots at his attackers when he heard something he'd never heard before; MacKenzie was screaming. Talos whirled back around to see the big Klingon, the boss, lift his only friend for a thousand parsecs off the ground by her arm, causing it to flex in an unnatural way. Unable to take a shot without potentially hitting MacKenzie, he surged forward, eschewing any attempts at self-preservation and launching his formidable bulk at the aggressor with the intent to maim, damage, and destroy. Dakora: Addison!! He almost made it. Almost. For some reason, it occurred to him at that moment that he'd never said her first name aloud before. This might've garnered further thought if a Klingon gang member hadn't emerged from one of the rows of shelving along his path and landed a positively brutal right hook directly to the side of Talos' head. Then, nothing occurred to Talos at all. TBC ======//////======> Lt. Talos Dakora Chief Intelligence Officer USS Excalibur-A O238811CD0

((OOC: Just our favorite cat and chief medical officer being a delight.)) ((Sickbay, USS Arrow)) R'Ariel: It's funny how the telepathic thing works, you hear more, seemingly can sometimes do more, and yet sometimes understand less. ::she paused lost inescapably for a moment in an old dream before shaking herself back:: but fortunately whether it is cause or result, there often some chemicals left behind to find, and learn from. Ra: And that's what we're going to look for. Jacin: So am I… Am I a threat? Could this continue to grow? The Empath offering one of her best calming-empathic-smiles. R'Ariel: These scans should tell us something. How do you feel now? Jacin :trying to laugh: Nervous. Waiting for the bad news. R'Ariel: I'm looking for good news. Ra: The initial scans are complete. Doctor. R'Ariel offered a smile in exchange for the padd, as she looked over the results. Jacin: So doctor what’s the news? Am I about to destroy the ship? The counselor-turned-doctor, turned-counselor again for the immediate moment, interrupting herself from her review. R'Ariel: I hope this doesn't come off as any kind of conceit, but as high-level natural empath, ::she put extra emphasis on the next word:: Not ::her tail flicked:: not going to blow up the ship, I don't need a medical scan to get that much from you. She offered a smile and returned a quick glance to the results. Ra: What would you like to look at next? The little Caitian-Deltan looked to Ra and back to Jacin, stirring some contemplations. Jacin: You’re the experts. What’s the next step? R'Ariel: There are a lot of baselines in the database we can run these scan results against, and get some further medical perspectives on. Ra: Will you need assistance doctor? R'Ariel: I think we will be fine. She let the words weigh-in, emphasizing her belief in them being fine. Ra: Aye, sir. Can I get either of you anything specific in the meantime? R'Ariel: I'm good, and you? Jacin: Responses? The little counselor-doctor moved in closer. R'Ariel: You know what I think? Jacin: Response? R'Ariel: Psci-dolescence The Empath laughed at the sound of her own words, and the kind of reaction it would invoke. Jacin: Response? R'Ariel: It's like Adolescence, except for those with a form of psionic gift. Jacin: Response? R'Ariel: Well, as I told Ra, I'd like to run our scans across an even greater baseline, but I think we are looking at a pretty simple psionic development. Jacin: Response? R'Ariel: If you were a threat, I think I could sense it, so let's get you in for regular scans so we can keep an eye on the developments, and you and I can spend some fun time in the counselor's suite, getting in some good 'control' practice. How does that sound? Jacin: Response R'Ariel: For the moment, I would say the first lesson is simply, practice keeping a reign on your emotions. ::she paused:: Which I don't see any problems with. OOC: Sorry for the delay team, but I wanted to get some things sorted out in direct ooc first, with that done, here's my part of the sim. TAG/TBC Lieutenant Commander R'Ariel Chief Medical Officer Counselor Doctor of Psychology USS Arrow J239706R1

((OOC: I was challenged by Lt. Seta to sim an unusual species and this is my answer. Please pardon the lack of tags as this would be a tough one to interact with.)) ((The DriftHome, Near Starbase 224)) The Choir had grown fitful and restive as they approached the next destination on their tour of the quadrant and rightly so. It was rare for so many of them to leave the safe haven of their home and rarer still for them to share of themselves with those from the outside, from the dry and solid and cold. About them, the choir had mixed feelings in shades of vermilion with hints of deep chartreuse, but those feelings passed, fading like a dissipating rainbow into their more neutral shades. Their slender, fragile vessel attached itself to the great station like a lamprey, dangling in the darkness but holding fast to a great whale that hardly noticed its presence as it swam on. They would not leave the safety of the Drifthome but that would not hinder their multi-chromatic spectacle. Great shutters across the skin of the Drifthome began retracting, allowing those on the Station or in the Vessels nearby to witness the Choir in all its magnificence. It was a matter of minutes, but time had little hold on the Choir and so they waited, rippling and undulating with the artificial currents in their suspended sea, until the proper mood spread across them in a shimmering lash of deepest verdant green. Then, to all, it was the Beginning. Composed of more than ten thousand distinct beings, the Choir performed as a singular collective. There was no leader, there were no authorities, there was only the pureness of their shared emotion playing out in shades of fuchsia and coral and rose. Their joy to perform was a wave of amber and gold intertwined with a shimmering ivory of purpose and expression. They sang of unity in saffron and harmonized in cobalt strands that seemed to twist and shiver within their great number, all visible to the strange eyes that had come to view this special performance. The ecstasy of their performance rippled outward in a thousand vibrant neon greens as the Choir's tempo picked up, waves of color now colliding with one another and combining together like the surf of two vast oceans meeting. They sang of welcome in vivid yellows that would rival any sunrise and, when at last they sang of departure nearly an hour later, their umber tones were warm and kind and clear. With a final rhythmic pulse of tangerine, the Choir began to fade back to their neutral tones, exhausted from their efforts but gladdened to have shared with those so unlike them. A sound, carried from the station and into their Drifthome, nearly startled the Choir into contraction. Fortunately, it was one they had heard before and, though it sounded like a great storm to them, the Choir knew this was the only way the alien beings could explain that their message had been seen and appreciated. The shared consciousness that was the Choir drifted off to rest as the shutters closed, safe within the Drifthome and satiated by the applause of their audience. A final flare of purest silver, their most sacred and cherished hue, was as close as they could come to a bow. [End] ============================== The Wandering Choir The Drifthome V239509GT0

Comical and yet endearing read between this amazing character duo. I love how juxtaposed Alieth and Meru are; this whole sim was a joy to read! A masterclass in meshing serious with light-heartedness, which I appreciate as a newer member of the group. Loved it! @Tahna Meru & @Alieth

I've been loving this set of sims from @Karrod Niac. Nothing like getting all the new Ensigns initiated with a pleasant spacewalk gone wrong. Bonus points for the mental imagery of them following our favorite gruff, bearded Ops Chief around like a mama duck. ========================================================== ((Outer Hull, USS Excalibur)) With the prospect of a long walk across the hull ahead of them Karrod grumbled to himself, wondering briefly if he should've taken his Doctor's advice to heart and avoided anything resembling the exact thing he was doing at the moment. His muscles, tendons and bones all seemed to shriek in agreement but as they'd never gone to medical school, Karrod continued steadfastly ignoring them one heavy boot clomp at a time. Niac: ::after walking a moment:: =/\= Well, not quite what I was planning but it looks like we've got a little more time to get to know one another. So, what do you folks do when you're not on duty? Any fun hobbies? =/\= Jones: =/\= I like to tend plants. It's something I picked up a couple years ago, and it's been very nice. =/\= Kijana: =/\= Ensign Jones, perhaps you should meet with Sleepy... She had quite the green thumb as well. As for myself. Eating... Cooking as well, but eating moreso. Among other things... =/\= Jones: =/\= Oh yeah? Thanks for the recommendation. I'll look her up, and yes. Eating is a passion of mine as well. =/\= Jovenan: =/\= I do just basic stuff. Reading, writing. Going for a run time to time. I guess I’ll need to check what all the ship has to offer. =/\= Jones: =/\= What about you, sir? If I may ask. What makes your heart sing? =/\= Karrod paused for a moment to give the question some thought and not because his knees were beginning to turn into some form of pain paste. Niac: =/\= Unfortunately, Sleepy, I mean Ensign Tiberius, transferred off the ship. Last I heard she was heading to Starbase 80. But to your question, Ensign Jones - my heart isn't especially musical but I've been accused of smiling, on several occasions, while in the boxing ring. I've also picked up some culinary habits...they came with my symbiote, Niac. Never really cared for cooking before but when you've got a master chef in your head all hours of the day, you either start cooking or have a minor psychotic episode. =/\= Karrod left it to each ensign to decide which way he'd gone with it. Kijana: =/\= Don't forget bar brawls and disguises sir... =/\= Karrod chuckled to himself and resumed his march towards the Marine hangars. Niac: =/\= That was one time, Hera....well, that you know of. =/\= He hoped that, somehow, the commlink would convey his wink effectively. Kijana: =/\= Are the both of you new to Starfleet? Or transferred from somewhere else? =/\= Jovenan: =/\= I’m straight from the Academy, this is my first assignment. =/\= There was a noticeable moment of pause on the comm while Ensign Jones considered their answer. Karrod made a mental note to check the mans service record whenever they got back inside. And after a sonic shower. And probably some sleep. And a large whiskey shaped analgesic for his back. Jones: =/\= I was in before. Just completed recommissioning training =/\= Kijana: =/\= And your specialities? /\= Jovenan: =/\= Science officer. I’ve got a degree in Planetary Sciences from university before Academy, where I specialised in astronomy and xenobiology. =/\= Jones: =/\= Before, I was psychiatry. (I was a counselor) Now, my specialty is in virology and pathology. I won't bore you with the synopsis of my dissertation. =/\= oOYou're a nerd, Hiro Oo Jovenan: =/\= How about you… It’s Kijana, right? Are you new here and what do you do around here? =/\= Kijana: Response Jovenan: =/\= Really? That’s… uh… cool. I haven't met many intelligence officers before. I met the ship's senior int officer during the mission briefly, thought. =/\= Karrod felt like his EVA suit was getting heavier again but he knew this was just a sign of growing fatigue as they marched onward. At least his young charges had taken the opportunity to get to know one another a little better. He was glad they'd have someone to talk to at his soon to be scheduled memorial service. Niac: =/\= Maybe you have, Ensign Jovenan, and you just don't realize. They do have a tendency towards subterfuge...and leather jackets occasionally. Never quite figured out the latter although I think they believe it makes them look edgy. =/\= Kijana: Response Karrod compared their location in his mind to a map he'd brought up on the inside of his heads up display and he was discouraged to see they hadn't made nearly as much progress as his aching muscles claimed they had. Fortunately the much younger and less recently exploded Ensigns seemed to be keeping a chipper spirit, even Ensign Jovenan, whose heartrate had dropped steadily as they walked. Jones: =/\= Looks like we're getting close now. Ensign Jovenan, do you spend much time in an EVA suit, or do you prefer doing your study through sensors? =/\= Jovenan: Response Jones: =/\= Fair enough. ::waving a slow hand at the endless starfield:: You can't beat this view though, huh? =/\= Karrod took a breath and reflexively tried to wipe his brow but collided with his helmet visor. Gritting his teeth in annoyance he took a long, slow breath and looked around, trying to remind himself why he'd thought this was a good idea just few hours earlier. The panoramic view across the hull was truely spectacular and he felt for a moment like a character in a childhood story, climbing his way methodically up the side of a sleeping giant. He didn't quite remember how that particular Flotter holostory ended and tried to simply enjoy the moment. Niac: =/\= Couldn't agree with you more. Sensors can show you a lot more but there's no replacement for the old Mark II eyeball when you're looking to be awestruck. =/\= Jovenan/Kijana: Response After an interminable hike that seemed like days but the chronometer in his helmet insisted was only fifteen minutes the team came within sight of the massive hangar doors that would hopefully lead them back into the safety of the ships interior. Karrod again tapped at the controls on the arm of his suit and prayed that whatever computer issues had befallen the airlock would've be present here as well. Jones: =/\= Let's hope somebody's home. =/\= Karrod scowled deeply as the door refused to open. Niac: =/\= Nothing...suit confirms a link to the door controls and accepts my authorization but I get an error message. Anybody else? =/\= Huffing deeply, Karrod crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at first the door, then the control panel and then, the universe as a whole. Someone was clearly tormenting them for some grievous past sin he'd committed, although which Karrod couldn't quite recall. Niac's perfect recall began offering a detailed list which nearly made Karrod try to poke his midsection again. Jovenan/Kijana: Response Karrod tapped at his suit controls and tried to open a comm channel to the transporter room, rapidly losing what little of his patience he had. Niac: =/\= Karrod to transporter room 2...=/\= The comm blatted an error tone and Karrod cursed loudly within his helmet. Niac: =/\= Alright, minor annoyance is starting to turn into a bigger problem, but we'll figure this out...any minute now. =/\= As he looked around and considered their dwindling list of options, DS224 loomed large in his vision. The ship was docked and only a few hundred meters of void separated them from the skin of the station itself. The idea that was forming was comprehensively terrible but, at the same time, was looking more and more like their only option. Niac: =/\= Well, unless one of you knows how to hotwire a door I think we're going to have to jump to the station. =/\= Jones/Jovenan/Kijana: =/\= Response =/\= Karrod had to admit their less than positive feedback had a ring of truth to it. Niac: =/\= In that case I'm open to suggestions. Otherwise, we'll tether off to one another and make a quick hop over to the station. There's an emergency airlock adjacent to the docking umbilic and I'm....mostly sure that one will let us in. =/\= Jones/Jovenan/Kijana: =/\= Response =/\= TAGS/TBC! =============================== Commander Karrod Niac Chief of Operations USS Excalibur - NCC-41903-A Commodore Kali Nicholotti, Commanding V239509GT0

((Rakantha Province, Bajor)) Arys didn’t know if the place Sileah had selected held any religious significance, but so far she had made a conscious effort not to question it. There was much that remained unsaid between mother and daughter, many questions that still demanded answers, and details that simply did not add up, but Lukin had reminded Arys that this was neither the time, nor the place for it. Sileah: I am glad you came. Arys gave a nod, letting her gaze drift over the fields that stretched out in front of them, sprinkled with patches of yellow and red flowers. And above the seedy heads of grain, the sky had cleared up. ‌Trovek: What is this place? Why here? Her attention shifted to the older woman. The medical evaluation matched what Sileah had told her - that Aaron had taken over their sect, and that he had held her captive for months. She looked better than she had when Arys had found her, but was still only a shadow of her former self. Sileah: My family used to live here. Your grandparents. And your aunts and uncles. There was pain in the older woman’s voice, and Arys lowered her gaze. She knew that her mother’s family had been killed in the early years of the Occupation, and now she understood why Sileah had chosen this place. ‌Trovek: Then he will be with family. Sileah nodded and carefully moved closer to Arys, giving her every opportunity to draw back. Her hand touched Arys’ shoulder, and the younger woman squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to let tears escape. Trovek: I just wish he would have given us a chance. But he hadn’t even been willing to allow them to live. Had Lukin, Tito and Ivin not intervened, Aaron would have disposed of Geleth. And if Sileah told the truth, he had been behind Taril Zantett’s death and behind Arys’ grandfather’s denial of it. Sileah: What I taught him didn’t help. The acknowledgment of her role in all of this surprised Arys. Sileah’s hatred towards anything Cardassian had certainly contributed to Aaron’s actions, but they had still been his actions. Trovek: It did not. She turned back to the vast stretch of fields beyond, trying to picture a house between the green and gold. If she closed her eyes, she could see fruit trees growing along one side of the house, Chickens wandering the yard and pecking at the dirt, and the sound of children playing in the distance. A very Terran fantasy, but one Arys indulged regardless. Trovek: I hated everything Bajoran. ::she admitted eventually:: Sileah: I know. You were always a rebellious child. ‌Arys nodded. Disliking everything associated with the Bajoran culture of faith had been her way of acting out, and she remembered how much she had enjoyed getting a rise out of her mother when she refused to celebrate important holidays. But she also remembered how exhausting it had been to maintain this hatred, and how it had been the reason she hadn’t been willing to visit the temple with Geleth. Trovek: Geleth is fascinated by Bajoran customs. ::she paused, then added:: She will need someone to explain them to her. Sileah’s face lit up. Arys had told her that Lukin refused to let her see Geleth, at least for now.‌ Sileah: I would… like to meet her. I always wondered about Taril. ‌Arys tilted her head and faced her mother. Trovek: The report said you left him to die of exposure. The older woman sighed and shook her head. She contemplated her answer before she spoke. ‌Sileah: I left him at the edge of a settlement. I hoped they would take him in. I was only fifteen and… ::she shook her head:: … I was only fifteen. I didn’t know what else to do. ‌ Before Arys could stop herself, she reached out and took her mothers hand. ‌ Trovek: You did the right thing. He was… incredibly loved. He grew up in a good home, survived the war, married, and spent almost six years with his beautiful daughter. Sileah nodded sadly and squeezed Arys’ hand. Sileah: I wish he would have had more time with her. ‌Trovek: Me too. We just… have to make sure she knows how loved she is. I am sure Lukin will allow you to see her. Eventually. ‌Sileah: Thank you, Arys. ::she smiled:: I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t found me. Arys nodded. She had tried not to think about that, but every now and then the thought crept up regardless. Had anyone known, or cared, that her mother was locked up in that room? Had Aaron any intention to free her? Or would they simply have left her to rot. ‌Trovek: Don’t thank me, really. I went to the temple and I just had that… thought. Of the door. That’s why I came. Sileah: The temple? You went to a temple? Arys nodded. She understood well why her mother was surprised. Trovek: Unity Temple. ::she paused, then added:: Jeni convinced me to go. The older woman blinked and tilted her head, much in the fashion Arys did when something puzzled her. Sileah: Jeni? Trovek: Yes, one of Aaron’s wives. I remembered her from when we were younger. She lived two houses down the road from us, we used to talk every now and then. Her mother still looked at her with an incredulous expression. Sileah: Arys, that can’t have been the same person. There was an explosion at a warehouse you kids liked to play at, do you remember? Jeni died. Arys did remember, and it was why she had been so surprised to see Jeni alive and well after all these years. She had been astonished at how the older Jeni looked exactly like Arys imagined her, and how she had said exactly what Arys needed to hear. For a moment, Arys said nothing. How could she put in words that nothing that had happened these past few days had made any sense, how she had intrusive thoughts she couldn’t explain, and how she had blindly trusted the guidance of someone who shouldn’t even be alive? Trovek: Oh. ::pause:: I guess it was someone else. ‌She left it at that, unwilling to delve deeper into who it was she had talked to. There was something in her mother’s eyes, a spark Arys didn’t know how to interpret, but Sileah nodded and fell silent. ‌ Sileah: I think it's time. ‌Arys nodded and knelt, picking up the wooden urn that held all that remained of Aaron. It wasn’t a traditional Bajoran funeral, and it was certainly not what the man had envisioned upon his passing. There were none of his wives and followers present, and not one worshipper had expressed desire to attend the funeral. There was no large gathering that celebrated his life, no expensive memorial people seek to visit in the future. His legacy had come to an end. ‌ Sileah took the urn and turned towards the fields, chanting a funeral prayer. The simple words were accompanied by a simple melody, repeating over and over. Her voice cracked and tears began to flow down the woman’s cheeks, and while Arys still felt strange about even this resemblance of Bajoran rites, her voice joined her mother’s eventually. The wind began to pick up, and as the urn was opened, Aaron’s ashes were carried across the fields, becoming one with the land. And despite all he had done, Arys hoped he had found peace. ***************** Lt. Trovek Arys Chief Medical Officer Starbase 118 Ops J239809TA4

I very much loved this @EgilRenot

I always adore when people introduce scenes by catching the characters in the middle of something, as if we're looking through a little window and suddenly discover them in the middle of their chores. Also, I've always been a fan of missions that have long-term effects, that what happens, the events and the people that weave themselves into the tapestry of our characters have lasting repercussions and we are able to explore what comes out of it. This is a prime example of this, by the hands of @Quinn Reynolds , which is always a source of admiration and a standard to be achieved. Besides, why deny it, I've always liked Lena. Great work Vice Admiral! ((Intelligence Suite, USS Gorkon)) There were no windows in the intelligence suite, but that had never bothered Lena. She’d lived on starships for longer than she hadn’t, none as luxurious or thoughtfully designed as Starfleet vessels. Going about her days without a sign of the outside was as normal to her as wearing socks. And what was there to see anyway, other than distant stars and looming planets? Balls of flaming gas and hunks of rock were not what interested the former pirate. And certainly not today. In the suite’s modest conference room, Lena stood opposite the large screen on the wall, her rump resting on the edge of the table. A middle-aged Tyrellian man looked back at her, the lights in his office catching the rainbow of markings underneath his skin. Pictures around his office marked him out as a family man, and a genuine one at that—the goofy pictures were too candid to be there solely for show. His desk was neat and ordered, an organised man at work, and he had spoken kindly to the colleague who had popped in earlier during their conversation to ask for help. A decent man to handle Jiran’s case, she’d decided. Not least because he tolerated her ongoing barrage of questions and demands for updates with the patience of a Bajoran Vedek. Yasri: We’ve sent his DNA profile to the Cardassian government, to see if he has any family in the Union. Josett: And when they come back and say no one’s going to take him? With a frown, the Tyrellian man inhaled a breath and opened his mouth. But whatever instinct had intended for his first reply, his higher brain tossed it aside. Perhaps he knew, as she did, the chances of an orphan finding a place back in the Union were slim to none. Cardassian families were wont to toss aside the orphans they knew; ones born half a galaxy away to people who’d gone missing nearly twenty-five years ago? Not a hope. Yasri: We’ll offer to find him a foster family here. ::He paused and then exhaled a quiet sigh.:: If there’s one thing we’ve had too much practice at, it’s finding lost and abandoned children a home. We’ll make sure he has a good one, Lieutenant. You have my word. Until then, if you and Commander Marshall need any more help or support with him, let me know. Day or night. Josett: I will. Thanks, Yasri. He nodded and flashed a quick, warm smile at her, and then the channel snapped off with a blink, briefly showing a Tyrellian logo: Their Majesty’s Department of Family Services. Lena drummed her fingers along the underside of the table, lost in her own world as she pondered the toddler’s future. Before she could get into his teenage years, the door chimed. She stood and walked out into the main suite, grateful for the distraction. Oded: =/\= Anyone home? =/\= Josett: =/\= Depends on whether you’ve brought bribes. =/\= Oded: =/\= I’ve been asked to look into what the effect on Senya has been and, well, we can hardly send a shuttle down there to ask them, so… =/\= Redirecting herself toward a console, the hybrid cast an eye over the consoles to ensure no sensitive data was on display. Once satisfied, Lena leaned across and tapped her fingertip on the screen. The door opened, and she waved the other hybrid inside. It had been a while since she last spoke to Lojah; their paths didn’t cross too often aboard ship, especially given Lena dedicated so much time to escaping it. Josett: Not even a raktajino? ::She sighed, melodramatically.:: You need to up your game, Lojah. Surely you don't expect me to help just because it's my job? Oded: Response The hybrid chuckled, and gestured toward one of the larger displays, inviting Lojah toward it. She tapped on the display, and Senya appeared, centred on the screen. A series of orbits encircled it, each with a tiny speck highlighted and marked with an ID. Updating in real time, the satellites whizzed around the moon, information scrolling along either side of the image. Josett: Starfleet’s already got satellites in orbit to keep watch. Some are sensors, others monitor their communications or media. In here—::she idly waved a finger around the intelligence suite::—we’re mostly looking for any sign of space launches. The rest of the data we shunt toward the scientists and first contact specialists. Oded: Response Josett: I don’t think they noticed much. There wasn’t the upswing in comms you’d expect from an emergency response, especially a global one. ::She leaned forward, peering at the data.:: Looks like the algorithms pinged some interesting chatter from their science communities. You want to get one of the blueshirts down here to take a look? Oded: Response Josett: While we wait, you want something to drink? ::She thumbed toward the replicator, taking a first step in that direction.:: I’m in dire need of stimulants. Oded: Response -- Lieutenant Lena Josett Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon simmed by Vice Admiral Quinn Reynolds Commanding Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0

OOC: The next installment in the Path of the Prophets series by Arys. ((En-route to Trovek Aaron’s Home, Bajor)) When Arys stepped outside Unity Temple, the Bajor’s sun had already almost set, and unfolding beyond its golden dome was a veritable symphony of color. Shades of scarlet and apricot warmed the sky while the gentle arpeggios of amethyst contrasted with the silvery light of the awakening stars and moons. Arys had never appreciated Bajor’s beauty before, and it came as a surprise that she developed an awareness for it at this very moment. The tears shed over Geleth and Ferri’s disappearance had dried up, and both guilt and fear had dissipated, leaving the Arys emotionally drained and her very soul contrite and broken. It was perhaps the first time in her life that she admitted that she didn’t know what to do or where to go. And yet she was moving with purpose, past the closed-down market and towards the nearest transporter pad. There was no reasonable explanation as to why Arys chose to act against Lukin’s wishes for her to stay behind and wait for his return, or why that locked door in her older brother’s house suddenly held such relevance. There was no logical reason to hope to find Geleth and Ferri there when the girl’s badge had been located somewhere else, but Arys’ thoughts returned to that door again and again, intruding on what was rational, no matter how much she tried to focus on the hundreds of questions that awaited answer. ‌It certainly wasn’t like her to surrender control to something she couldn’t see or explain. But more important than her own pride and self-sufficiency was to get her family back, and she focussed on that very thought when she materialised on the transporter pad halfway across Bajor, and belonging to the tranquil village that lay closest to Aaron’s residence. Lights within the small huts and houses shone invitingly, illuminating the gardens and paths that surrendered them. But Arys was headed in the opposite direction. It was odd how she, who after a year still regularly got lost on her way from Coranum District to sickbay, had somehow managed to memorise the path away from the charming little village, and past fields and woods towards the house Aaron had invited her into. The crisp air was filled with the song of birds Arys couldn’t name, though she was sure that she had heard them before. More than once Arys turned around, alarmed by the spongy crunch of dead foliage underfoot. Was someone following her? Or was her brain simply trying to make sense of the foreign sounds around her, imagining whispers where the wind rustled through the leaves, and footsteps where branches cracked in the distance? Despite Arys’s familiarity with the trail and her inexplicable trust to find the right way, she grew tense the longer she was walking, and the feeling didn’t settle as she found herself in front of the small farmhouse that belonged to Aaron. ‌She briefly reminisced on how she had been surprised to find Aaron leading such a humble life, and on how Hilja had greeted her upon her arrival. It was fair to say that Arys had been charmed by Aarons unconventional family, but now it seemed that its glamour had died with the last rays of sunlight. The house lay abandoned and quiet at the end of the footpath that led to it, and as Arys once more knocked at the door, she received no answer. ‌Trovek: Aaron? ::She called out, unsure if she was expecting a response:: Hilja? It’s Arys! ‌On her way here, Arys hadn’t known what she had expected, but nothing had prepared her for finding Aaron’s family home abandoned. She hammered against the door, called out again, and tried her best to ignore the panic that slowly began wrapping around her chest. ‌Around Arys, the calling of birds and the chattering within the trees had died down, the wind carried over the sound of hushed conversation, and Arys’ heart sank as she realized how precarious her situation was. She was alone, unarmed, an hour on foot away from the nearest village, and no one knew where she was. Arys had been so convinced that her mother Sileah had taken Geleth and Ferri and she had dismissed the thought that there was a chance the women had nothing to do with it, and that Lukin had only recently made a new enemy. She took a calming breath, deciding that this wasn’t the time to give into panic and forget her years of Starfleet training. First, get help. Tell people where you are. Arys tapped her badge and the short sequence of electronic tones indicated its activation. Trovek: =/\= Doctor Trovek to Narendra. =/\= Narendra: =/\= Go ahead, Doctor. =/\= Trovek: =/\= I… was looking to visit my brother, but I believe I am being followed. The next transport pad is an hour away. =/\= ‌Narendra =/\= Do you need to be beamed up? =/\= It was the intelligent thing to do, but Arys hesitated and looked back at the door, placing her hand against it, feeling the spongy moss beneath her skin. Despite the potential severity of the situation, her reason for coming here hadn’t changed. Trovek: =/\= Not yet… I… ::she sighed:: It’s probably nothing. Trovek out. =/\= Arys cast a last glance into the direction of whispers she believed to have heard, then nodded to herself, and stepped away from the door. She knew that there was a garden behind the residence, and perhaps one of the windows would allow her to look inside. ‌ She walked around the farmhouse, climbing over flower beds and dew-drenched grass and the rotting remains of moba-tree. The garden itself lay quiet and unkept before her, and she could just about make out the bench where she had first met Jeni, but if any of the children’s toys in the grass still remained, she couldn’t make them out in the darkness. Her gaze followed the gravel-path that snaked around the grass and vegetable plots and towards the house itself, once more dark and still. Arys was about to turn around as she noticed a warm flicker of light in the rooms. Was someone home after all? If so, why hadn’t they opened her? Jeni: But it’s odd that a prayer room should be locked, isn’t it? Why do you think that is? Trovek: I… suppose it’s to keep people from going inside? Jeni: That is one out of two options. Jeni. The woman who had kept putting ideas into Arys’ head, and who Arys trusted without having any reason to do so. Careful to be as quietly as possible, Arys made her way through the garden and towards the door leading to it. Now in closer proximity, she would see that the light came from a nearly burned-out candle by the window, growing weaker with each desperate flicker. There was a good chance that Aaron’s family had forgotten it when they had vacated the property, and they had likely been lucky that it hadn’t burned their house down. Arys would have called out again, but considering that she believed that she was being followed by someone, she opted to remain silent. Once she had reached the door leading from the garden to the living area, her fingers wrapped around the cold metal of the doorknob as she twisted and turned it. And just like that, the door opened with a loud creak that would certainly alarm anyone inside and outside the property. Arys bit her lip and quickly made her way into the house, closing and locking the door behind her, but if she had expected to feel safe, she was quickly disappointed. Only a few days ago the living area was bright and warm and full of life, decorated with more or less artistic pictures drawn by Aaron’s offspring. Children played on pillows and blankets in the corner, and the scent of homemade food had wafted through the rooms. Even if Aaron and his family were out for the evening it didn’t explain why the paintings and toys and decorations had all been removed. Trovek: ::whispering to herself:: No one lives here. The realisation caused Arys to stop in her tracks, and for a moment she simply stood there, unsure how to comprehend what was happening. If Aaron hadn’t been truthful about his humble lifestyle and family, what else had he lied about? ‌ Whatever mysterious assurance of her path Arys had followed, now she felt none of it. She had been fooled, led away from her family, and into the middle of nowhere. Obsessed with a door to a prayer room rather than with finding the child she had sworn to love and protect like her own. Trusting a person she hadn’t seen for decades, entrusting her with her hopes and dreams. ‌Arys hissed and did the only reasonable thing. She reached for an empty vase on the dining table and threw it against the wall, watching it shatter in hundreds of pieces. The sound was accompanied by several swear words in several different languages, all of them wishing Aaron the worst fate imaginable, screamed against the quietude of the house. It was only when she caught her breath that Arys realised she wasn’t the only one filling the silence. Arys. She blinked, taking a calming breath to ground herself. Someone had said her name, she was sure of it. Arys. ‌There it was again, a weak, hoarse voice calling her from one of the rooms upstairs. Arys moved towards the stairs, once more listening for the voice that had called her name, and then froze. This wasn’t Ferri’s voice, neither was it Geleth's. ‌ TBC…. ***************** Lt. Trovek Arys Chief Medical Officer Starbase 118 Ops J239809TA4

I had to send an appreciation out to Esa Kiax for this great description her player came up with for the Ops center of the Astraeus! ((Operations Centre, Deck Four, USS Astraeus)) Esa had spent the first four days on board the Astraeus familiarising herself with the ship, it’s layout, and generally getting herself settled in her new quarters on Deck 5. They were much bigger than her quarters on the Chin’toka and Atlantis – possibly even bigger than the square footage of them both combined, but of that she wasn’t certain. Now, however, it was time to ingratiate herself with the 206 new members of the Ops team. Well… not all of them were new. But the Astraeus had a much larger crew compliment than the Chin’toka, so the majority would be. The moment Esa had arrived on board, she’d been told by the transporter operator that she should really check out the Operations Centre when she had a moment. That moment was now. As she stepped through the doors, she was instantly halted in her tracks by the sheer scale of the room before her. The double entrance doors actually didn’t open out directly into the room, instead forming the end of a short tunnel-like section. As she walked toward the centre of the room, it became clear just how much of a central hub for all shipboard operations this room was. Along the wall directly opposite the door was a large Master Systems Display, with a number of smaller displays showing a variety of different monitoring states. In the centre, an interactive 3D-hologram of the ship was lazily spinning in the middle of a small plinth, surrounded by a number of small stations. Several officers and petty officers alike stood at the stations, manipulating the holographic ship as they went about their tasks. Every now and then, a group of other officers would rotate in and use the projection to zoom in on a specific area of the ship, helping them visualise the resource use in that area and enable them to make more informed decisions. Around the edges of the room stood a number of large stations for mission ops, shuttlebay ops, life support, environmental systems, cargo bays and logistics, and the holodecks. Along the left side of the room, raised above the pit-like hive of general activity from the bulk of ops stations, there were dedicated stations for the Transporter Chief, Quartermaster and Flight Operations Manager. On the right side of the room, atop the other of the raised platforms, stood a glass fronted office which overlooked the space. It was nestled in the back corner of the room, and cut the corner at a 45-degree angle. Emblazoned two-thirds of the way up the middle panel of glass was the traditional Operations insignia, with the words “Chief of Operations” printed underneath. Inside was a large, three-panelled half-hexagon shaped console against the window facing outwards, with a desk placed centrally behind it facing in, allowing the occupant to utilise the rotatable chair to switch between desk work and console work. In the other corner, was a large open plan area, with yet another holographic projection unit, and accompanied by a few wall mounted stations and a large Plotting Table. The wall behind it was printed with large red letters that read “STRATEGIC OPERATIONS”. The plotting table was an interactive surface, showing a map of the current area of operations for the ship – the Par’tha Expanse – though it was fully reconfigurable to show any other areas as desired. Esa marvelled at the space, and the sight of finally having all the individual areas of the ship that fell under her jurisdiction managed from a central location. She could already see the intra-departmental cohesiveness and collaboration increasing with such a space, and no doubt it would encourage a significant rise in inter-departmental cooperation as well. With this, they could work seamlessly with Noa and her Science department, and those in the Command division for managing shipwide activities. It almost reminded her of a mix between the historic Launch Control Centre at the Kennedy Space Centre, and the old European Space Operations Centre in Germany. Kiax: I could really get used to working on these types of cruisers… And with that, she set off into the fray – meeting and greeting all of her new officers.

This whole scene was short and sweet. @Hannibal Parker (John Carter)'s contributions were great as well, but I found this closing entry from @Nathan Richards especially compelling. It's been a pleasure exploring the dynamic between Robin and Nathan, seeing where their path is leading, and I appreciate the nuance and subtlety with which my fellow writer tells that story here. (Original post here: https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-amity/c/jX_zAJh5csc/m/iF-mbzrNAwAJ