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This has horrific ramifications for Beck's personal reputation despite his innocence. Hilarious work by @LuxaLorana

Here we have @TAma tying everything together for comedic gold. I love how @Quentin Beck and @Xiron helped bring this together.

@Sal Taybrim’s portrayal of Rugen has been a joy to read and I think this sim sums up why. Rather than a typical one-dimensional, diabolical villain, Commodore Taybrim made the character not only believable, but even relatable, as a product of his environment and up-bringing. Anyone who wants to write believable villains with depth to them, I urge you to read this sim. I know I got a lot from it, myself. ((Byzallian Cave Network)) Rugen: A very naieve viewpoint. You think all worlds are as rich as your Bardeez. You think all people are as kind as yours Federations. The galaxy is a far more cruel place for this without your privledges. Rugen’s life had never been easy. Not a single day had been flush with food or full of guaranteed safety. He had parents who cared for him and his brother, who taught him to hunt, to cook, to dress for the weather, to build shelter and to survive in harsh times. He had family who banded together. He had a clan that were a family. And each and every one of them had suffered exposure, starvation, disease and loss. That was the way of things. The Dorfmen might have never come together as clans, worked to build anything if they were not pushed to do so. Fairhug: Come with us back to the peace talks. State your position. Make us understand through words, not violence. Willow: We will listen. We don’t have to agree, but we can compromise. Find a way where we can all be half-way happy. Compromise. He didn’t trust the word. Wethern: I don't blame you. I wouldn't trust us. We are a corporate uniform. All looking alike in good health wealthy to you. I wasn't always in Starfleet it's a new addition to me. I got tired of the suffering and joined with those who have the resources to help. Why not listen to us what do you have to lose? Rugen: We have our traditions to lose. What made us strong. What bound us together. I have seen the space nomands. No-people with no-family. No-souls. We have soul. We wish to keep it burning brightly. He was strong in his convictions, compelling. And yet there was a rigidity to his thinking, a cold, solid wall of belief that was not cracking. And worse, it was delivered in a calm, rational voice. He had thought about this. He was not working in anger. He was working from a place of considered rational thought. Fairhug: ::frowning:: Then let’s start with names. I am Lieutenant Commander Fairhug, First Officer of the Federation Starbase One-One-Eight. This is Lieutenant Haukea Willow and Doctor Corey Wethern. Who is it we are speaking to? Rugen: I am Exalpius Rugen, First of the Clan of Fire. He said it with pride and then watched the Bardeezan. He was known. It was not that he wanted to be known. Or tried to be known. But he had been the one to never back down, even as weaker clan leaders faltered. And for that he was proud. He had lived by his values. Willow: I am a security officer. I do take an unorthodox tactic framed by non-violent actions. I will not shoot unless I am provoked. Wethern: A pleasure I'm sure. I'm not here for surprises I just want to make sure our people are in health. I'll happily deal with any of your wounded as well. Fairhug: Rugen. You were responsible for some of the worst atrocities of the war. He fixed his gaze on the Bardeezan. Fairhug. Rugen: You say that as if war is not an atrocity. It is. That is what it is. And yet it is our life. Fairhug: Justify it however you want, you attacked civilian populations. Those people were not soldiers, they were unable to defend themselves. Is that Byzallian honour? The sound he made was not disrespectful, but one of non-comprehension. A non-verbal exclamation. Rugen: Civilian? ::The universal translator struggled with the word, as well as his next words:: There is no person outside of war. Every Dorfman is raised in war. I do not understand. There is no corresponding word. No one escaped war. No one had the choice to not be a solider on Byzatium. That was the difference between them. Bardeez had luxury. Byzatium had none. Willow: Those actions are in the past. We must now think to the future. Wethern: We all have our skeletons in the closet. I know I've exchanged phaser fire for medical supplies before. I've also done things I'm not proud of. The question is are you willing to leave that behind and actually lead your people in a meaningful fight rather than perpetuating the cycle of death. Fairhug: ::calmly:: Show yourself, Rugen. He moved, slowly, like a panther. He stayed in the shadows, guarded. You could see the form but not the features. Not the detail. Rugen: Here is where I stay. He was coiled, like a spring ready to snap, but not overtly hostile. In fact, he looked so perfectly at home in this harsh environment. These dry caves, this mottled darkness. The low hiss of steam somewhere beneath the surface and the occasional rustle of a predator in the depths of the cave. It would have looked tremendously out of place for him to be anything but tense. Rugen was a part of Byzatium. Byzatium was part of Rugen. They were inseparable, and here he was, a product of this plant, this culture, this life. Willow: ::Lowering her arm, the quick action having tweaked her back further:: Step into the light so that we may know your true form. Wethern: Rugen, believe or not the Commander here is trying to do this in your best interests. We can guarantee you a seat at the table for the talks but you have to be willing to talk. Fairhug: ::sighing:: And to listen. He blinked, shaking his head very slowly. He was, admittedly, surprised that this had not yet come to violence. And as much as he did not ever want to admit it, he wanted to be heard. He wanted his point of view, his people’s point of view, his experiences to matter. Not Toral, richest of them all, to speak for them. Not Toral who had grown soft and known luxury. No, he wanted to voice of his kind heard. The ones who scraped for every last bit of food, shared scraps with the children, boiled and ate every last part of every kill to ensure the tribe stayed strong. And at this point he didn’t even care if he died. He wanted someone to hear his clan. His people. There were others who would take up his torch with fervent pride should he fall. Rugen: To listen. When you already stated I was a … ::His mind clicked as his universal translator worked:: Atrocity. He said it like it was a title or a name. It was clear he did not see his acts in the same light Gogi did. He could not even fathom that there a population could have the luxury and privilege of keeping a portion of the population completely out of war. Would be own up to his acts? Surely. Did he think they were wrong? Depends. He believed – with fervent conviction – that he had followed all established rules of war. His opponents believed in different rules. His opponents had convenient rules to allow themselves an advantage. Such was war. And war was life. Willow: We cannot absolve you of your past atrocities. However, your current innocence can still be decided. How would you prefer to be remembered long after you are gone? As a murderer who could not learn the error of their ways, or someone that saw repentance? Hated by many in most cases but at least allowed some freedom in the ladder. He knew others would follow his example. Maybe some of them would have better, prettier words to tug at the heartstrings of these Federations. Not him. His words were short and blunt and to the point. Wethern: Come on Rugen, at least come to the table, release the captives. We can't write the whole incident off but you could be at the talks and receive a fair hearing. Fairhug: Say what you want about the Federation, but that much is always guaranteed. Fair. Sure, they would listen. And then they would always, no matter what, side with the Bardeez. Because the rules the Bardeez followed more closely matched the rules the Federations followed. Rugen did not follow those rules. Therefore Rugen was an Atrocity. And Atrocities must be eliminated. Rugen: So they will hear us. Try us fairly, find us guilty and then either re-educate us, force us into their culture or quietly eliminate us. I could do it; I know. I could prolong my own existence of… atrocity as you say. It will not change the fact that we lose our very identity. The Byzatium that was will die by Toral’s hand. And that was what he mourned. He had an identity in war. His clan had an identity in war. And what these Federations were talking about was a complete and utter destruction of self. He could not comprehend who he would be in the aftermath. So wasn’t it best to be dead? Willow: Do not spoil what is yet to come by clinging onto the past. Wethern: There is always a choice, remember that. We are remembered by pivitol moments in our life. Make sure this one is for the better. Fairhug: Make the right choice, Rugen. He was a wiry man, of middle height. Dark hair just starting to grey. Tanned skin. Angular features. A weathered, hardened man. But not an imposing man. Not physically at least. He had an aura about him that told of confidence, unwavering conviction and true love for his people. The warriors around him moved to protect him in instinct, not order. For whatever cruelties he had poured on others, he had apparently treated his own clan as family. The sad thing was, had he been raised on another world he would have easily looked like a scholar. Rugen: This is me. Fairhug: How do *we* know we can trust *you*? Willow: Trust is not earned lightly. We can never be sure it is truly there. Yet we can hope. Wethern: How about we all lower our weapons as a first show of faith. Wouldn't want anyone to accidentally get shot now would we. He considered this and then calculated. He knew exactly where his hunting knife was, and it was strapped for the fastest release. He believed that if the Federations discarded their beam weapons he could take all three in under a minute with just his knife. If he needed to. He held his disruptor pistol out, but did not yet release it. The speaker – he understood that was the healer – dropped his weapon first. Note to self – do not kill the healer if at all possible. Healers were valuable. Rugen: I am willing… He looked at them as if to say ‘you first.’ Willow: For a doctor my friend here makes an excellent point. We should all do better to follow his example. Fairhug: Good idea, Doctor Wethern. The Bardeez dropped his rifle. Rugen dropped his pistol. The Bardeez still had a hostered pistol. Rugen still had a knife strapped to his leg. And this is why Byzatium training was so important. Rugen estimated it would take the Bardeez three to four seconds to unholster his pistol from that position. He also estimated that he could pull his knife with its special bindings in less than a second, while running towards the Bardeez. So, should this turn ugly – bullrush the Bardeez, pull knife on the way, go for the jugular. That should hamper him before he got his pistol pulled. The entire plan worked through Rugen’s mind as he kept his expression neutral. Wethern: Why don't you tell us where the hostages are then maybe we can help you with something? Rugen: They are here. ::He said vaguely waving to the caves beyond.:: True and yet so vague. The Federations didn’t have much time to be upset about his answer. Rugen tensed again, coiling downwards ready to strike. His warriors huddled down under cover, fingers on the triggers. They all knew that sound. The scratching, scuttling doom. The sound that haunted the nightmares of every Dorfman child. Fairhug: What is that?! Willow: Hard to say. For all I know it could be a rodent of unusual size. ::Her humor disappeared into the darkness, lost in the seriousness of the situation:: Wethern: I would like to point out my earlier comments about caves and things tending to want to kill you. Whatever it is it does not sound happy.....and that is my professional opinion. Rugen said one word. One little word. Even without context that one word was chilling, as if he was describing the devil itself come to devour them. Rugen: Omunics. The walls of the cave seemed to come alive with figures rushing toward them. Immediately the Dorfmen warriors engaged. The speed of their response was mesmerizing. They entered into a well-practiced dance of battle with the most ever-present threat on Byzatium. Every warrior knew the deadly stakes and yet had honed their skills like an artist. If anything told of why Rugen was the way he was – it was this response. The ever-present knowledge that one could be attacked at any time, no matter who they were, that was the overwhelming nature of growing up as a Dorfman. The Federations were not even remotely ready. Fairhug: Weapons! Willow: Get back! Get Down! Wethern: You heard the lady. We can still end this peacefully. Rugen ogled at the medic, having already snatched up his weapon, ready to defend himself. Rugen: you think the Omunics will ever know peace? You will be torn to shreds, your flesh will fill their feasting table should you think such soft thoughts. Fairhug: My father was in the city of Ifar the day you and your men attacked it. Oh, so this was personal. Rugen: Now he rests in the Hall of the Not Forgotten. For Rugen it was not personal. He offered that as respect to the Bardeez. Fairhug: I will make sure you answer for it. It was not taken as respect. That was a failing of the Bardeez. A failing of the Federations. Everything was personal. On Byzatium, taking things personally was a liability. There was not personal reason for the Omunics to attack. They were hungry. They craved resources. They would use the flesh of a Dorfman to feel their young and grind the bones to fertilize their underground gardens. It was not personal, every Dorfman was another resource, another piece of meat. Rugen did not personally kill anyone in Ifar. He attacked by the Dorfmen rules of war a city of a warring faction. He assumed everyone in that city was a warrior and prepared for an attack. Apparently the Bardeez – he now learned – had completely different rules. Apparently this Fairhug assumed his father was to be left out of the war. And apparently this Fairhug had not placed his father in the Hall of the Not Forgotten to live on. Instead he gathered up his father into his heart and carried him everywhere. That would get a Dorfman warrior killed. Revenge was the path to dishonorable death. Rugen was intent on facing the bigger threat – the oncoming Omunics. But Fairhug had other ideas. The massive Bardeez tackled him, and unlike Namhug, this one was tall and strong and built like a warrior. Rugen was smaller and wiry and almost all muscle. There was no softness to his form, no luxury, no waste. He curled up and rolled with the impact until it came to a stop and both men were facing one another. The Bardeez Fairhug made a lunge for the throat, and Rugen caught him by the hair Rugen: You fight like a wild animal… Fairhug: ? He dodged the next blow and considered pulling his knife. Considered, but he was somewhat enjoying this savagery from the Bardeez. He didn’t know if the planet ever had it in them to be true warriors. They had always seemed like reluctant children dragging their feet to go to war because they felt they had to. Rugen: That is because your father’s soul rests inside you. Controls you. Maybe you should let him go. Oddly spot on advice for a person one was trying to strangle. Fairhug: ? Wethern: Right behind you! You got this Commander? Fairhug: ? In the background the two Federations were fighting and bantering. Talking about ale and rest. The Dorfmen warriors were silent, staving off the hoarde of Omunics. If there were not six Dorfmen warriors, the entire remaining group would be dead. But he supposed that the Federations would take the credit. Rugen: My people are saving your people. And yet you think our way of war is worthless. Fairhug: ? Rugen was a slippery opponent. No matter how hard Fairhug tried, he could not get a solid grip on the Dorfman. Decades of practice came to the forefront, and Rugen kept sneaking in quick jabs to the joint or muscle in the fight – things that would ache and hurt even if they didn’t break. He jabbed a knuckle punch into the inner muscle of Fairhug’s thigh, causing the quadriceps to spasm. Rugen: Do not make me kill you… He was done with playing punching bag for an angry youth. His hand went for the knife strapped to his leg. Fairhug: ? ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ MSNPC Rugen Dorfman Chieftain Byzatium

Godspeed @Hiro Jones ❤️ And know that you left this fleet brighter and kinder than you found it.

(( The forests around Paoike Colony, Drever IV )) It was silent here and peaceful. Mostly. In the ten years of the colony being in this place it had not happened often that nature and the colony invaded each other. But at times of course some wild creature got confused about the borders. Naturally. Animals did not know about this kind of stuff. So it happened here and there that one found its way into the fields, or even houses. The forest did not know how it had happened but one day someone came and put things up. Things that kept the animals out of the colony. Mostly. These things had ropes and nets, metal cages, others were tubes that shot out pointy things that made the animals sleep. People words like perimeters and defence hung in the air of the forest. And the forest had seen it work many times. None of the creatures were harmed, only stopped. The forest liked that. The people knew how to avoid these things. Even the little furless two leggers. If they came deeper into the forest they knew how to step around, or not go where the things were. The one that put the things out was really good at that, that one also was good with the animals. Knew how to carry them, how to get closer or when to leave them. He used a lot of person words even though he was alone, maybe he talked with the forest. Just that the forest did not speak people words. When a new person came into the forest the forest did not recognize them. If the forest had been able to say people words, maybe it could have warned them. They were walking the wrong way right towards one of the tube things. Maybe the thing thought the person was an animal trying to get into the people place. And then the person went down onto the ground. The forest did not speak people words so it could not warn them. ((OOC: Just for clarification, Ba'el ran into a defence perimeter meant to keep wild animals in the forest because she did not know where those 'traps' are and was alone without her team so nobody could carry her back out. )) ----- The forests around Paoike Colony, Drever IV simmed by Commodore Jalana Rajel Commanding Officer USS Constitution B Image Team Co-Facilitator A238906JL0

(( Quarters Ollo )) Ollo Prime, the "original Ollo," was perched cross legged on his bed and gently rocking back and forth. Ollos 3, 4, and 9 were also seated cross legged and rocking. 3 and 4 were on the couch, and 9 was on the floor in the dining area. Incredibly, no one figured out there were a dozen Ollos. Something happened to the holodeck before he used it, and it kept pumping out copies of Ollo. Not photonic, but real, coherent matter copies. Whoever said "Hell is other people" was never stuck in a LtJG-sized quarters with 11 copies of themselves. Everything he hated about himself was not externalized and highly visible. And everything he didn't need or want to know about himself was omnipresent. He had to see what he looked like when he sat down, drank from a glass, yawned... all of it. And it was invariably awkward and uncomfortable. But they agreed: keep it secret until they could figure out the solution. And until then.. Misery. Abject misery. Worst of all? Ollo was forced to recognize how terrible his toupee looks. He wasn't fooling anyone. They'd figure a way out of this mess. Surely, they would...

This brought tears to my eyes. @Kirsty L. Carpenter is an amazing writer.

@VLen Kel providing a very sweet and heartwarming scene between Kel and Rox

@LuxaLorana making me laugh with how disgusted she is by the whole situation; special mention of @Alieth for delightfully playing along

I love the detail that @Kirsty L. Carpenter put into this. Nothing like fighting in the Holodeck with iffy safeties. ((Kirsty & Teryn's Quarters, Deck 9, U.S.S. Ronin.)) Kirsty felt like she had just gotten to sleep, her body still getting used to the new sleeping arrangements, when a very odd Security Alert thrummed through her personal terminal. Odd in that it seemed to originate from Engineering. It seemed Ensign Is'Kah had been running a...fairly complex and fairly power-draining holoprogram. And for...quite a long time too. Repeatedly over hours and across ungodly times of night. For multiple days, or nights, rather. Like right now, in fact. Which is what triggered the security subroutine. It seemed one of the Assistant Chief's had clocked the program and the strain it was putting on ambient power cores and computational powers and set up a "dragnet" for it. But the only question that seemed to occur to Kirsty, standing in front of her personal terminal with a curious frown in her pajamas was... oO What the hell kinda program is this? Oo She decided she was going to find out for herself. ((A Short Time Later...)) ((Holodeck Main Level, Deck 7, U.S.S. Ronin.)) Kirsty only looked at the external terminal display of the deck for a bit. She couldn't really make heads or tails of it, but it seemed to be fluid to a degree. That was, at least, if the constantly ticking upward Level designations on the display were any indication. Anyone else might have gotten an Engineer, or maybe called for backup. But Kirsty only found herself more curious about what this could even be. And how much control Is'Kah seemed to have over the program itself. She would mark this later as the first of a few mistakes. She barrelled into the Holodeck into a brutally beautiful winter wonder-hellscape. Implacable stars and a harsh moonscape hung above an endless white waste, complete with howling winds and sharp, stinging particulates of snow and powder that instantly stung her frame and face. The wind itself seemed not to blow, but PULL, grasping her harshly and sending her skidding like a poorly flying bird into the nearest snowbank. She didn't even have the time to grasp the holo-arch, which disappeared almost as soon as she was cleared of it. One of the "physical conditions" of these high level holoprograms. She tried to call for it, but the snow and wind choked her voice back down her throat. She hadn't expected this. And further hadn't expected just how unforgiving the conditions around her seemed to gleefully be. oO What the hell...Oo She finally got herself back to her feet, using the stinging of her bare feet as a steadying point. She peered against the horizon. Tried to take it all, or as much as she could, in. No landmarks. No distinction between the geography either. There was just snow and wind and the burning stars above and now...movement. A hunched, darkened figure was looming toward her with the wind. Stretching and bending an impressive wingspan alongside its flattened, blocky frame. It didn't look like Is'Kah, but she had to take a chance...She started to raise her voice over the wind, cupping her hands across and around her mouth to raise her yell further. Carpenter: Is'Kah! THAT you!? The figure then SPRANG! Suddenly and violently. With enough ferocity that Kirsty lost her footing in the snow with an instinctive backstep. She sprawled backward, landing with an audible crunch and OOF as the figure sailed above her. Revealing the snarling teeth and antenna of an Andorian Ice Hunter. And the flashing ushann in each hand. Carpenter: whaaaa the h-h-hell?! She sputtered to the rapidly piling snow around her, but she scrambled, half flopped to her belly, trying to get eyes on the Andorian as quickly as possible. He had landed a lot better than she had. Rolling and pitching on his shoulder, leaving barely a ghost of a trail into the snow. Well-worn white-and-grey liveried medium armor protected his body from the elements, including a choice pair of boots and gloves Kirsty found herself intimately jealous of. Especially once she had gotten back to her feet, plunging her bare feet back into the snow almost to the ankle. The dual ushann ice-knives would protect him from everyone else. But higher level programs also hinted at lessened restrictions on safety protocols. Just what in the hell was Is'Kah playing at here?! The Andorian took one leaping step to the left, then another to the right and forward. Kirsty raised her arms, tightening her fists for likely heavy work. The Andorian's fists, wrapped tightly across the middle hafts of the ice-knives swept the right blade wildly. Kirsty took another unsteady step back, hating the way the snow was slowing her down. But then the Andorian made HIS first mistake, trying another glancing blow with the left blade, which hit nothing but the under part of his wrist against Kirsty's sharply upraised knee, jarring the knife in his grip. But nicking her upper thigh, sending a hot lancet of blood across the snow for their trouble. It was enough of an opening though, and Kirsty didn't hesitate. Knowing that the Holo Andorian likely wouldn't either. She lashed out violently, but with a feral focus. Driving her right fist flat against the Andorian's neck. One of the few unarmored points of his body, as most Ice Hunter armors don't have any ballistic underlays or neck scoops. The Ice Hunter's body jarred like his wrist had and normally she would have kept him jarred with a left hook, but her wobbly stance kept her from her usual one-two. Instead she took a page from the Andorian's book, springing her own frame into a bullet. Pointed to further drive the Ice Hunter from his feet and away from using those ushann. They both tumbled into the snow, limbs akimbo, but Kirsty's shoulder thumped against something hard in the snow. She snaked her hands after it, whatever it was. The Ice Hunter roared just feet away. His voice eerily joining the howl of the wind and a ghoulish churning sound of the snow around his whipping frame. He barreled toward her, looking like a deadly plow, parting the snow around his rage. Kirsty gripped the haft in her dominant hand, brought it up blindly but surely, bringing up a spreading curtain of snow along with...the upturned bottom of a LIRPA?! The heavy block of weighted metal sunk heavy and true against the side of the Ice Hunter's skull. Sending him flinging like a puppet with his strings cut into the snow bank to the left of their erstwhile battleground.She turned the Vulcan weapon in her hand, blade up toward the starry sky, and leaned heavily on the staffen middle of a thing she was...kinda growing to love? First...she was gonna get those Ice Hunter's boots and gloves...and then she was gonna find Is'Kah and finally get the skinny on...whatever the hell this was. Carpenter: Alright, Ensign, it's your game...let's play. She started forward. Eager and now armed against whatever was coming next. Is'Kah/Any: RESPONSE -- TAG/TBC -- Lieutenant Commander Kirsty L. Carpenter //\\ Chief of Security & Tactical Starfleet SAR (Marine Rank: Major) //\\ U.S.S. RONIN NCC-34523 ID: E239512QC0 //\\ F.N.S. CONTRIBUTOR (SB118 Forums)

@Quentin Beck's Bec is so damn ferengi to the level of repulsion and I love him for it XD ((A couple of days later, asteroid field, near the orbit of the planet REDACTED, system REDACTED )) The box for Deep Rockets Delivery Service wasn't the best box available for a race such as this, but there were only a few that might be considered more lavish, more comfortable - it was perhaps even second only to that of the Nagus. Pillows covered everything. Gold covered everything. Latinum covered everything. And although Bec's own personal wealth was only a fraction of that of his company, he lived by Rule of Acquisition number 46: it's good to be the King. One could hardly blame him for taking advantage; he'd built the company from the ground up, after all, and the only reason he'd started selling shares was because he knew that treating the company as its own entity would allow him to make bigger, better deals that would lead to bigger, better stacks of latinum down the line. That money belonged to the company, technically speaking, but it allowed him to make investments he might not otherwise make because of their volatility; the company could bounce back a lot better than he could as an individual entrepreneur. That shuttle was one such investment. As was this race. He was limited with what he could do with the money as far as betting went, so that required dipping into his own personal bank account, but he had done everything he could to assure making some kind of return on investment. Not to mention he knew Alieth very well. It was tempting to turn on the listening device his men had installed in the Threshan E'Shua, but he knew he would only hear one of two things: either dead silence or Alieth cursing his name. It was, more or less, standard practice when it came to them, though it was more amusing than insulting. He knew that, despite her words, there was warmth in what she said. Perhaps not adoration, but at least some kind of fondness she would keep entirely to herself. He was all right with that. Bec was also alone in the box. He would need to make an appearance in the lounge at some point, of that he was certain, but he enjoyed his solitude. He sat on the largest, softest pillow at the very center of the room, studying a number of screens mounted on the far wall; one mirrored the images on the larger screens that Alieth was indicating to Luxa, showing rotating shots of all of the different ships in the race. One was focused entirely on their ship, seen from a distance. One screen was off and would remain so for the time being. The final screen was a much smaller one, and it was mounted on a small rotating desk panel next to his seat. Alieth's Starfleet file scrolled slowly over the screen. He hadn't looked at the official one for quite some time… but then, she hadn't been around for quite some time, either. And the Ronin's arrival meant he could make sure his copy was up to date. She had quite the official record - though it paled in comparison to what could be listed on an unofficial one. A small window was open on that same screen, showing live footage from a body camera that had been mounted on one of the bounty hunters he'd hired to track down Beck. They had mostly been foiled so far in their attempts to pick him up, but Bec had faith one of them would manage it sooner than later. He didn't think it bad to keep an eye on things. Alieth was right about one thing - he had bet against them. Quite a bit of money, in fact. But he'd also bet in their favor, which stood to win a lot more money in the end as they were being treated as fresh-faced and inexperienced racers. That was fine by him, too. He popped a Beetle Bite into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he considered his options. Seemingly making a choice, he set another between his teeth before laying the bag in his lap and leaning forward to type a few things into the small console next to him. The offline screen flickered to life to show the interior of the custom shuttle and the two women seated in the primary cockpit. It seemed Alieth was explaining the race to Luxa - good. Alieth: No outside intervention, no connection to databases, only what we have with us. Nothing else, the first one to cross the finish line wins and takes it all. As long as you do not die, everything else is allowed. Lorana: Response Aboard the Threshan E'Shua, a hologram flickered to life on the upper lip of the instrument panel, centered between the two seats. It was a near-perfect recreation of Bec, save it was really only on the blue wavelength for visibility and it flickered occasionally. Not to mention it was only about twelve inches tall. When Bec spoke, his voice was small and tinny. Bec: Honey Badger, my love. I am very pleased the two of you made it - and with extra time, no less. Alieth/Lorana: Response Bec: Now, now, darling, you know I'm not allowed to play favorites. Not publicly, anyway. I can promise you, though, this will be easier than you might think. Alieth/Lorana: Response Bec: You think I'm worried? You're in the fastest, sleekest ship in the quadrant. I'm not worried. Alieth/Lorana: Response Tags/TBC Bec Chief Owner and Operater, Deep Rockets Delivery Service Ferenginar A238810SA0 As written by Ensign Quentin Beck Medical Officer USS Ronin NCC-34523 A238810SA0

Newly promoted LtJG @Charles Matthews is calling Serala out for being irresponsible while being pregnant. I am totally loving his internal monologues and thought I would share with everyone! Enjoy! ((Holodeck 2, Skyfire Beach, USS Astraeus)) [[Time Index: After the Awards, before conversation between Matthews and Zarax]] ((OOC – As previously stated, discussed with Serala. None of these are my views, nothing is personal. All context is purely IC)) Matthews: Ma’am, I respect you. A great deal. You’re a great officer; a fierce, honourable fighter, a snazzy dresser; but why would you put yourself in harm’s way when you’re pregnant? ::pause:: I know you’re a better fighter than me, but it would have only taken one mistimed blow, or one misstep, for something horrible to happen. My job is to help maintain the safety of everyone on board, that includes you. Your baby too. Serala: ::gritting her teeth as she tried to respond calmly:: Okay, let me say this the only way I know how. And I apologize in advance if I hurt your feelings. Yes, I am pregnant. And I realize you don’t know me that well, Lieutenant, but I have been in much more dangerous situations while pregnant that sparring on the holodeck with a masterfully trained samurai swordsman. When I was pregnant with T’Saara, near the end of my term, I found myself running for my life in a frozen forest with a few of my fellow crewmates. I survived, and I survived in the holodeck. oO OK, here we go. You just had to have this conversation, didn’t you? Right now, of all times and with her, of all people. You couldn’t just leave well enough alone?... No, I couldn’t. If I didn’t do this today, I wouldn’t have done it at all… Well, you’re in it now. Say what you need to but don’t antagonise her, and don’t let her feelings push yours to somewhere you don’t want them to go. Oo Sensing the Commander had more to say, and not wanting to interject too much, Charlie let out a brief reply. Matthews: There isn’t a need to apologise to me, Commander. I’ll be fine. ::smiles with uncertainty:: oO Liar! Oo Serala: The mother in me is extremely grateful that you are so concerned about the well-being of my unborn child. And you are not the first security officer to express such concern. My best friend, and former Department Head before I leap-frogged him to become the First Officer, also had the same concerns for my health. It would be disingenuous of me to condemn you for your concern while praising him for his. But, and let me be clear on this, I did not, and would not, knowingly place myself and my child in harm’s way. I saw enough of your skill before we sparred, and am confident enough in my own skill, to know that nothing was going to happen. And even if by chance it had, medical is only a transporter ride away. And our doctors are some of the very best in Starfleet. oO Oof. That stings. She saw enough of my abilities to know nothing was going to happen?? Wow. Pride has taken a hammer blow with that one. That’s nice… Relax. Think of some soothing music… I don’t think that will help… Well, put on your best poker face and fake it until you make it… Oo Matthews: I understand that, Commander. However, I feel like I’d be being remiss with my duties if I didn’t express my concerns about this. Serala: I appreciate your concern, Lieutenant. I really do. But I am asking for your trust that as a former Security Department Head, former Tactical Department Head, former Strategic Operations officer, trained martial artist, and First Officer - not to mention a mother - I know my limitations and will not knowingly place myself in danger unless the safety of this ship and its crew, or the interests of the Federation, require me to do so. Can you accept that, Lieutenant? oO Is she bragging? To be fair, if I had a record like hers, I’d be listing it off too if some newly promoted Lieutenant was questioning how I was doing things. But I’m not questioning her record, or her list of commendations, or her abilities; I just want people to be safe. She wouldn’t knowingly put herself in danger, I know that, but what about the unknown?... Well, we can’t know about the unknown, can we?... Isn’t that another reason to have a crew? Not just for their expertise, but to offer a differing opinion, or to be another pair of eyes in a certain situation… Oo Lieutenant Matthews took a few seconds to consider how he would reply to the First Officer. He could tell that she was trying to fight against her irritation, but he was also wondering how long she could maintain it for. Could she fight her natural instincts for that long? The fact of the matter is that he did trust her. He trusted everyone. Maybe not personally, not yet, but the trust was there professionally, and there was no reason for it not to be, not until somebody gave him a reason for him to not trust them. Matthews: Ma’am, I can accept it, and I do trust you. Without question. I haven’t raised these concerns to annoy you in any way. If I have done that, I am sorry, it wasn’t my intention. Especially not on what should be a happy occasion. oO Could it be that we’re a little alike, at least a bit? We’re both a little proud, maybe both find it too easy to get angry or defensive. Maybe we both feel as if we have things to prove too… Yeah, that sounds like top tier psychobabble there… What does she have to prove? She’s a massively decorated First Officer… Oo Serala: Response Matthews: I know you would never knowingly put yourself, the crew, or the ship in unnecessary danger; not unless it was for the good of the Federation, but it is the unknown that I am referring to as well, Commander. Yes, you’re a better fighter than me, better than most on the ship in fact, but is it totally out of the realm of possibility that something else could have happened when we sparred? Statistically, there was a possibility, no matter how slim that possibility could have been. We can never anticipate the unknown, ma’am. That is a part of the point I was trying to make. Serala: Response Matthews: To paraphrase what you said earlier, Commander, can you accept that I will always be keeping an eye out for the unexpected? Not just with yourself, or your baby, but with everyone. ::slightly smiling:: Much in the same way that you wanted to look out for the Captain when he wanted to board that damaged freighter. It’s not a testament to what I think of your abilities, or what you may think I may think of your abilities, it would be what I am here to do. Serala: Response --- Lieutenant JG Charles Matthews Tactical & Security Officer USS Astraeus NCC-70652 A240012CM1

I posted a narrative paragraph from this sim by @Talia Ohnari in our quotes thread, and when I felt the urge to also post the very next narrative paragraph, I figured the whole sim should probably be highlighted. Enjoy!

Did I reread this like five times and then wait all day before getting to my computer to put this on the appreciations thread? Perhaps. I was looking forward to Annamae's reaction to the end of my sim and at the very, very least I am not disappointed in the sheer chaos she has once again brought to the stage. Cue the adventure's of the Kitty Hawk's Science Crewman and her reaction to the aftermath of her girlfriend's adventures: ((Terminal A - New Year’s Day 2401 - 06:31 hours)) Annamae, still awake from the muted and polite New Year’s celebrations on board Ten Forward on the USS Kitty Hawk, ambled along Terminal A. Some people, both Starfleet and civilian, were just starting their shift in the terminal. Some people were waiting for a QSD ship that was arriving that morning. The crewman wore her replicated novelty Halloween headband with pride. Was it appropriate to wear them for New Year’s Eve? Absolutely not. But that was the point. oO Contrarian for the sake of being contrarian? Tick. Oo As she made her way up the stairs towards the train station platform, she felt her stomach rumble. It was time for breakfast. ((Table 6, Brew Continuum - 06:49 hours)) Barberra: I’ll have a... wait- Touching her nose, Annamae was still deciding between several options for breakfast. The Andorian waiter was becoming impatient. Waiter: Ma’am, I have three tables of New Year’s revellers waiting, maybe I can take their order first. Annamae looked up to observe one of the tables. They were wearing beach gear, and laughing. One of them was slapping their hand on the table. Barberra: No, it’s okay... they’ll look like they’ll take a while anyway. I’m doing you a favour. Waiter: ::Sarcastically:: Oh, yes. The morning of Terran New Year is turning out to be a *great* shift to have chosen. Just tell me what you want. Barberra: Okay! Geez! The nachos. Waiter: Nachos. For breakfast. Barberra: What. I love guacamole. In fact, scratch that – I just want a bowl of guacamole. Waiter: We don’t *offer* just a bowl of guacamole. Barberra: Why not? ::Shrug:: I’m a customer, right? ::Pointing at menu:: It says right here. “Extra Guacamole.” I’ll just have that. Waiter: No, that’s extra Guacamole *with* an order of nachos. You can’t order extra guacamole by itself. Barberra: Oh. Okay then. Waiter: ::Relieved Sigh: Okay. Barberra: ::Looking at menuPADD:: I’ll order the nachos with two extra serves of guacamole. Waiter: ::Tapping on order PADD:: Got it. Barberra: Without the nachos. The waiter’s antennae twirled as she once again regarded Annamae with slight contempt. Waiter: You have to have the nachos. Barberra: Just hold them. Waiter: No, I just said- Barberra: ::Deadpan:: Just don’t bring them out. How hard can it be. After an exasperated sigh, the waiter gave Annamae a congenial smile. Waiter: What a waste of credits. Happy Terran new year. She grabbed the menuPADD from Annamae’s hands, then turned back towards the counter area. Barberra: And put that on the Starfleet attaché account! Annamae didn’t know if that would still work, given her Starfleet liaison to the FDC role was long suspended while she was temporarily stationed on the Kitty Hawk... ((Bench, Merchant District – 09:35 hours)) The problem with working different shifts on the Kitty Hawk was that Annamae’s body couldn’t work out whether she was wired or tired. The time would come when she would crash in a heap, having worked half of Gamma shift, and then joined the countdown to midnight in Ten Forward. The artificial sunlight in the Habitat Ring made that adjustment even harder. It felt nice, and warm, and made the caramel chilli milkshake she was sipping even tastier for some reason. Annamae knew that Bec was in her apartment, the ship’s computer had told her so. She also knew that her girlfriend was probably recovering from a large night, having been told about their New Year’s celebrations in the Sub-tropical biome. Eventually she would let herself into Bec’s apartment to sleep when her body told her she was officially ready, then look forward to doing something with her likely hungover girlfriend that afternoon. But before then, there was someone she wanted to say “hello” to... And finally she saw the person walking toward the shop they owned. Annamae stood up from the bench, and made her way towards them. Barberra: You’re 5 minutes late. The Ferengi woman, owner of the “Backspace” fortune teller shop, slowly turned to face Annamae. Ninzo: ::demanding:: Who are you to tell me I’m late! Barberra: I’m your tenant, antique Terran satellite dish ears! Ninzo: ::Lifting finger:: You’re not, you sublet that room child, now I have to put up with C’lem Phan’ta’go continually asking if I can hear him! ::Pointing at ears:: Doesn’t he not know I’m Ferengi? The woman walked to the door of her shop, waving her hand over a scanner to open it. The door slid open with a “hiss”, allowing the pair to walk inside. ((Inside, Backspace Fortune Teller)) Barberra: I’ve come to renegotiate the rental amount. My profit from his subletting is not satisfactory. Ninzo: I’m not changing the rental amount. WE HAD AN AGREEMENT, CHILD! WHY ARE YOU WEARING THAT HEADBAND! Barberra: I’M NOT YOUR CHILD, YOU OLD PSEUDO SCIENCE CON ARTIST, I’M YOUR TENANT! Ninzo: NOT AT THE MOMENT YOU’RE NOT, YOU’RE ON THAT USS CATTY BIRD OR WHATEVER IT’S CALLED! Barberra: I’M STILL TECHNICALLY - ::normal tone:: ooh, I like “Catty Bird” - ::resuming argument:: I’M STILL TECHNICALLY YOUR TENANT BUT I’M SUBLETTING TO CREWMAN PHAN’TA’GO SO IT’S STILL VALID FOR ME TO ASK FOR A REDUCTION IN THE RENT! Annamae took a long sip from her milkshake, while eyeing her landlord. Ninzo: ARE YOU TRYING TO INTIMIDATE ME?! RULE OF ACQUISITION SIXTEEN. “A DEAL IS A DEAL!” WHEN YOU COME BACK FROM YOUR HIGH AND MIGHTY EXPLORATION OF THE DELTA QUADRANT TO COME AND LIVE HERE AGAIN, WE CAN RENEGOTIATE. UNTIL THEN, LET ME READ YOUR PALM! The elder Ferengi woman reached out to grab Annamae’s hand, but the crewman smacked it away. Barberra: NO! RULE OF ACQUISITION SEVENTY-FIVE. “HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS, BUT THE STARS ARE MADE OF LATINUM”. REDUCE MY RENT YOU OLD RUSTY BAT’LETH! Ninzo: RULE OF ACQUISITION TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN. “YOU CAN’T FREE A FISH FROM WATER!” Annamae furrowed her brow for a moment, before continuing the shouting match that they both loved and missed. Barberra: HOW DOES THAT RULE EVEN APPLY TO THESE NEGOTIATIONS?! Ninzo: WHO SAID WE WERE NEGOTIATING! Suddenly a voice came over speakers in the shop, quietly echoed by the source of the comms from the rented room that was a level above. Phan’ta’go: =/\= Hello, this is C’lem Phan’ta’go, can you hear me? You’re both talking at a level of around 10, the feeling here is that you need to bring it down to a 6, yeah? =/\= The two women looked towards the staircase. Ninzo/Barberra: ::simultaneously:: SHUT UP, PHAN’TA’GO! ((Iko Apartment, Marrakech District – 10:28 hours)) It had finally happened. Annamae could hardly keep her eyes open. She sat on the edge of Bec’s bed, tiredly taking off her Starfleet issue boots. While listening to Bec snoring. Very loudly. Barberra: Bec? No answer. No movement. At all. With a tired sigh, the crewman took off her combadge and threw it into her left boot, before laying down on the bed next to Bec... She listened to her girlfriend snore, as she fell asleep, on top of the sheets - still in her blue Science uniform. ((Annamae’s dreamscape)) Clowns. Clowns everywhere. She was surrounded by them. The carnival, the very same carnival that she, Kivik and tr'Khev had experienced when encountering the space borne goo that had traces of 8472 DNA, was on fire. People were screaming and running away. But the clowns, with their red eyes and ocular implants, who were slowly stepping towards her, all spoke in unison. Clowns: We are the clowns. We will add observations about your biological and technological distinctiveness to our long list of bad jokes, which will service us at kid’s parties. You will be humiliated. Barberra: Woah, creepy. I know I should be scared? But... this is kinda awesome. Suddenly, one of the clowns groaned, very loudly... right as the ground seemed to shift underneath her- ((16:23 — Iko Apartment, Marrakech district, Habitat Ring)) The crewman sat *bolt upright* in bed, sweating slightly from her vivid nightmare. Barberra: ::Quiet, awed tone:: Awesome... Slightly disappointed that the dream wasn’t real, she turned to see Bec Iko curling herself up in the sheets of the bed. Barberra: You’re hungover. Bec seemed to curl up under the covers even more. Iko: No I'm not. Annamae sniffed the air above Bec, Barberra: Oh yeah, you smell like you just drunk a keg of bloodwine. Definitely hungover. Iko: I'm not! Bec’s slid her leg out from under the sheets, to playfully kick Annamae. That was when Annamae noticed new ink on Bec’s ankle, her skin red underneath. Barberra: Woah. Cool. What is that? “One cup self-raising flour, 2 tablespoons cocoa powder, one tablespoon... ::screwing up nose:: antimatter waste?” Iko: Huh? Bec’s head came out from somewhere under the covers, to look at her own leg. There was a pause from Bec for a moment as she observed the new tattoo. Realising that Bec seemed to be surprised by it, Annamae let a wicked grin appear on her face. Iko: #$%@. And like a turtle, Bec withdrew under the sheets again. Annamae preened her hair while she spoke. Barberra: You used my cake recipe?! Annamae *jumped* on top of Bec, wrapping her arms around... whatever body parts were under the sheets and blankets. Barberra: Well now we can both be ready for a first contact! ((Flashback – “The Tusk” tattoo shop – Merchant District, Amity Outpost, Stardate 239908.01)) Annamae showed off her brand-new tattoo on her ankle. Barberra: It’s a pancake recipe. You never know when you might need it. Iovianus: I see… Iko: ::to Iovanius:: Agreed. The doubt in the security officers was obvious. She moved to justify her new ink. Barberra: Okay, but consider this. Let’s say, it’s a first contact situation. And you give them access to the Starfleet cultural database. But that doesn’t satisfy them, the new species want more. I just look down on my leg, whip up some pancakes, and ::clicking fingers:: bingo, new Federation member candidate. Iko: Orrr you could just remember the pancake recipe... ((End Flashback)) Barberra: ::Delighted tone:: Orrr, you could just remember *my* cake recipe? Ah ha, see I was right! Where are you under there?! It didn’t matter where she was, Annamae decided to playfully pin her half-Klingon girlfriend down on the bed for as long as she could! [End scene for Annamae] ========================================== Crewman Second Class Annamae Barberra Science Specialist USS Kitty Hawk V239511WU0

This JP between @Gila Sadar and @LuxaLorana with her PNPC Vailani is very nice, it gives great insight into both characters, and their lovely friendship as well as really hit some serious emotions in me. I do think I teared up a few times. This was great, and I appreciate both of you for writing it and sharing it.

Fantastic sim that captures the essence of Talaxians, well done @Rebecca Iko! Who would have thought that someone could have so many second cousins... ((USS Independence-B, Gate A1, Terminal A – Amity Outpost)) Amity Outpost truly was bigger and more beautiful than Rexia had imagined, and the Talaxian leader yet again wished she had been able to pay a visit earlier. Ah well. There was no time like the present. And there was always the future to come for more visits and enjoy the marvel. Perhaps next time she could bring her daughters along, considering how frustrated they were at the fact that their mother got to go on this adventure while they had to stay under the shields that protected the asteroid from any immediate attacks from the Nedic Drenzin (though it wasn't proving to be as sustainable an option as anyone once thought.) The Nedic Drenzin had continued to be hostile, despite best efforts to keep the conflict contained and tolerable, and the asteroids’ shields had been running for a solid twenty or so years—longer than either of Rexia’s daughters had been alive—without a proper refit since Voyager had passed through and helped install them. While the shields were still working, and working rather well, they were beginning to show their age. So, while the general support of the federation was certainly a definitive factor in the application for membership, the fact this conflict could perhaps one day be resolved because of what the federation could do for New Talax was where the real wins were. That being said, a fun fly around the outpost just to marvel at its beauty again really couldn’t hurt, and she’d led the way to the terminal at a rather eager pace, her delegates trailing behind, struck and confused by their leader’s sudden energy and excitement. Once the group entered the terminal, they were greeted by another rather stunning woman, who was said to be the station’s second officer, who smiled, straightened up, and put away her PADD. Hopper: Representative Rexia! I’m Lieutenant Commander Robin Hopper. It’s both a pleasure and an honour to receive you and your delegates. Rexia: Robin Hopper, I'm flattered. Really, ::gesturing around to her delegates:: the pleasure is all ours. Rexia looked around at the faces of her fellow representatives, some more pleased to be there than others, but all filled with a certain type of wonder about the whole place. A wonder that Rexia most definitely shared. Rexia: What do you have in store for us? Hopper: We’ve prepared a very exciting demonstration for all of you – a tour aboard Amity’s principal diplomatic craft, the USS Independence-B. ::Eyebrows raised:: She’s quite a ship. Why don’t we all go aboard? Rexia: Absolutely! Rexia clasped her hands together, looking around the terminal again before catching Hopper’s nod and direction and following the commander with a spring or two in her step. Hopper: The “Indy-B” as we call her has undergone some modifications to make her more accommodating as a diplomacy-centered vessel. I’m sure you’ll find that, while she’s compact, she’s very comfortable as well… Just through the doors ahead is the shuttlebay, which houses a variety of small craft and our Type-10 shuttle, the Gatineau. A pair of doors on Robin's left opened for them. Hopper: ::Indicating the lift:: Right this way. Rexia nodded, looking around what had to be a lift before stepping inside, still as smiley and excited as she was when she first arrived. Naxil: And just where is this taking us? Rexia gave Naxil a smirk and raised her eyebrows a couple of times, hoping that that particular delegate wouldn’t mind a little bit of mystery. The Federation were all for exploring and seeing what was around the galaxy, and Rexia just hoped that Naxil learnt that he needed to open up his own little mind to the possibilities and adventure of it all too. As Naxil and and co. squeezed into the lift (not that it was very squeezy), their host pointed up, responding to Naxil's question. Hopper: Deck Two. ::The doors shut and the lift began to rise:: When those doors open, we’ll check out the mess hall and meet some of your Bridge Crew for today’s tour. More lovely people! ((Mess Hall – USS Independence-B)) Robin Hopper had graciously led them to the ships “mess hall”, where the rest of the crew were sitting and waiting. When Rexia came in she thought she saw the two starfleet officers trying their hardest to look professional, with their best foot forward, even while sitting down. Rexia was honoured, but she also wanted to see the real starfleet—the one that made a few mistakes and had fun! If Starfleet wasn't fun, then really, what was the point being part of it? For now, though, Rexia left these thoughts to herself. Hopper: Allow me to introduce Lieutenant JG Harrison Blackwood, who will be flying the Indy today, and Lieutenant JG Torvi Ylvor, who is in charge of our Security and Tactical needs. Blackwood: Welcome aboard the USS Independence-B. It’ll be a pleasure to show you the nebula. Torvi Ylvor smiled, one that Rexia undoubtedly returned. Ylvor: Pleasure to meet you, welcome to the Indy, anything you need, please let any of us know. Rexia: Thank you very much, Lieutenant. ::nodding to Blackwood:: and thank you as well. Naxil: ::Indicating S. Richards:: Who is this? She’s not in uniform. Rexia was just about to ask, in a slightly less gruff way. She wouldn't hold the gruffness against Naxil though—she never did. Hopper: ::Smiling:: Samantha Richards is here to represent Amity’s Civilian Science contingent. The Outpost is, of course, a civilian-led station and our primary interests in the Delta Quadrant are diplomatic outreach and scientific exploration. S. Richards: It’s nice to meet you. Rexia: Wonderful to meet you as well. ::turning to the delegate:: See Naxil! She's just another lovely person, here to show us the Federation's beloved Amity Outpost and Independence-B! Hopper: Great! Now, Talaxian friends, please find yourselves a comfortable seat. ::Indicating the windows:: Our adapted mess hall layout should be conducive to sightseeing and conversation – and the posted Crewmen would be happy to help you get familiar with the replicators. ::Nodding to several attendants:: If you’re lucky, you might get to see a Hawlat Angel up-close-and-personal! A Hawlat Angel? Of course, in her diplomatic career Rexia had certainly heard of the creatures, but she hadn't yet been fortunate to see them. Until now. Ylvor: We will do our best to make that happen. ::Torvi smiled again:: S. Richards: ::nodding: That would be quite the sight. Rexia: It'd be so wonderful. Blackwood: Hope you enjoy the show. Hopper: Representative Rexia, we’d be delighted to host you on the ship’s command bridge. ::To the others:: Let’s get the tour underway, hmm? ((Bridge – USS Independence-B)) Hopper: Lieutenant Ylvor, Miss Richards – how’s it looking out there today? Ylvor: Clear horizons currently Captain. Waters look calm. S.Richards: Short and long range scans show all clear. Rexia took a look at the results on the console in front of her, and gave Robin Hopper a nod, confirming what the two had said, though it was probably unnecessary. Hopper: Response Their pilot for they day undocked the rather magnificent Independence-B, and slowly moved it away from the station, showcasing the view of the station, and soon the nebula beyond. Ylvor: All tactical systems standing by at full capacity. Blackwood: Increasing speed to quarter impulse, just until we clear the station’s perimeter. Hopper:: Response Rexia: I really don't want to rush you, but don't take too long! We have things to see, you know! S. Richards: ::Quietly to Robin:: So.. if we see the Hawlat Angels, do you think if I find a small pocket sized one I can just take it home? ::Looking around:: I wont tell if you wont. As the Indy pulls away from the station Harrison looks through the latest navigational data, ears burning as he just barely overhears the chatter in the background. A brow arching. Hopper: Response The talaxian furrowed her brow, and kindly whipped her head towards Robin and her response. Rexia: So you do hold authority, despite Samantha's position as a scientist? Hopper: Response Rexia nodded, agreeing with the logic. Ylvor: Response S. Richards: ::Mostly to herself:: I would take really good care of it… Blackwood: We are now at half impulse, Captain. Hopper: Response Ylvor: Response S. Richards: I was just joking, by the way. Blackwood: Uh-huh ::Nodding his head with an amused smirk:: Hopper: Response Rexia: I don't know, do the stellae come pocket-sized? Their charming Helmsman then announced some more intriguing news. Blackwood: Captain, we’ve just received a transmission from the Hawlat. Hopper: Response Rexia: And? What have they said? S. Richards/Ylvor/Rexia: Response Blackwood: It’s the most recent coordinates for a pod of Stellaesirenia amicus, several of which are reportedly juniors too. What’s our heading…? Hopper: Response Rexia: If they're just there, then why not pay a visit? Sam/Ylvor: Response Blackwood: Right away, Captain. Increasing to full impulse. Hopper/Sam/Ylvor/Rexia: Response Rexia: What is our ETA, Mr Helmsman? Blackwood: Response Rexia: ::clasping her hands together:: Then we have that long to get to know each other! Hopper/S. Richards/Ylvor/Blackwood: Response Rexia: Well… what's a good get to know you question then? Rexia smiled, staring out at the nebula shown on the viewscreen as she thought. Rexia: How many cousins do you each have? I have twelve. Plus one hundred and nine second cousins. Hopper/S. Richards/Ylvor/Blackwood: Response Rexia nodded, realising that that question was perhaps not the best conversation starter, and afyer some more thought, decided to move to another question down the list. Rexia: So. The United Federation of Planets. Obviously you all know about it and love and enjoy it, but what does it mean to you? The Talaxian raised her hand suddenly, cutting off anyone who wanted to get a word in, and instead continued defining the task for the Starfleet officers and Civilian Scientist. Rexia: I don't want a textbook definition! I want to hear it straight from you. The best things about the federation, and some of the worse things. Though their captain was the outpost's second officer, without the highest ranks trying their best to persuade the Talaxians to join the federation, Rexia wanted to hear some of the other, stranger and quirker and possibly problematic bits before she went off to help sign papers. Just to make sure. Hopper/S. Richards/Ylvor/Blackwood: Response Tag/TBC -- Rexia Talaxian Leader & Representative Talax A239810RI3

OOC: I did NOT expect the end of this. IC: (( In the mine of Somatrik Mountains, Cheyd’lang )) The Antani collective mind was broadcasting this visionary vision. A sort of mental song... In the shadows, we watch. We wait. We plan. For when the moment comes, we will surge forth like a tide, our numbers our strength, our unity our weapon. The mine has been our cradle, but it shall not be our grave. Nilsen: I think…I think they’re telling us to wait…or not. It’s most likely, based on what little I know about them, I think it means wait. Antani: Kree'atak, Nilsen. Shara'kan te'lor voot. (Patience, Nilsen. The signs point to stillness.) Nilsen: I was thinking of cutting, this isn’t what I had in mind when I was meal planning Toz: ::to Nilsen:: Cutting. By cutting calories? If you go lower than 2400 calories you will lose weight and may lose muscle. And we have to have the strength to get out of here. Antani: Zor'kesh miru vanta. (Sharpness of mind over sharpness of appetite.) Nilsen: Doc…I don’t wanna wait. You think you can take that one ::gestureing behind him:: while I got for the one behind you. Toz: Nilsen… Llandon. Sherlock is gone, taken to the surface, I think. Then the XO is taken away by the owner of this place. Is there a hidden meaning here? I don’t want to rush things. At the same time, I don’t want to wait forever. Are we being tested? Nilsen: response They both noticed that two of the guards were getting ready to give him another whack for stopping work. They had to choose what they do now. Do they fight, or do they wait? Toz: We’ve got to find the commander. ::devilish smile:: Can’t go home without him. Antani: Response Klingon wanted to rush in and fight. Human wanted to lean back, watch the play and try to figure out a peaceful ending. She was only one-quarter Klingon but it was a strong quarter. Did Llandon trust her? She did bring him back from the dead. So whatever she told him to do, he would most likely do, without hesitation. She decided to count on that. Nilsen: response Toz: ::nodding at Antani:: Wait is not in my vocabulary today. Let’s go. Nilsen: response Toz: Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam! (Today Is A Good Day To Die!) @ Antani: LupDujHomwIj luteb gharghmey! Blorptag snarfle wumpus, zorg! (Which loosely translates to: Let's eat instead!) The group of big Ants attacked one of the guards and they started literally to eat the guard. Then another one... ============================= Lt Jg Karen Trisha Stendhal Counselor USS Octavia E Butler ID: C239604KS0 =============================

President is coming to Amity to sign a peace treat, and maybe fire our Ambassador, really liked the various opinions on the Betazoids, and their way of life. Harking back to even the Dominion War and their occupation due to apathy involving the war. This character is clearly full of perhaps bias, and pushes past it. I like that.

Our shore leave is just full of people engaging in various levels of mischief right now. And our fearless leader @Karrod Niac is no exception. I bet you're wondering how he got here. 😂

As usual, @Ian OConnor is absolutely doing the work with his sense of humor. It's so good 😂

I wanted to showcase this fantastic sim from @Jovenan. She played Tevet Elain as a childhood friend of Genkos in the last leave, then we encountered a youthful version of the character thanks to time-hopping shenanigans. And now we're back in the present, having changed the past - and Jovenan came right out the gate with this compelling antagonist. Five stars.

My godness here @Ian OConnor nailing the best humour every time. You rocks mate!

A huge welcome back to Jay, the writer of Maxwell Traenor and the Artemis' newest Engineering Officer. And he came out of door swinging with this one Between him, Savel and Solas, the Artemis is once again suffering from the Vulcan TakeoverTM, but with quality sims like this one, I don't think we mind 🤣

This JP between @Karrod Niac writing for Saros, and @Alieth is so pleasant and funny. And it was really nice to see more of Alieth's life. Beautiful. Also quite funny in some parts.

This JP was wonderful in so many ways. From @Dekas getting all flustered or miming the cartoonishness of @Quentin Beck, to @Karrod Niac trying to keep his cool (only somewhat successfully), I had a really fun time with this 2-parter. Here are both parts, combined for your reading pleasure: