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  1. (( Control Room - USS Glenn )) ::The tension between the two women was thick enough to double as duranium. Kamela had considered the matter closed, but T’Lea had other ideas:: Allison: There was no cover to blow, Commander...and I never said I was anything like you said. Remember this...you are dancing on the daggers' edge...make sure you don't fall off..... T’Lea: Fine. You win. :: Kamela gave a sideways glance at the Science officer as she hastily made her way away from the [...]pit. Turning back to face the viewscreen, the sand bar growing ever closer. No sooner than she looked down at her flight controls, she felt her head being violently shoved forward, until her forehead hit the console. Kamela saw stars, and felt the trickle of blood flow down her forehead, T’Lea’s words ringing hollow in her ears:: T’Lea: You and SFI can go frak yourselves. Tell that to your boss. :: That was it. This was the moment she had been waiting for. Time to teach this Romulan wanna be a very painful lesson. Gathering her wits, she could see the defiant and momentarily victorious T’Lea walking away. Tappping the console to place the helm in auto pilot, Kamela got up and rapidly closed the distance between herself and the retreating Science officer. Reaching out her left hand, Kamela grabbed T’Lea’s right shoulder, then roughly spun T’Lea around. Seething in anger, Kamela spoke:: Allison: You [...]!!! ::Kamela punctuated her words with an elbow strike, catching T’Lea in the chin and driving her backwards against a panel, her head snapping back with the impact:: :: A woman with less fortitude, and less experience at taking a hit like that would have likely been knocked unconscious, and while T’Lea was certain that her jaw was going to be sore in the morning, right now it felt most excellent.:: :: She stumbled, and then righted herself as she caught part of wall. When she looked back up at Kamela she gave a quiet, throaty chuckle indicating just how much she was going to enjoy this, and just how little the woman had hurt her.:: :: What happened next was fast and furious. An exchange of raw fists striking and counter striking, blocking and maneuvering for the best place to do the most damage. T’Lea didn’t know if Kamela was holding back, but the little voice in T’Lea’s head, which was probably some fragment of her conscience, was telling the Romu-vulc not to land a hit to the other woman’s sternum with the full superior strength she possessed, or else this would end up in an accidental, on-purpose, death. The other indication that Kamela was not completely committed to murder either was that she had not yet reached for the weapon on her person.:: :: At least the two brawling women had some sense of shuttle etiquette.:: :: To Kamela’s surprise, T’Lea’s fighting skills were quite good, and in close quarters, much to the Romu-Vulc’s advantage. Certain things Kamela refrained from doing, mostly because killing T’Lea was not part of the plan. Therefore, she was left brawling with a woman twice her strength, in very close quarters:: T’Lea: Just for the record… :: She wrenched the woman’s arm back, almost to the breaking point, and whispered the next words ever so carefully in her ear from behind.:: T’Lea: … I could have your husband if I wanted him. :: She knew that would tip the pathetic Intel. Officer over the edge, and she expected the full onslaught of her rage to flow.:: :: It wasn’t what T’Lea said...it was how she said it, almost purring the words. Kamela knew in a rational sense, the Romulan had no chance at her husband..however, Kamela was no longer rational, the icy calm she was known for now disintegrated into full blown rage...she had now fallen prey to the Romulan:: Allison: Not in a million years, you miserable petaQ! :: Breaking the painful arm lock T’Lea had on her, Kamela slammed a boot into T’Lea’s knee, then another elbow to the face. Blocking a blow from the Romulan hybrid, Kamela slammed a fist into her face, then followed it up with an upper cut, which once again forced the stronger woman backwards. With her defenses down, Kamela moved in for the kill...or so she thought:: :: Wiping the green blood from her lip, T’Lea limped off of the knee that had taken one hell of a kick. Perhaps she had been enjoying the pain a little too much. Perhaps she had played with her food a little too long. Perhaps it was time to remind Kamela of her natural born strength.:: :: The very next fist that came T’Lea’s way was caught in the palm of her hand. She squeezed to express her control, and then with cobra-like, enhanced reflexes struck a nerve under the woman’s arm, rendering it temporarily useless. The tactic allowed an opening in the otherwise competent fighter. In one swift move, T’Lea hulked Kamela’s entire body mass up in the air and threw her into the front window of the [...]pit, landing her on the control dash.:: Computer: =/\= Command not recognized. Please try again.=/\= :: Kamela lay on the control panel, her breath deflated, but not her spirit. Quickly hopping up, her left arm tingling, she spoke:: Allison: ::In Romulan:: Is that all you got? I play with my son harder than that!. COME ON!!!!! :: In typical Romulan fashion, she had scurried to the back of the runabout, and between the two combatants, was Commander Jorey:: Jorey: ::A disapproving sigh and then in a flat tone.:: What in the Great Fire is going on? :: T’Lea rubbed at her knee almost smiling. She’d hurt Kamela. Kamela had hurt her. But best of all, she had cracked the Intel. Officer’s cool. And it looked like T’Lea was still under her skin.:: :: Hilarious is what this was to T’Lea. Oh, how she had missed this kind of combat. It would have been even better if she were allowed to kill, but she had to admit she wasn’t that person anymore. And truth be told, she may not have even reacted this badly had Della been around, but she wasn’t, so she did. Maybe that said something about her sex life, or lack thereof. Interfacing with a computer console by way of somebody’s face was the next best thing, apparently, because she felt satisfied.:: T’Lea: ::Vulcaning-up:: Apologies, Captain. ::dabbing at her split lip:: We must have… encountered turbulence upon re-entry in to the atmosphere. Allison: It's all smoothed out, Captain ::looking at her instruments: We'll be on final approach in a few minutes... Jorey: Smoothed out? ::His gifts and the Gods told him otherwise. He shook his head.:: I strongly advise that the two of you to each make appointments with Counsellor Ryan. In the meantime, Kamela get back to your station and make sure the Glenn is ready to land? Lieutenant Commander T’Lea Chief Science Officer Embassy, Duronis II Author ID I238301T10 & PNPC Lt. Commander Kamela Allison-Parker Operative - Starfleet Intelligence/Helm Officer USS Thunder-A/ Duronis II Embassy As simmed by: Major Hannibal Tiberious Parker Marine CO USS Thunder-A/ Duronis II Embassy C238703HP0
  2. ((Atmosphere, Tilanna V)) ::He was falling. Thin, white clouds turned to rust-colored sky, back into puffy white mist. ::3000 feet. ::Falling next to him, nine others were wearing high altitude jump suits. ::1500 feet. A red light flickered in his helmet, warning of the low altitude. ::The ground, merely a hazy grey outline moments before, was beginning to become clearer. Skyscrapers were taking shape. Vehicles, looking like a long row of ants, made a line of traffic. ::700 feet. In his mouth, he could taste the bitter, acidic flavor of adrenaline. ::Sweat dripped into his eyes, momentarily blinding him. Blinking it away, his display showed 600 feet. Getting close to the pull point. ::500 feet. The line of vehicles came into focus. Distinct shapes were visible. Larger ships were bulldozing their way through lanes, pushing aside smaller ships. ::He reached to his shoulder, checking to make sure the ripcord was ready. More sweat dripped into his eyes. Blood drained from his face. There was no pulley for the cord! His heart, already beating quickly from the exihiliration of falling, spiked its rate. ::He looked to his right and left. The other nine figures continued to fall. 200 feet. Pull, now, pull! ::Reaching to his shoulder, he frantically tried for the cord. It still wasn't there. ::100 feet. The other figures continued to fall. Traffic swerved to avoid them. ::A green phaser bolt passed by his head. Too close! He heard a distant rumbling, like a bomb exploding. Smoke filled his helmet, obscuring his vision. He felt a searing pain in his thigh, like a hole had been ripped through his leg. ::50 feet. Still no chute. None of the others had deployed theirs, either. 40 feet. 30. The smoke cleared from his helmet, only to be replaced with the face of a screaming driver. 20 feet. His heart was pounding, threatening to spill from his chest. ::10 feet. Deploy your chutes, deploy your chutes! Phasers continued to scream past his head. The other nine figures were not so lucky. He saw bolts rip through the bodies. Screams of agony filled his helmet. ::Help us! Why didn't you help us!? ::The bodies crunched with sickening thuds.:: ((Raisillius Quarters, Starbase 118)) ::He awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright. He was covered in a cold sheen of sweat. His sheet was drenched. His quarters were dark. ::Next to him, just perceptible in the darkness, Jandara dozed, the spots on her neck and back visible where the sheet left her body exposed. ::Quintus swung his feet out of bed onto the cold, metallic floor. The biting chill brought home the reality of the situation. ::He was back on the base. In his quarters. The engagement in Tilanna had been over a week ago. The phaser shots were over, the rumbling explosions completed. His HALO jump had been a success; he'd landed. His fallen friends were dead, their families notified, their funerals conducted. ::Quintus went to the bathroom, reaching for a towel to dry the sweat from his bare chest and arms. He let out a long, deep sigh. His head was pounding. ::Quietly, so as not to wake Jan, he stepped to the replicator, ordering a cup of warm jestral tea. ::He sat down, sipping his tea, staring into the darkness as his heartrate returned to normal and his headache dissipated. ::Looking at the chronometer, Quintus saw that it was 0200 hours. Corporal Korek would have been on duty in the CIC, had the Klingon survived the battle. Alas, he had not. Quintus swallowed the last of his tea, a bitter taste forming in his mouth. ::He wondered how he had been lucky enough to survive such a dangerous mission -- twice over, in fact -- when nine of his fellow marines had fallen. Why did he deserve to live? He'd killed. He'd been wounded. What made him any better than his fellow servicemen and women? Why hadn't the phaser blast hit him higher, in the chest, killing him? ::A tear dripped from his eye. He got another cup of tea from the replicator. Sitting down again, he stared out once more into the darkness of his quarters, watching Jan breathe as she slept. Sipping his tea, he sobbed to himself, passing the night away.:: -- MCaptain Quintus Lucius Raisillius Alpha Company, Paladins, Marine Leader Simmed by: Lieutenant Trellis Vondaryan Chief of Intelligence StarBase 118 Ops O239208TV0
  3. (( USS Conny - Main Engineering)) :: Success wasn't always the end. Just because you succeed at one thing didn’t mean the job was over, normally it just meant it was time to do something else just as urgent. :: Hael: =/\= Other’n tha’ we be getting power back up. ain’ gonna be no smooth sailin’, but safe ‘nough to get us home. =/\= Rajel: =/\= Great news. To get power back is fantastic =/\= ::The captain's voice over the comms suddenly reminded Dag that nobody was actually aware of what they had just achieved. He felt confident that it wasn’t his department but still a twinge of guilt ran through him.:: Hael: =/\= Nah, that there ain’ no problem, we done got the nasty lil’ bugger on off this ‘ere ship.:: Sindri: =/\= Roger That sir, readings are still clear across the board. =/\= Rajel: =/\= Good grief, man, and you _just_ tell me that? You open with that! To have that thing off board is the most important part right now. How in all skies did you do that? =/\= Hael:: =/\= Well’s it was a joint work. We isolated ‘ims frequency, and stuck kitty in a corner. =/\= Sindri: =/\= Then threw it a donut! ::He giggled at the image of a huge space kitten leaping off the Constitution after a huge donut.:: =/\= Rajel: =/\= You were eating donuts? =/\= ::[...]! Analogies only worked when you part of the conception.:: Sindri: =/\= Um.. More a virtual Donut,Sir. =/\= Hael: =/\= Shieldin’ be on a differential rotatin’ frequency. It won’t be able to get back on, none. =/\= Rajel: =/\= Oh, okay got it. And it'll stay off? =/\= Hael: =/\= Unless what we done found be all wrong…. ::Pause:: Nah, it won’ be able to none.=/\= Sindri: =/\= Definitely probably not sir. =/\= Rajel: =/\= Good work. Let's hope it stays there, I'm not planning on taking it with us. Thank you Dag, Rustyy. I'll let you get to restoring the power. =/\= Hael: Yepper’s boss lady. We be back to as full’uh power as we con be ‘ere fer you know’s it.=/\= Sindri: =/\= We are looking real good on that front. A few more bugs that may need manual attention but otherwise we nearly back! =/\= Hael: =/\= Hey’ya Diggity Dag! Got’s’a job fer ya. =/\= Sindri: =/\= Of course you do. Thankfully I’m only really busy and I can squeeze in a bit more. ::sarcasm was mostly lost on Rustty but Dag had grown an affinity for the terran custom.:: =/\= Hael: =/\= We be needin’ to get the warp drive check out completely, eh. Gotta make sure there ain’ nothin’ wrong with’r=/\= Sindri: =/\= Oh Goody.. I haven't crawled through service tunnels or hung over railings for a few days now. ::Again.. Lost on him.:: =/\= oO Suck it up Man… Breathe in… Hold….. Out. Oo Sindri:: =/\= Ready when you are sir. =/\= As simmed by: Ensign Dag Sindri Engineering officer USS Constitution C239211DS
  4. ((Core's quarters)) ::Calls from home were a regular thing for Tristam Daneil Core. His father, Gamighan Core, was great at being awfully over-considerate and had the understandably frustrating need to stay in constant contact with his son of only 31 years of age, who happened to be on the other side of the quadrant, especially when that son happened to be prone to bad luck (e.g. considerable lack of Federation social etiquette and somehow manages to always get caught in bad accidents putting his health to an all-mighty low for the next year at least - not to mention having not been home in over 10 years). The attention was always on Tristam, on his "adventures" - though he'd managed to switch the attention around when he'd caught his father coughing off screen, Gamighan brushing it away almost immediately. Gamighan: It's just a cold. Core: In Qunira? Gamighan: I blame Yanata. She keeps the thermostat low. ::The conversation promptly went back to the gory parts of what happened on the Orion vessel and how Tristam had again been injured. As soon as Tristam had finished explaining what exactly had happened to him this time - electrocution through a feedback pulse was never fun and as soon as he'd told his father, he'd had to go over all aspects of how his health was back to normal - Gamighan had handed the sub-space equipped PADD Starfleet had graciously sent his family to his twin brother. And the whole process started all over again. ::This time, it was not his actual physical health Taywor was interested in - or, it was, but Tristam didn't truly categorize it in that way. After last year's speech debacle, Taywor was highly interested in the processes Tristam was going through in regaining strength within his telepathic lobe. Taywor was a budding psychologist, keen on understanding the Rodulan brain, and at the moment, Tristam was a very interesting case study for him. Of course, the brotherly love was still there among all the intriguing questions Tristam could barely understand let alone begin to answer. Tristam and Taywor were both technical minds, but when it came to their areas of interests, it was like they spoke two different languages. ::And then Yanata appeared over Taywor's shoulder, getting ready for work.:: Yanata: Where's this 'Roshanara' of yours? I want to speak with her. Core: She's busy. Yanata: That's what you said last time - are you lying to me? Is she even real? Core: She's real. ::It's not the first time he's had this conversation with his sister-in-basotile, and while her vote of confidence in Tristam's romantic capabilities was always comforting, it was nice to know that she was at least concerned for his wellbeing. Even if that meant the occasional insult. ::Now that he thought about it, Yanata and Roshanara would probably get along swimmingly.:: ::And then the PADD got handed over to young Samual, Tristam's nephew.:: Samual: Hey, Uncle Tam. ::Tristam's eyes narrowed immediately. Samual was an amazing kid, musically inclined and capable with the technology to go with it. And he was really enjoying his school, now having started Keltrip. ::But Tristam knew when something was up with the boy.:: Core: Hey yourself. Everything okay? ::Samual only shrugged. Tristam could only frown, his head tilting.:: Core: This isn't going to be much of a conversation unless you give me some details. Samual: I'm fine. Core: You're parents are around the corner, aren't they. Samual: Why wouldn't they be? Core: Take me to your room - I wanna see your viremow. ::The boy rolled his eyes, but complied, the background behind his head moving as he passed Taywor and Yanata deep in discussion and ended up in the youngen's room. Promptly, the small bell-like instrument was on display - having been personally built by Samual himself through painstakingly long and complicated instructions Tristam had had to spell out and explain. The result was the little man's happiness. ::Though he certainly wasn't happy now.:: Core: Okay, what's going on? Samual: Nothing - why does everybody think something's going on? Core: That's code for "something is definitely wrong but I'm too embarrassed to tell anyone". ::He crossed his arms.:: I'm not your parents. Samual: How do I know you're not going to tell them anyway? ::Tristam's mouth dropped open in shock. Where had *this* attitude come from? Never before had he been faced with a moody Samual.:: Core: In your *entire life*, have I *ever* told your parents anything you've told me in confidence? Samual: . . . no. Core: So where on Rodul did that come from? You're freaking me out, Mual, what's going on? What don't you want your parents to know? ::Samual shifted uncomfortably, brushing dark hair out of his face and composing himself with a sigh.:: Samual: There's this boy, that I like, and I just . . . nevermind. Don't worry about it. ::Oh, here we go. Tristam was half expecting to hear Samual go off on an elder-taught rant about how he was far too young to be considering "mature attraction" to others. What a load of dast. Tristam had lived through three different Rodulan ages thus far, and the level of maturity he himself experienced against a "scientific representation" of what "should be" regular pubescent experiences were two incredibly different things. Either every family line associated with the Cores were broken in some way where they reached puberty ridiculously early, or the Elders of Rodulan society were trying to uphold ideals and beliefs formed over three thousand years ago that Rodulans had long since evolved past. ::Taywor and Yanata were not an entirely good example of this new age thinking, however. Taywor, yes. Yanata, not so much. Yanata fit 'proper' standards. Being over forty years older than Tristam and Taywor themselves, she at least (barely) fit the idea of a so-called "ideal Rodulan". Even Tristam and Roshanara were a bad example - the Kriosian lifespan was a hundred years *less* than a Rodulans. By that end, Roshanara would probably be considered at least seventy years more capable than Tristam, despite them both equal when faced with a technical challenge. ::No, a good example of the stupidity of an Elder Rodulan's idea of biological development was through that of Ngeyan-Vale Caeloi. Ngeyan was of Krzexxi origin, having moved into the Western Gate with his parents, and was a good friend of Tristam. In fact, one of his only friends - the two still kept in contact, frequency between letters varying due to time constraints for them both (Tristam was in Starfleet facing unknown danger at least once a fortnight, Ngeyan was suffering through yet another Unigrades course - plus the different "time zones" were painful when trying to communicate between a Federation starship and the Western Gate. As it was, Tristam was up at 3 in the morning to have this conversation with Samual). Ngeyan was a good example of the broken ideal system simply because of his capability in his field *and* his relationship with partner Mayol. He and Medledore would argue at all hours of night and day about the production of integrated technologies, work placement, and sudden lock outs of information simply because he wasn't old enough to "face that challenge". Tristam wasn't nearly as vocal, but shared Ngeyan's distaste for the system. In hindsight, he should have put up more of a fight, to at least aid Ngeyan.:: Core: No, keep going. Come on, you barely scratched the surface. If you don't want to tell your dad, then at least tell me. And not as if I can embarrass you when I'm too-many-lightyears away. Samual: It's not important. Core: Your problems *are* important, don't ever forget that. Though for the record, the only one of your problems that isn't important is your ludicrous battle to keep pencils in school. ::Because Rodulans still used *pencils and paper*. It made him want to bang his head against a wall. Repeatedly. They were so far behind the rest of the galactic community, it was no longer funny.:: Samual: You have no idea how stupidly hard it is when working with viremow music composition using *touchscreens*. Core: You have a hundred and fifty years to learn and adapt, I'm not worried. Now tell me about this boy that you like. Samual: He's just another guy in my BR class. Core: Is he cute? Samual: Yes he's- why is that even a thing?! Core: It's not worth it if he's not cute. Samual:::cringing:: For Artist's sakes . . . Core: Oh don't play that to me. There's only one age between us my young apprentice - and we've both passed the "I'm so adorably innocent" one. You can't tell me you haven't considered this. Samual: I *shouldn't* be considering it. I still haven't hit telepathy yet. Core: That's . . . not a thing. Your father just wants to sleep peacefully thinking you won't pull half the crap he did at your age. ::He paused.:: Wait, is that what this is about? Your differences in *telepathy*? Samual: . . . no. ::Tristam rolled his eyes. If there was one thing he appreciated about his homeland, it was that the fact that every Rodulan was different was constantly beaten into the brains of every man, woman and child from birth. Telepathy was not an immediate thing. Activity within a telepathic lobe could be detected almost immediate, yes, but a proper ability to use it, communicate with others through it, varied Rodulan to Rodulan. It was very possibly Samual wouldn't be capable of using his telepathy for basotile for another decade at least.:: Core: Liar. Samual:::with a sigh:: I haven't reached maturity, and I'm not even in Zehrro's league. He can already communicate with basotile, and I can't even make a connection. ::The newly formed adult part of him was wondering why on Rodul age duo's were flaunting their private basotile technique to others. The rest of him was wondering why the hell Samual was even *concerned* about the ability.:: Core: You're worrying too much. Basotile should have literally nothing to do with this. I mean, yeah, if this progresses within the next ten, twenty, fifty, sixty years, sure. Basotile might end up being a thing you have to consider. But I'm telling you, you're taking this too seriously. Oh, and *by the way*, you *have* telepathy. You're Rodulan, your gradda had you tested, and just because you can't communicate with basotile doesn't mean you're broken. It just means you need more time. And I'm living proof that basotile means *nothing* in a real relationship anyway. ::And Samual wasn't really close to even considering being in a real relationship - though this was not an opinion Tristam was about to voice for his troubled nephew. Though the basotile thing for Tristam was true - his accident had all but ended any use of basotile for basically all of his relationship with Roshanara until recently. It's use meant extraordinarily little to her unless Tristam pushed the issue, she wasn't capable of molding it herself, and while they'd discussed it once or twice, it'd never been in a personal nature - more of a mild curiosity that many seemed to have. Fretting about basotile definitely brought back memories from his time as an adorable young teen, though.:: Samual: So how do I approach this? ::And now it was obvious Samual spent too much time listening to his mother talk to other unimportant executives.:: Core: Uh, like any *other* regular kid your age? Go out? I don't know, what do age duo youngens do these days? You said he was in BR classes - you both like music then, I'm assuming? Samual: Yeah. Track overlay's becoming a thing now, I guess. With the new holotechnology, vocalists are actually doing this live overlay thing where it's just that one artist over and over with pre-recorded motion programs. It's bulky equipment and they should probably wait until the tech developes more, but it's actually pretty- Core: Okay! So go do that! Invite him to go to . . . that . . . whatever that's called. Samual: And if he says no? Core: Lie your behind off and claim it was just a suggestion to further your studies. Samual: That actually works? Core: Remind me to tell you about the time I was interested in Medledore. Samual: That probably got shut down pretty quick. Core: Yes. Yes it did. So for future reference, don't try taking Huzana out. If she's anything like Medledore, she'll give you this look that just tears you to pieces. Samual: Can't be any worse than outright lying to mum. ::That was like a kick to the gut.:: Core: Low blow, child. Low blow. And for the record, your father isn't as squeaky clean as he portrays himself to be. Samual: I'll be sure to remember that. Core: Yes. Be sure. ::And then the inevitable yawn from Tristam's mouth interrupted the slowly dying conversation.:: Core: Alright, child. It's late. I need sleep. We'll talk about this next time. I want details! Samual: I'll let you know. ::pause:: Night, Uncle Tam. Core: 'Night. Tbc . . . LtCmdr Tristam Core Chief Engineer USS Invicta C238803SB0
  5. ((The person tagged in this sim took a LOA almost immediately after it was posted, so never responded. Still, I thought it was good enough to post even with the open tags.)) ((Risian Beach Program - Holodeck 5- Starbase 118)) ::He watched the tiny cloud drift slowly over the soft blue sky, a small wisp trailing out behind it. Such a small thing, surrounded by vastness. It gave a feeling of humbling insignificance that normally helped him relax, but none of his usual calming methods were working. The board beneath him rocked gently with the tide, usually a soothing motion that could put him to sleep. His feet rested in the cool water, in contrast to the hot sun that kissed his skin with the perfect amount of warmth. A soft sweet breeze promised relief from the hug of humidity. This was his sanctuary, his spirit medicine. His eyes drifted slowly closed, he was met once again by lifeless faces. Their empty expressions somehow peering right through his soul with living eyes. Phaser blasts colored the backdrop until his side began to tingle and he opened his eyes. He looked down to the now healed area and rubbed it with a scowl before making his way back to shore, his efforts to calm his mind ineffective. Drying off with a colorful beach towel, he wondered if perhaps he just needed to get it off his chest. This was a normal thing people went through after traumatic situations, right? He called the wall panel and opened a channel, he knew someone who might have some insight. He was looking forward to catching up anyway.:: Flynn: =/\= "Flynn to Kelly." =/\= Kelly: =/\= ? Flynn: =/\= "Kickin' back in my beach program on Holodeck 5, you want to come crack a cold one?" =/\= Kelly: =/\= ? Flynn: ::Smiling:: =/\= "You know it. Just be ready for hot sand." =/\= Kelly: =/\= ? ::As the channel closed Antero thought back to the first time he had shared his program with the crew of the Columbia during his first shore leave. That was a day he would never forget, some of the most fun he had ever had. It felt like so long ago now. He was glad he had some of those friends like Tatash and Theo back in his life. He moved to a big white parasol giving shade to two beach loungers and quickly set up a large wooden bucket of ice between them, filled with an assortment of light beers. A small side table held a dish of fresh lime wedges, two frosted pint glasses, and a bottle opener in the shape of a pineapple. Satisfied, he was already sitting back with his feet out when his friend arrived. He greeted him with a smile and gestured to the other seat as he pulled a beer from the ice and cracked it open, pouring it into the frosted glass at an angle and handing it over with a wedge of lime.:: Kelly: ? Flynn: ::a soft laugh:: "What can I say? I'm a born host." ::It was more true than people knew. He was raised from a young age to make sure everyone was comfortable before relaxing himself. It helped that he genuinely enjoyed it. He relaxed back and took a drink from his glass before setting it on the arm of his chair, staring out at the water. Watching the tide was a strange sort of meditation. There was a brief silence as they settled in.:: Kelly: ? Flynn: "It is isn't it? Someday I hope I can show you all the real deal. Try as I may my program just can’t capture the true magic of Risa." Kelly: ? Flynn: ::He gave a light nod before turning his gaze to him.:: "So how have you been doing? You know...Since Tilanna." Kelly: ? ::He knew the man had seen his share of action, more than Flynn had. How much had he gone through? Did it ever bother him? Was he immune to it? He offered a somewhat guilty smile, it seemed the tactical officer was quick to pick up on the source of his subject change. He couldn't deny he probably seemed distracted.:: Flynn: ::Nodding with a grim expression:: "Dreams mostly. Hollow faces that haunt me at night, the eyes are all still somehow alive. Like their souls demanding an explanation." ::He looked back out toward the ocean and took another drink.:: "Its Unnerving." Kelly: ? Flynn: "It’s just so foreign to me. So against my nature. I know we were doing what we had to, and I don’t regret it. I just..."::He shifted uncomfortably:: "I guess I just don’t know how to process it. Kind of feels like it’s changing who I am sometimes." Kelly: ? Flynn: ::Contemplative:: "Yeah. I guess I hadn't thought of it that way." ::He looked again at his friend.:: "I caught myself when we first got back sizing up restaurant patrons trying to decide if they were armed, then determining the best exits and what would make the best cover if things went south." ::He paused and admitted a small smile.:: "It was a place called Granny's." Kelly: ? Lt. JG Antero Flynn CAG Officer Starbase 118/Aegis C239205AF0
  6. (( Holodeck 7; Starbase 118 )) Falcon: oO This is SO COOL! Oo ::Kaitlyn was honestly not sure how old she felt as she sat at Armstrong’s communications station, adorned in the now classic late 23rd century Starfleet uniform.:: ::She knew Constitution-class ships very well, seeing as both her father and her eldest sister captained the last two of them. Kaitlyn remembered well many of her visits to her father’s Yorktown back in the day. While she had, technically, been an adult, she felt like a kid almost every time.:: ::While this program had been billed as a dramatization, just a game, Kaitlyn could see that the makers cared enough about the source material to actually do some studying about Connies. Armstrong’s bridge, at least, felt very accurate.:: ::Then you threw in the old uniform, and the whole thing felt like a costume party.:: ::Sal spoke over the rules, which were straightforward enough for Kaitlyn to hear as she continued to nerd out over the bridge’s accuracy and extreme levels of nostalgia. Finally, the options popped up for the program’s level of difficulty.:: ::That part was a bit of a question mark for her… Go for broke, or coast along and have fun with this? In the end, Kaitlyn decided to split the different and pick level 2. Enough of a challenge to keep her awake, but not so much that she could not enjoy what happened around her.:: ::Moments later, the action kicked off.:: Computer: Red Alert! Red Alert! Engines have been locked at Warp 8, course heading: directly into Klingon territory. Falcon: oO Well, that was quick. Oo Taybrim: We'll hit the neutral zone in two minutes, sirs! Anders: ::turns to face Flynn’s station:: Mute that alert, ::looks at Taybrim:: Yeoman record it in our log, set all logs to send to Star Fleet Command and launch a class 1 transponder right away. ::Kaitlyn looked around her console for a moment, finding the… communications ear… thingy… and putting it in its proper place.:: Flynn: ::Returning his smile.:: Aye, Captain! Anders: Are we able to use thrusters to change course? ::Wait… No… It felt wrong in her left ear. Were these things not worn in one’s left ear? Maybe it was the right… Kaitlyn popped the ear thingy out and switched sides.:: Trel'lis: I believe so Depends on how much power can be allotted to said thrusters, sir! Greyson: Seein' what I ken do about it, sirs. Reroutin' power from non-essential systems. ::Kaitlyn paused for a moment. No… That did not feel right either. How in blazes did communications folks use these blasted ear thingys?!:: Whittaker: Getting on it now! Taybrim: The rules of the Khitomer Accords state that any unauthorized entry across the neutral zone can be seen as an act of war! Anders: Anyway to override our warp core while still at work? Flynn: :: nodding :: If we can slow down even a little, it will buy us time. Whittaker: Not without risking the magnetic seals around the matter/anti-matter reaction assembly. :: beat :: It will lead to a warp core breach... and nobody wants that. :: he looked back to Greyson. :: I'm open to suggestions Ensign. Trel'lis: I'm getting no response from thruster, sir. ::And a bit more forward… No… Twist back a touch? Maybe… Test signal? OUCH, TOO LOUD!:: Taybrim: Mr. Vondaryan, could this be sabotage? Or is there a more scientific explanation for this malfunction? Taelon: Possibly, sir - ::As he said that, the computer told him his attempts to override some of the systems had failed. That pretty much settled it, didn’t it? He looked at Vondaryan before he looked back to their honorary Captain.:: Computer overrides are failing, sir. While it could be a mechanical issue, that’s highly unlikely... Vondaryan: Internal sensors not detecting malfunctions. ::beat:: Though I believe we're nearing the Borderland Detection Device. Anders: What does the Borderland Detection Devices look like where we will enter Klingon Space? Whittaker: The moment we cross the border, the Klingon early warning network will light up like a gaudy Christmas tree. They'll be on top of us within seconds! Vondaryan: I'll have security teams standing by in the transporter rooms, just in case. ::Okay. Maybe this would not be so bad. Volume reset, support in position… Test signal? Yes! Finally! Communications was good to go!:: ::Kaitlyn swung back toward the bridge… freezing before a smile could reach her features. It was pretty much chaos out there.:: Falcon: oO Umm… What did I miss? Oo ::Kaitlyn twisted half back toward her station, trying to keep an ear pointed toward the others as she tried to catch up.:: ::No… No, keep the OTHER ear toward the others. The ear thingy was kinda muffling everything on her right side.:: Flynn: Increase power to the shields and route... Anders: No!!! Keep the shields down, as a matter of fact start killing as much power to the ship as we can! Taelon: Aye-aye- Flynn: ::Turning to Cain.:: Stay sharp though, if we're detected we're going to want to be combat ready quick. Cain: Response? Trel'lis: :: turns slightly, looking to Anders :: Why is that, sir? Anders: I want the smallest amount of power signature we can be once we cross... in 40 seconds. Greyson: On it, sir. ::The ear thingy was smooth, cool metal. HOW COULD IT POSSIBLY BE ITCHY!:: Anders: Mr. Whittaker, and if you can find a way to kill to our warp core, I would be very happy. Whittaker: :: unable to help himself, a grin crossed his face :: Aye aye sir. Greyson: Jettison the core? Whittaker: Great minds think alike Mr. Greyson. Falcon: oO But… Don’t we need that to flee from things? Oo ::Eerily enough, Trellis seemed to be thinking the same thing.:: Vondaryan: But if we jettison the core, we won't be able to escape any Klingons that come upon us. Falcon: Pretty much what I was thinking, yeah… Anders: Can we use our sensors and deflectors to maybe hide us when we come across the Klingon net? Taelon: Uh - ::looks at the Captain:: I’ve shut down our sensor array, sir, as the border security might detect its emissions - ::His hand rested on the panel, wondering if he should just flip them back on or stand by his earlier decision.:: But in theory, we may be able to disguise ourselves if we could calibrate them to appear to come from a different kind of vessel. It’d take only - ::looks at time index:: More time than we have, sir. Whittaker: If we were able to determine the frequency of the sensor nets we can modulate our own shields to match. The detection net would register us as elevated background radiation. Vondaryan: Can you do that in time? Trel’lis: ::mutters:: That depends on how sensitive that net is. ::Okay. Ear thingy was back in place, this time with a lot less fuss. Maybe now it would… WHY IS IT SHARP?!:: Trel’lis: If the net is too sensitive, it’ll pick up *everything*, no matter *how* minuscule! Greyson: Good news and bad news, sir. I've managed to recalibrate the power signature so we're a smaller vessel. Bad news, if the net's too sensitive and we wind up dumping the core, the signature disguise won't hold. Whittaker: You're good, aren't you? :: grinning :: Greyson: Response? Any: Responses? Flynn: :: looking to Falcon :: Are there ANY other vessels in communications range? ::Kaitlyn looked to her console… finding a weird little puzzle instead of the data. Oh… Right… Game… Kaitlyn quickly solved it, the program finally allowing her the answer.:: Falcon: Nothing on my scopes. Then again, if there IS someone out there, they might be cloaked. Flynn: I recommend we prepare for the worst where we can, short of turning the lights back on. Flynn: Vondaryan, are your men prepared in case of a boarding party? Vondaryan: Security teams standing by at the transporter rooms and in other key areas around the ship. I can have tractor beams ready as soon as the lights turn back on, if we turn them on. Greyson: In the event we're boarded, we may need to seal engineering. In the event we wind up needing to dump the core, we probably won't be at nearly as much risk. Whittaker: I can have engineering sealed at a moment's notice. Vondaryan: I'll station teams just outside to be safe. Falcon: I’ve finally got this setup figured out, so notifications should go easily enough. Flynn: :: looking at Mirra and Freya :: Are you equipped for field treatments? Ezo/Andersen: Responses? Flynn: ::Nodding:: Counselor Nadia. ::He paused and admitted a smirk.:: I don’t suppose you’re going to tell us that Klingons in this era had a more peaceful and resolution oriented mindset? Nadia: Responses? Greyson: That'll be the day.... ::Suddenly, Armstrong lurched hard enough that Kaitlyn wondered, briefly, if the station itself had taken a hit. Thankfully, her instincts were strong enough to let her latch onto her chair before she could go too far.:: Greyson: We have a problem. Falcon: oO Ya think? Oo Whittaker: What happened? Greyson: Well, we came out of warp which is the good news. The bad news... um... Falcon, where are we? ::Another look to her console and…:: Falcon: oO Oh, come on! Another puzzle just to see the MAP? Oo ::Thankfully, it was, again, quickly solved.:: Falcon: Plowed straight through the neutral zone and into Klingon space. Greyson: That's what I was afraid of. ::Another alarm sounded in the bridge, this time Theo speaking up… after fighting with his console for a bit. Something told Kaitlyn he had picked option 3.:: ::Boy, was she glad she had not picked option 3…:: Whittaker: Sensors are reading a large neutron radiation surge approximately seven hundred kilometers off our port nacelle. :: recalling the information from memory :: It could be a Klingon vessel. Klingon cloaking devices during this period were known for their radiation output. Falcon: And, seeing as I had nothing on my scopes when I looked a few minutes ago, I’d say there’s pretty solid odds that it’s a Klingon ship. Vondaryan: Are we detecting any communications or other emissions from the area? ::he blinked:: Does anyone speak Klingon? Falcon: ::Shrugs.:: I know a bunch of swears, but I don’t think that’ll really help us in the situation. Whittaker: :: glancing at Greyson :: It's possible, but I've never heard of Klingons experimenting with tele-capture systems. :: beat :: That's more of a Romulan technique from the Earth-Romulan War. Vondaryan: Could some remnants of the Klingon-Romulan alliance still remain? It didn't collapse that long ago, so there may be some residual friendships lingering. That might explain the mixed techniques. Greyson: Response? Falcon: I also haven’t seen indication of any incoming signal telling our systems what to do. Doesn’t mean for certain there’s nothing, as they could find a sneaky way to hide the signal. Vondaryan: Sir, I'm detecting an unauthorized power surge in the transporters. ::Kaitlyn sighed.:: Falcon: oO I knew I should have brought my phase pistols with me… Oo =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Lt Commander Kaitlyn Falcon Chief Helm Officer Starbase 118 / U.S.S. Albion F237507RF0 =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
  7. (( Captain's Quarters, Deck 2, USS Doyle-A )) :: After Cody left her Ready Room, to which she still hadn't gotten her command codes back, she looked over his whole file. The incident that he recounted was horrible, and she just asked more questions without showing a reaction to the answers. He probably saw her as callous, but that was just the exterior, the necessity of finding out what she needed to know. How similar were their circumstances? :: :: The decision to take the time to reflect, didn't seem to work out for her. Until then she had made snap decisions, but this was the first time she was asked by the XO to start over, and it was also the first time she had to figure exactly what the chip on her shoulder regarding the XO position was. They had been thrust on her, by her overprotective brother, and so far, hadn't worked out. And now, with the note she received from the man... :: >> Captain Faranfey, I trust this will find you in better health and a grounded mind. I took this assignment on behalf of Captain Faranster and Starfleet Command, not on your behalf. I enjoyed my brief time getting to know some of the crew, and now you and your crew are safe, I will be returning to Starfleet Command. It was an enlightening conversation. Make sure you pick who you want as your First Officer, and not pressured by either your brother or some outside party. As you had not requested me, but rather had me forced upon you, I have chosen to decline Faranster’s offer to take the office of executive first officer so you are free to choose who you’d like. I’ll be around on the starbase for a while, then arrange transportation back to Starbase 118. If you’d like to compare notes and swap stories, feel free to contact me. Perhaps we’ll grab lunch. Commander David Cody<< :: Now that she was coming to terms with him, or at least his personality. There was a whole big mess that happened while she was not officially in command of her ship regarding their prisoners, that someone would end up answering for. There was a nice human saying for that, about processed waste running downward. :: :: But in the end, now she felt that she wanted him there as the XO, the decision was being pulled from her again. Probably to be replaced by yet another candidate of her brother's. As long as she was breathing, and had any say, that wasn't going to happen. Now that she had made the decision, and put the man through the ringer to make it, she would have to offer up more than just a job offer. :: :: That was why she called Colonel Nugra, and her brother. :: :: Nugra was still in a bit of shock when he got the summons to Captain Faranfey's quarters. Ndrassa was making herself comfortable in his quarters on the Doyle and her mentor, one of the younger dragon priests had also taken up an ajoining room. They both wore standard civilian clothing now and did not look any different than other gorns or species found on the starbase. Ringing the chime and entering was simple. He came to a quiet attention out of respect to the Antosian that was in there. :: Nugra: Yes, Captain? Faranfey: I need something from you guys, that your connections might be able to get. Nugra: Of course. What can I do for you, Ma’am? Faranster: You done being mad at me? :: Selene stood up and walked in front of her brother, glaring up at him. He flinched slightly as her point set in that she hadn't yet forgiven him. :: :: The Gorn noted the station's commanding officer who was also present and immediately felt as if he walked into a sibling war. Treading carefully was the best option at the moment. :: Faranfey: Not yet. You need to stop picking my Executive Officers. You aren't the one who has to work with them, I am. :: She paused for a moment. :: Faranster: I understand... Faranfey: No, you don't. I have an unique background. I am no longer Sundassa, I haven't been for years, and all they get to know is this fabricated service record, and history, which don't explain me very well. They are put through the wringer, and they don't know why. They don't know why, because they haven't been read in, and they haven't been, because I don't ask for it. And you know why I don't ask for it? :: The Gorn stepped a bit back to be on the sidelines (and out of the crosshairs) as the woman unloaded on her brother. He had seen this temper only once on Sundassa and that woman had nothing on Selene. :: :: She looked between the two men in her living quarters. Her brother shook his head, but wisely decided to keep his mouth shut. :: Faranfey: I don't ask for them to be read in, because I am too busy being mad that you played big brother to me, yet again, and ripped the decision from me that I don't get to know them or their service record enough to decide to. Nugra: I’m sorry, but did something happen that I was not aware of? :: Nugra instantly regretted bringing those dark eyes to bear on him. :: Faranfey: He quit... he quit because he knew it wasn't my decision to hire him. Yet another decision taken out of my hands. Faranster: He didn't quit, he declined the offer. Faranfey: The offer you gave him, the one that wasn't yours to give. :: Her voice raised as she expressed her irritation with her brother, while pacing away from him. :: I am so sick of decisions being made for me, that are mine to make. :: Before the argument could be made, she continued. :: I understand orders are orders, but these weren't Command's orders, these were you taking the liberty of choosing my staff. :: Stalking back towards him. :: You had the privilege to choose your own both as Commanding officer of a ship, and Commanding officer of the station, :: stopping in front of Shel again :: STOP doing it for the Doyle. :: When the room got awkwardly quiet, she was pretty sure Nugra wondered why he was there for the berating of her brother. It wasn't something she had intended on doing in front of him, but her anger got the better of her after she read the note from Cody. :: Faranfey: Between the two of you, I am sure you can get clearance for two people to be read in on the circumstances that brought me here. Nugra: Admiral Greier has given me instructions when needed. Faranfey: Apparently I did myself no favors on our first day back, and am now having to undergo counseling. :: She said through clenched teeth. :: The joys of having Hunger related flashbacks while fevered. YAY me! :: Taking a deep breath. :: So, I need clearance for Ensign Michele Tonston, make sure you spell the name right... apparently there have been some mixups regarding another Tonston, and I don't want my files in the wrong hands. Faranster: Alright, and the other? Faranfey: Commander David Cody. Nugra: Ma’am? Faranfey: I made my decision, he might have declined Shel's offer, but I intend to give him one of my own. And, I need to be prepared to read him in, if he accepts. Nugra: I’ll get the tentative clearance ASAP. Faranfey: If he doesn't accept, then I don't read him in, and I get his clearance revoked. :: She shrugged. It was something that she had already decided. But she had to be prepared to be up front with Cody when she did. :: It's going to take you some time to get the clearance, so I'm actually assuming it will be done after the fact. Nugra: I might know a few ways to expedite them. Faranfey: I might be able to do it myself, but I've already waited too long to talk to him, so I'm afraid I need to rely on you two. Nugra: Captain, as I'm the leading classifier on the Hunger file, I can give you a letter authorizing you to speak under the necessity of command. It's a code black procedure so that classification does not jeopardize the ship and crew. It just requires you to be sure of the integrity of the person receiving the information. Would that work? Faranfey: Yes, thank you Colonel. :: To her brother. :: That means you don't have to do anything. Faranster: Except get berated on... :: Selene was still a bit angry at her brother, but now that she had a way to fix his intervention she was calming down a bit. :: Faranfey: Pretty much. Nugra: ::awkward:: Am I excused? :: There was an almost panicked look on Shel's face, as she had been this composed in front of someone, what would she have done if the Colonel wasn't there. :: Faranfey: I actually need to find the Commander, so this business is concluded. Thank you again Colonel. :: The Gorn gave a stiff bow and quickly exited the room. Ndrassa could wait till later. :: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Colonel Nugra Marine Commanding Officer USS Doyle-A, NCC-80221-B Podcast Team Facilitator Deputy Commandant Captain's Council Magistrate V238008N10 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ & PNPC Captain Shelther Faranster and Captain Selene Faranfey Commanding Officer USS Doyle-A, NCC-80221-A Deputy Commandant, Starbase 118 Academy Executive Council - Captain At Large nicolebrechtel@gmail.com faranster7@gmail.com Writer ID: A239001SF0
  8. (( Captain's Quarters, Deck 2, USS Doyle-A )) :: Selene was a bit groggy from the sedatives wearing off, again. They were unable to inject her with another dose for a few hours to prevent a possible overdose. Because she enjoyed having a clear mind, she didn't bother mentioning to anyone that her because her blood burned off infection and medications quicker, the likelihood of addiction was greater than overdose. :: :: After she came out of her sedated stupor, she usually ended up in the bathroom. This time as she returned to her living room, she found Ensign Tonston waiting for her, with her brother leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. She still had a bone to pick with him, but she was working for a release from sedatives and a return to her command, one that would be obstructed by any further outburst. :: Tonston: How are you feeling? :: She rolled her eyes at Shel as she took a seat on her sofa. So this was part of her mandatory counseling, being ambushed in her own quarters, while she was trying to relax. :: Faranfey: I am not sure what answer you are expecting. Tonston: Well you have been sedated for a while. Why don’t you have something to drink? Faranfey: I usually pour my own, thank you. :: She initially declined the juice, unsure what tactic they were trying here. Entering her quarters while she was in the bathroom, pouring her a drink knowing she was thirsty. They obviously wanted her to open up, and that made her suspicious of the liquid. :: Faranster: Selene, just drink. You have to stay hydrated. :: He took the glass and took a sip, swallowing. :: See, no tricks. Now drink. Faranfey: Alright, so why are you two here? Tonston: I am here for you. The first day back on the Doyle you were exploding at everyone in the bridge. I wanted to be here when you woke. Faranfey: Have you looked at my chart? I was suffering an infection due to the conditions of that planet, I had significant blood loss, and we were suffering from lead and radiation poisoning, to varying degrees. :: Then she glanced up at her brother. :: Then, when the calvary came in my ship, some... :: she bit off the word :: someone else was calling themselves the Commanding Officer. Not acting Commanding Officer, mind you, but Commanding Officer. I just fought through hell for my crew, and in my condition I was hearing I had been replaced. Faranster: It was properly done, Selene. He had my authorization to take command of the vessel, as we didn't know what had happened to the Sheffield or the crew. There needed to be an active command structure in the event things turned out differently. Tonston: This... Faranfey: I am very much in control of myself right now, but could you please have him removed for the duration of this conversation? Tonston: Excellent idea. You need to go. :: Shel pushed himself off the wall and threw up his hands in defeat. :: Faranster: I understand, you need some time. Tonston: Thank-you. Faranster: Just call if you need me. :: With that, her brother exited her quarters, leaving her alone with the counselor. :: Tonston: So about the comment... :: She had been told once before about the statement she uttered on the bridge. The meaning of it, escaped anyone other than her. :: Faranfey: Listen, I know what I said, but I don't know what I meant when I said "If you don't give me back my ship, we will surely perish. Only I know how to defeat them!" I was delusional with fever. Tonston: But your statement was very clear and coherent. Not the ramblings of a delusional person. :: She took a sip of the juice from the cup her brother handed her. She didn't want to answer these questions, but she also wasn't permitted. Clearance needed to be given for certain answers. :: Faranfey: It's great that you want to help, but if you look at my service record, you will find that you can't access more than half of it. This is because it's classified. Until you have access, I am not sure how much good you will be. I had a great childhood, my high school b'vira abandoned me for a joy ride so I joined Starfleet, had a great medical career, and fell in love again, and became a Starfleet Captain. We can go further in depth once you get those clearances. Tonston: You can get me those clearances. You are part if my responsibility. I am not sure if I am comfortable allowing you back in command until I have the full picture. Faranfey: My responsibility is to keep my ship and crew together and safe, I can't do that hiding in my quarters on sedatives. If in order to return to duty, I am being ordered to undergo counseling, then I will submit, get the clearance, and set-up the schedule. If I fail to show up, then I would expect to be removed from active duty again. If you would like, you can make sure someone keeps an eye on me until you are fully confident that I am meeting the expectations of this arrangement based on the trauma I have displayed. Tonston: I want to to commit to seeing me at least once a day. ::Selene looked over the counselor, internally baulking at the once a day requirement, but the woman looked serious. At the moment she had little choice. :: Faranfey: I suppose that's acceptable for the next week. Time isn't exactly plentiful for a Captain. Tonston: I will decided when we can taper off. This time is also outside of our regular 'Duty' Talk. Deal? :: Her eyes locked with the woman, who seemed to hold all the cards at the moment. Well that was provided she was able to get the security clearance. Not that she really doubted this much, as she was sure Command would want her to be as fit mentally as physically, and by now her outburst likely got back to ears of Admirals. :: Faranfey: Fine. I'll make sure I have at least 30 minutes daily to talk about non-duty specific things. However, on duty time talks, I won't have time to talk about my inner feelings about what's going on and how it's affecting me. :: She knew regardless, if something happened, the woman was going to go straight into counseling mode. It's what she was here for. But Selene was really good at compartmentalizing, and if she needed to react on something, she wouldn't have time to hash out her feelings. :: Tonston: Apparently you do not need me here right now. I will go to Captain Faranster and give him my clearance for you to return to duty. :: She nodded, half tempted to throw in a message for her darling brother, but decided against it. She didn't want the counselor to change her mind on the deal and then Selene would have to go to counseling before she could return to duty. And the request for clearance could take some time. :: Faranfey: Not that he won't stop babying me. :: She rolled her eyes before taking another drink, and continued drinking until the glass was empty. :: I hope you don't mind me not seeing you out, you know the way, and I need my rest. :: With that the counselor left her quarters, leaving her in peace. She poured herself another drink and drained it too, dismissing the slightly off taste as her throat being a bit sore from the prolonged sedation. Then things got a bit weird and groggy for her, she could barely keep her eyes open and passed out on the couch. :: Captain Selene Faranfey Commanding Officer USS Doyle-A, NCC-80221-A Deputy Commandant, Starbase 118 Academy Executive Council - Captain At Large Writer ID: A239001SF0
  9. (( Corridor - Deck 5 - USS Doyle-A )) :: Brian Davidson stormed through the corridors of the USS Doyle in an uncharacteristically angry mood. He had heard it from his friend in security who had heard it from a Lieutenant on the bridge and the only person who would have phrased such remarks was a certain Romulan Tribune who he was heading for at the moment. :: :: Coming up to the holodeck that she was currently occupying, he strode in unannounced and ignored the surprised looks on the different holographic federation delegates faces and made his way to the face he did recognize. She, at present, was wearing a scarlet red sheer dress and clutching a small, silver handbag chatting nicely with the Bolian representative for the Bolaux Group, he saw her eyes dart in his direction and the sweet smile vanish immediately. :: Davidson: ::Angrily:: I want to speak with you, Tribune. Chekran: ::Surprised:: Tribune? :: Shiarrael Ei-Ihhliae groaned in exasperation, dropped the silver purse revealing a compact disruptor.:: Shiarrael: There goes my clean exit. :: Snapping the neck of the Bolaux Group’s CEO, the Romulan then discharged the disruptor in to the holographic representation of the new Federation president before calling out for the program to freeze. :: Shiarrael: It took me three days to work this invitation, Davidson and you screw it up in one minute. :: Davidson did not care. He was shaking from all his anger and he stepped over the body of the dead bolian. :: Davidson: I have a bone to pick with you and I’m trying to ignore the fact that you just assassinated the highest leader of the Federation without blinking an eye. Shiarrael: ::grinning:: I love your holodecks. Davidson: Why did you tell everybody about the Pajamas I was wearing and the fact that I’m not good in a combat situation. Shiarrael: ::mock surprise:: me? Tell stories? :: Davidson balled his fists in anger and gritted his teeth. :: Davidson: I know it was you. I quote, “The poor ih'feanna saehne wore animal pajamas to a fight. Not like he can fight though.” NO ONE speaks Romulan while telling a story. Why did you do it? Shiarrael: ::growling:: Why did you tell Captain Faranfey that we slept together? :: Brian looked at her with genuine shock. What? The captain knew? Not only was that a surprise, but now he had an issue with his position being in jeopardy. Cavorting with an foreign officer was not good for business in the Diplomatic Corps. :: Davidson: I never told her. Shiarrael: Liar. She intimated it the majority of the weeks were on that aehallhai planet. Davidson: I wouldn’t have said a thing because it’s not good for my career, let alone you threatened to castrate me if I said anything. :: A gleam appeared in the Romulan’s eye at his words and he took one step back. His eyes darted down to her hands to make sure the blade she usually carried had not mysteriously appeared. :: Shiarrael: I did, didn’t I? But where's the fun in that? :: His anger began to reach the point of overflowing at the infuriating woman he had spent one night with. Had he realized how much trouble she would have caused him, Brian would have ignored her prodding in the hallway so many weeks ago. :: Davidson: I am sick and tired of you making fun of me. Shiarrael: Awww. Poor little Davidson. Don’t humans like cry when they get upset or something? :: He did it before realizing what he was doing. Davidson hauled back and took a swing at the beautiful face of his antagonist. Did he think he was going to succeed? Of course, not. She was a highly trained assassin who had given up that life and so she deflected the blow without even moving away. :: Shiarrael: Not bad. :: The next thing he saw was stars and fell over backwards on top of the holographic remains of the Bolaux Group CEO. Blood ran down his nose and she stood over him with that infuriating smirk. :: Shiarrael: That’s how to throw a punch, sweetheart. :: He growled at her, but then saw the hand she proffered to him. Taking it, she hefted him up rather easily and he accepted the handkerchief she pulled out of the pocket of the frozen bystander nearby. :: Shiarrael: It is my fault for assuming that was you. If you haven’t told anyone, I don’t know how she found out. It’s not like she knows you or me. :: Davidson held the handkerchief to his nose to stop the flow of blood trying to come up with an excuse to tell medical. He shrugged. :: Davidson: There is something about her. Something that we...er...I’ve been trying to figure out for sometime. Shiarrael: Computer. End program. :: The program shifted off and she smiled at him with the same eyes that got him in trouble in the first place. He glared back at her still not quite ready for forgive her. :: Shiarrael: ::silkily:: Looks like I owe you an apology. What are you doing tonight? Davidson: ::pointed:: Staying as far away from you as I can. PNPC Lt. Brian Davidson Diplomatic Attache USS Doyle-A & PNPC Tribune Shiarrael Diplomatic Liaison Officer Romulan Republic As Simmed By…. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Colonel Nugra Marine Commanding Officer USS Doyle-A, NCC-80221-B Podcast Team Facilitator Deputy Commandant Captain's Council Magistrate V238008N10 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
  10. ((Planet PR-652, Pouiyeog Region, over a gorge)) Varaan: Help!? ::While Varaan attempted to hold on to the wet bark of the branch, he could hear wet popping sounds from inside the rotting tree trunk, as his weight was beginning to dislocate the branch from the rest of the tree. Within moments, the branch would separate entirely, and he would fall to his inevitable death in the raging river hundreds of meters below. His hands began to slip on the soft, disintegrating bark. It was only a matter of seconds, now.:: ::The odd thing was, Varaan was not panicked. Everyone says that Vulcans are emotionless creatures. Vulcans, as a rule, do not correct people when they think this. It's not true, but it certainly adds to the Vulcan mystique. And one things Vulcans are, as a people, is egotistical. The more superior people think they are, the better the Vulcans like it. But the rest...it's all a mask, a charade. Vulcans as a people are VERY emotional. Before Surak taught the Vulcans how to control their emotions, it was Emotion that drove the Vulcan beast, not logic. Thousands of years of bloody carnage attested to that fact. It was amazing that the Vulcans managed to survive multiple attempts at self-inflicted mass genocide, pre-Surak. But the Vulcan "Father of Logical Thought" pulled his species up from the depths, and saved them.:: ::Varaan, like most other Vulcan children, began his education at the local monastery. His first teacher was Silar, a monk. Emotional control before literacy. The precepts of logic before mathematics. He remembered one day...:: ((Flashback, Rah'Tel Monastery, Vulcan, 2337)) Varaan: ::whining:: But I don't wanna. ::The young Vulcan boy was seated on a rough stone block in a semi-circle with 8 other children on similar blocks. The white of the stone was in stark contrast to the reddish hue of the sandstone building beside them. They were on a veranda, with an overhang above them protecting them from the harsh Vulcan suns. Behind them, a few other monks tending the garden stopped in their efforts and turned slowly to observe Varaan's outburst.:: Silar: And yet, you will. ::The elderly monk in the white robe with the fancy gold embossing slowly rose from his own white stone block at the center of the semi-circle. He was entirely calm. He was always calm, and that sometimes upset Varaan. No matter what he did, the boy could not get a reaction out of the old man. It was like a challenge, and Varaan had been losing for the better part of a year. Right now, the monk was staring down the boy, not with anger, not with resentment, but with the knowledge of the inevitability of Varaan's action. But before that was going to happen, Varaan was going to push back a little more.:: Varaan: ::defiantly:: Why? ::Still, no reaction from the old man. The other children were silent, but staring with curiosity. This was an almost daily occurrence, and Varaan knew they were keeping score. Was today the day that the boy would defeat the man? If it was up to Varaan, it would be. Either he'd break the monk, or be sent home trying. And it wouldn't be the first time that had happened, either. But then Silar did something Varaan wasn't expecting.:: Silar: ::pensively:: Varaan, what would you like to do? ::Before he had a chance to think this divergent strategy through, he had blurted out an honest answer.:: Varaan: I want to play! Silar: Then why aren't you? Varaan: Because my parents say I have to come to this stupid school! ::The "s" word elicited some intakes of breath from the primary crowd. But Varaan ignored it. He had said worse, and in front of a much older audience. His mother, after all, worked for the Embassy and often had important guests to entertain.:: Silar: Why do they send you here? Varaan: I don't know. Because they know I hate it, and they're trying to punish me. Silar: Really? Varaan: Sure. Why not? Silar: Are there other children at school? Varaan: ::looking around:: Yes. Silar: Do you think their parents hate them too? Varaan: Probably. ::pause:: Maybe. ::another pause:: I don't know. Maybe not. Silar: Then why are they here? Varaan: To learn stuff. ::By now Varaan's quest was losing momentum. He was less defiant, and had fallen victim to Silar's now-famous "Q&A Reflection" technique. It helped to focus logical thought, which Varaan was doing despite not wanting to. The questions the monk continued to ask eventually took Varaan back to the original purpose of today's class - why emotional control is so important. Silar had won - again. But Varaan was too confused trying to figure out how he lost to dwell on the fact that he did. So he gave in and continued the lesson. But...he hated losing!:: ((Flash forward, Varaan's family home, 2346)) Solath: Varaan, this is T'lani. ::Varaan stood there, in the living area of his home, staring at the young Vulcan girl who likewise stood before him, staring. He didn't agree with all this talk of arranged marriages, but there was no way he was going to wed this three year old! Forget it! Of course, his father did not expect him to wed her now. But the engagement was begun now. Once she was old enough, then they would be wed. But, he didn't even know her. He looked over to his father.:: Varaan: I don't like her. Solath: It is not a matter that is up for discussion, my son. The arrangements have been agreed upon. The two of you are betrothed. ::Varaan stared back at the girl, who now stuck out her tongue at him. He had to get out of this somehow.:: ((Flash forward, Rah'Tel Monastery, Vulcan, 2363)) Vulcan Priest: What ye are about to witness comes down from the time of the beginning without change. This is the Vulcan heart. This is the Vulcan soul. This is our way. ::Both Varaan and T'lani were kneeling, facing each other, in front of the priest. One each of their hands were stretched out towards the other, fingertips touching in a manner similar to the pon farr calming ritual. Indeed, the two were related. But here, the years of engagement were coming to an end for the Vulcan couple, and many more years of marriage were laid out before them.:: ::Throughout the ritual, the priest continued to speak, and occasionally either Varaan or T'lani were required to repeat something he had said, or say something of their own. Varaan had practiced...not wanting to embarrass his beloved on their wedding day. Because of this, he really wasn't paying close attention to the ceremony itself or the two families, his and hers, surrounding them. His attention was solely on T'lani, his eyes lost in hers. He truly did love her. He loved everything about her. He couldn't remember a time when he didn't love her. And he wanted to spend the rest of his life showing her just how much he loved her. He would never leave her.:: ((Flash Forward, Starfleet Academy, 2374)) ::It was his first day on campus, and though he had some anxiety, it wasn't because he was nervous about starting a new chapter in his life. Many of the cadets at the Academy were young, just entering their twenties. Varaan was 44 years old, and had already completed 20 years of service in the V'Shar, the Vulcan Intelligence agency. He did not get nervous in situations like these. No, he was anxious because he was already 5 minutes late for a class, and was still wandering campus trying to find the lecture hall. No one seemed to know where it was.:: ::He did not know anyone here. He had no friends here, no family here. Truthfully, he had no friends anywhere. Varaan was by nature a solitary creature. He preferred it that way. Friends...he thought he could do without. Family, well that was a different story. His wife and mother were back on Vulcan, sending their support via subspace communiques. His father was also back on Vulcan. Solath was a member of the Vulcan Science Academy's governing council. And for some reason he had never confided in T'mol, his wife, or Varaan, he vehemently disapproved of Starfleet. Varaan's application and acceptance to Starfleet Academy had caused a rift between the two of them.:: ::And it wasn't that Varaan didn't care. The approval of his father meant a great deal to Varaan. It always had. And Varaan was sure that once Solath could see how much more productive and successful his son would be in this new career, he would come around. He couldn't avoid speaking to Varaan forever.:: ((Flash forward, Varaan's home, Vulcan, 2382)) ::Varaan walked through the door of his home and set his bags down. Being a Starfleet officer, he had rarely been here. He had rarely seen his wife. He spent his life living on a starship. This was more accurately the home of his wife and child.:: ::Child. Daughter! Little T'iana would be 14 months old now, and Varaan had never met her. She had been born while he was XO of the USS Paladin. Immediately after that he had been given command of the USS Atlantis. But now that Atlantis had been reassigned, so had he. He was on his way to Earth to begin the fall semester teaching at Starfleet Academy. But he had to make this stop first. He had communicated that he was coming, yet...no one was here to greet him.:: ::And then, from around a wall, waddled a little figure no higher than Varaan's knee. Her hair was straight and brown, and came down to her shoulders. Her dress had been off-white at some time, but was currently covered in the front with food stains. Her arms were stretched out to either side to help keep her balance. And she stopped when she saw Varaan standing in the doorway.:: ::If it hadn't been for his Kolinahr training, which he had never completed due to the onset of a pon farr, there would have been tears of joy in his eyes. They were moistening as it was. Then T'lani came out from the other room and stopped when she saw Varaan, as well.:: T'lani: My husband! ::Varaan could hear the elation in her voice. Thankfully there was no one else around to hear it. Yet...he felt the same elation upon seeing her. And that was separate yet equal to the elation he felt at seeing the toddler before him. Love seemed to be an unquantifiable "thing." It could continue to grow and expand, yet it had no boundaries or limits. Varaan closed the door before there was an emotional outburst that the neighbours could witness.:: Varaan: My beloved wife. ::At that moment, T'iana's arms reached up for Varaan, someone who was to her a complete stranger. But somehow, she knew. She could sense it. She knew who her father was. And then Varaan was proved right again as the love and elation he felt inside at least tripled.:: ((the present)) Cook: ::over his shoulder:: Guys!! ::to Varaan:: Take my hand!! Someone grab onto me so he can climb up as I pull him..... ::Cook had scrambled back out along the tree and onto his stomach and crawled as he reached out to grab Varaan.:: Varaan: oO Should this rescue attempt work, I must remember to spend as much time with T'lani and T'iana as possible. And I need to again try to contact my father. Twenty years of not talking to each other has been far too long. Oo --------------------------- Lt. Cmdr. Varaan Chief Engineering Officer USS Darwin-A, NCC-99312-A Serial: V237810V10
  11. ((Vireinn Colony, Federation Space)) ::Images of the ships involved flashed up on the screen as the Andorian news anchor reported on the attack. Unexpected, unexplained and apparently independent of any known government or terrorist group. The slipstream starliner, the Charles Lindbergh, had been carrying the Trill Chief of Staff, Anaria Kthria, on her way to some important negotiations, along with three hundred tourists enjoying a cruise through the exotic Menthar Corridor. Suddenly, they were all involved in something none of them could have anticipated.:: ::One of the ships on the screen was very familiar.:: Vorana: You served aboard the Garuda, didn’t you? ::The Commandant of the Romulan refugee camp gave him a sidelong look from dark eyes.:: Saveron: Affirmative. ::The Vulcan acknowledged.:: However I – and the majority of the crew that I served with – transferred to the Invictaalong with Fleet Captain Kells. Vorana: The Menthar Corridor seems a volatile region of space. Saveron: An accurate summary. ::He allowed.:: It lies beyond Federation space, and is politically volatile. ::Nearby two Romulan youngsters were teaching Saavok a game of chance, but Saveron knew that his son would be listening. Like his father, the boy had friends in the Corridor.:: ::His companion snorted in amusement.:: Vorana: I think, Commander, that you are a master of the understatement. Between the Cardassians, the Tholians and the Breen, they are caught between a rock and two hard places. Never mind the Kubarey and these other new powers beyond them. ::Refugee she might be, but Shatil Vorana made it her business to keep abreast of galactic events. One never knew when her people might be able to take advantage of them. In their current situation, they could not afford to miss an opportunity.:: Saveron: The galaxy is volatile; we impose a regularity upon it. ::He observed.:: ::Turning away as the news report wound to a close, he surveyed the bare-bones community hall where many of the children were being supervised. Vorana moved ahead of him and stepped through the door into the late afternoon sunshine. The star was a yellow main-sequence primary, the light slightly yellower than on Terra, less orange than on Vulcan.:: ::Around them squat pre-fab dwellings were being arranged in pie-segments by teams of Romulans using a small crane, whilst the larger buildings were being assembled from kits. A cold wind blew and Saveron tucked his hands into the voluminous sleeves of his heavy robe. The buildings were square and grey, the ground barren, the wind biting.:: ::Commandant Vorana regarded the scene in silence for several long moments.:: Vorana: Your Federation wasn’t exactly the epitome of generosity when they gave us this world. ::She observed dryly.:: ::The Vulcan gave her a bland look.:: Saveron: You would consider something else more preferable? ::He queried.:: Vorana: I’ve seen Federation worlds, they are luxurious. You could have given us the same, and all the comforts you enjoy. ::The Vulcan knew well that there weren’t any fully terraformed temperate worlds entirely unclaimed in Federation space. This planet had been a deliberate choice, in more ways than one.:: Saveron: And made you dependant on, and indebted to, Federation generosity? You would not have thanked us. ::Vorana gave a humourless snort and looked away, knowing that he spoke the truth. Romulans were a proud people, and found taking charity difficult. And always there was the paranoid suspicion that they would be forced to reconcile – and blend – with the Vulcans. Here they had freedom to be themselves. This Vulcan man, who was nothing like what she’d come to expect from their distant kin, seemed to know them all too well.:: Vorana: Be careful Saveron; if you prove too apt you may find your posting permanent. ::That earned her a look from grey eyes, thoughts uninterpretable behind the customary mask.:: ::To his eyes Vorana was the classic Romulan, from her forehead ridges and sallow skin to her instinctive mistrust of the Federation and his people; yet she was also a talented leader and cared for her own. Saveron knew that it was imperative that the Romulans have space to preserve their culture. Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations.:: Saveron: That will not be the case. ::He told her simply.:: I received my transfer orders two hours ago. I am to return to the Corridor. My transport arrives in the morning. Vorana: Then I guess this is goodbye. ::She said dryly.:: ::He nodded.:: Vorana: Not everyone will miss you, but you helped give us something many others wouldn’t have; a place of our own. I think that many of your fellows would have seen us absorbed into your population, but we will not be Vulcans! ::She looked again at the unprepossessing sight of the plasticrete pre-fabs and the dusty plain they sat on.:: It’s more than we would have done. Saveron: That is one of the reasons that you are here, and not on t’Kashi. We would not be Romulans. END Commander Saveron Acting Ambassador Romulan Colony Vireinn
  12. ((Andersen’s Quarters – Starbase 118)) ((Time index – Evening of the crew gathering.)) ::The routine of the station was a welcome change in the wind down after Tilanna V. The mundane 9 to 5 was a joy. Especially when Friday came around. Commander Taybrim had invited the senior staff to another gathering. The man certainly knew how to throw a party. He also knew how to keep his guest happy. Freya laughed when she had seen the Best of the Wurst would be catering the event, as well as the illogical eatery – it seemed the conversation between the security officer and marine captain about the catering at the last staff meeting had not gone unnoticed by the commanding officer.:: :: She left her bedroom dressed in stark contrast to her usual attire. The navy floral tea dress skimmed her knees and was finished with a brown belt and matching shoes. She’d decided she was going to let her hair down that evening – both figuratively and literally. :: :: She look in the mirror as she ran her fingers through her shoulder length hair. She stopped when she saw the reflection of her son, sat on the couch, with his head in a book. He’d been quiet since she returned home. She had assumed he was still upset at being left on the station. It didn’t stop her worrying something else was wrong.:: Andersen: Are you sure you won’t come with me? Tyr: I’m sure… ::He didn’t look up from the book.:: Andersen: What are you going to do this evening? ::He said nothing. :: Andersen: I don’t mind if you want to go out for a little while… Tyr: I have home work to finish. Andersen: OK. Well you know where I am if you need me. ::Freya picked up her cardigan, put it on and made for the door. She knew better than to force a conversation.:: Tyr: Mamma… ::Looking up from book.:: You look Pretty. Andersen: ::Smiling:: Thanks handsome. ::Pointing at the book:: don’t study too hard. ((Voodoo Jazz Lounge – Starbase 118)) ((Time Index – 1745)) :: People had already started to arrive. Freya scanned the crowd for familiar faces and those not so. She also happily noticed not everyone had taken up the offer of bringing a guest. ::Normally that wouldn’t have bothered her, but Freya had made the mistake of mentioning the event to her mother, so it was on her mind. With sledgehammer subtlety, saved especially for family, Freya’s mother had enquired if she would be taking anyone to the party. Freya responded with her usual sarcasm, that resulted in a lecture she had heard many times over. Freya swiftly made her excuses to end the conversation when the phrase ‘just some fun’ had left her mothers mouth. Freya prayed she would never be that embarrassing, for Tyr’s sake!:: ::At the bar she ordered a Moscow mule. She sipped at the drink while she watched the other guests, savouring the sharpness of the lime and fiery taste of ginger. She notice Commander Whitaker stood alone. He seemed pre-occupied again. Remembering how defeated he had seemed last time, she thought she’d check on him. While he might out rank her, she trumped him with at least ten years life experience, maybe she could help.:: :: As she drew closer, she could see his expression more clearly. He didn’t seem to be carrying the same burden in his face. Freya also noticed what was drawing his attention. She recognised the young boy playing as the child commander Anders was fostering. :: Andersen: Evening Theo. :: Theo turned to see the security officer stood next to him. :: Andersen: He seems like a tough little guy. A little cutie, too. Whittaker: He is indeed. :: beat, smiling warmly :: He’s a remarkable little chap. Andersen: ::Returning smile:: It seems like he’s won you over. Whittaker: I must confess that I am. :: beat :: This may be a personal question Freya, but how quickly did you bond with Tyr? ::Now that was a complicated can of worms! She’d intended to offer assistance to Whitaker and Anders if the situation had arisen but she hadn’t expected it to come with a question that would involve so much emotional baggage.:: Andersen: For me instantly, but I had biology on my side having given birth to him. That said, biology doesn't always make you a good parent… ::She thought about the relationship, or lack there of, with her own father, as well as her own decision early in Tyr’s life.:: Whittaker: He may not be my biological son, but I’m starting to struggle to imagine life without him already. :: beat :: It sounds ridiculous, considering I’ve known him less than a week. Andersen: That's not ridiculous at all. It just shows me you’re committed and that's exactly what you need. ::She paused:: and to be patient with him… Whitaker: What do you mean? Andersen: I’m by no means a counsellor, I just speak from experience. I loved Tyr from the moment he was born, to this day and I will love him ‘till my last breath. But I don’t think it was the same for Tyr - he had to learn to love me. ::She took a sip of her drink before continuing. :: Andersen: I was young and in a complicated situation. I left him with his Father as I though it was the best option to give him stability. I made, what I now feel was, a very poor decision. Whitaker: :: suprised :: You stopped all contact? Andersen: ::Shook her head:: Not completely. I’d visit him on Cardassia when I could, but that wasn’t often enough. I was more like a friend who would visit once in a while. I don’t think he even understood I was family... Whitaker: That's obviously not the case now. :: beat :: If I may inquire, what changed? Andersen: After his Father’s death. I knew he had to stay with me. I brought him back to Earth. I reminded myself - I was his mother and there was no more running away from my responsibility. ::Many years had passed since Lokir’s death, so the memories rarely brought tears anymore. However, they still brought with them the heavy, twisting weight in her chest.:: Andersen: But I’ll be honest, early on I still wanted to run. It was so difficult. To begin with it was an adventure for him. But that soon wore off. The young four year old wanted to be back in his bed in the only home he’d known. He wanted to see his father’s face. He wanted his father to put him to bed. The alien faces became all the more scary and the desire for the familiar stronger. ::She spoke candidly as she dared. It had been a difficult time – She had mourned the man she loved, while she also endured the rejection from the child she adored. A pain she believed, for a long time, she deserved. :: Whittaker: Any advice? Andersen: Prepare for the tears and anger. This is going to be an emotional roller coaster. For all of you. Whitaker: :: frowning :: Go on... Andersen: Don’t be afraid to take a step back. If that's what it takes to be that strength that young boy needs, do it. I’m sure I won’t be the only one to say it, but if either of you need help – whether it be a babysitter or some one vent your frustrations at – you know where to find me. ~*~ Lt. JG. Freya Andersen Assistant Chief of Security Starbase 118 Ops O239209FA0
  13. ((Promenade, back maintenance corridors - StarBase 118 Ops)) ::They said that one man's tragedy was another man's opportunity. For Lt. Surem nothing could be more true. He heard the rumors, the hushed whispers that these terrible riots and all this destruction were caused by the same saboteurs who crashed the Cerberas into the special ops tower. If only the Resiliency had the resources and the capabilities to bring the Federation to its knees this easily! Surem would be thrilled to wield such power. But that was not the case. The timing was a classic case of red herring, where it simply seems like a logical progression from ion storms and crashed ships to a large scale internal takeover. That didn't mean Surem was going to waste this opportunity. In fact, it was more than he ever could have asked for, all things considered. True, getting around the riots and the crowds was difficult, But Surem had been studying the station and the back ways of getting to where he wanted to go for the better part of two years. Having no interest in pastimes beyond careful preparations for the downfall of the Federation one millimeter at a time, and having every capability of finishing all of her work in an exceedingly timely manner, he had much time to devote to learning all the intricacies of the station and everything a mole providing information to saboteurs would need to know. He had made the majority of the trip unhindered, with only the last few meters being a shoving match between him and the packed crowd. He had to nerve pinch two individuals who were quickly swept away and trampled by the crowd. They didn't even have enough of a mind left to scream as a barrage of feet crushed the life from their bodies. Surem wasn't sorry, nor did he dwell on their deaths. There were darker things for him to attend to today. The quarantine forcefields were up at the security junction, both solid and obviously malfunctioning. The smell of charred flesh hung around them - too much power was being forced through the barrier making it an electrical wall of death. At first Surem thought he would have to hack in and drop them - which might give the station a clue as to his identity and true intentions. But someone had helpfully smashed a hole in the wall some meters down, and while it was disgraceful to wriggle through like a worm, it was also much safer. Inside the security station, power was completely out. No regular lights, no standard air circulation, no security measures. Only the baleful glow of the orangey emergency lights which cast the whole place in looming infernal shadows. The forcefield which kept the saboteur, the criminal, the murderer Ry'van Alstred at bay had completely fallen. The only thing keeping the man in place was the fact that he was locked in his own mind, many years and many light years away. Surem scoffed quietly as he stepped over the rubble and approached the man who was curled up, asleep and sucking his thumb like a small child. Alstred was once a good operative, reliable and subtle. Surem didn't know what went wrong on this mission, but he did know that Alstred was now a dangerous liability, especially since he had suffered his telepathic lobotomy. Still, Alstred knew certain things that were of value to the resiliency. He had to die, but not quite yet. Surem: Rhansu, can you hear me? Alstred: ::Sleepily:: Vorna, is that you? ::a pause, his eyes fluttered open:: It doesn't sound like you. Surem: ::he knelt down:: No, it's big brother Surem. You remember me, right? Alstred: Surem? ::dreamily:: I was supposed to go to a StarBase and meet Surem. I don't like him. Surem: ::With a faintly sadistic smile:: Don't like him, why? Alstred: He's cold... ::he shivered:: He's cruel. Surem: And you're not? Alstred: If I could, I would have my family back and live in peace. Surem: ::Gently:: But your family is dead. Alstred: ::Stubbornly, rising to his knees to blink, unseeing in the darkness:: I will see them again, someday! It will happen. Surem: It will happen sooner than you think. ::He edged closed, close enough to feel Alstred's hot breath upon his neck:: But I need something from you first. Alstred: ::Confused, his blurry eyes were searching:: What could you possibly need from me? ::The Vulcan snapped his hands out, striking faster than a cobra. One hand grabbed the back of Alsred's head, while the other glues itself to his face as the Romulan's eyes snapped one in awareness and horror:: Surem: My mind to your mind... Alstred: ::The words bubbled up in a guttural groan of pain and terror:: NO! NOOOOO! Surem: ::As calm as a frozen lake in an abandoned town:: My thoughts to your thoughts... ::Alstred's protests rose in a crescendo of agony, all of it drowned out by the horrific din coming from the riot outside. No one would hear him scream. And no one would care how a murderer died. Green blood started to drain from Alstred's eyes sockets as the Vulcan tore through his mind, sifting out every bit of useful information before dragging him to the security junction and tossing his ragged body against the crackling quarantine field. The smell of charred copped mingled with urine to create the perfect stench of fear and death as Alstred's body jerked and twitched until the last breath left it. Surem smiled. The man would finally see his sister. It was what he wanted, wasn't it? It was better this way, for everyone. He crawled through the hole in the wall and rejoined the crowd, slipping back towards the back crawlspaces and fading into the darkness of emergency lights and blaring alarms...:: ~*~tbc~*~ pNPC Lieutenant SuremGeochemical SciencesStarBase 118 Ops Simmed by LtCmdr Sal Taybrim FO: StarBase 118 Ops
  14. ((Sickbay, USS Constitution- ) ((OOC -- Sidesim? I'm not really sure where this fits, since I had left Sickbay on my last post, but I'm going to have some fun here.)) :: Time must still be playing tricks here, Alex was certain he had left sickbay, but here he was again, with Tal looking over him. Maybe he had been daydreaming or something, but the large blue man was standing over him, giving him a look. :: Bishop: Hello to you too Commander. How can I help? Tel-ar: Medical. Bishop: You really need to stop playing with toys that will sear your flesh. This is starting to become a habit I see. :: Alex said with a smirk. :: Why didn't you come here sooner? This does not look like it just happened. :: Alex pulled out his scanner to see just how injured the man in front of him was. :: Tel-ar: You have been informed at my earliest convenience Lt. Cmdr. Bishop: So, convenience is how you judge whether you should be allowed to keep a working hand or not. Good to know. Glad you're not in my field of work. Personally, I would have come sooner. Tel-ar: My shift ended approximately 7 minutes 23 seconds ago. Bishop: You really should seek medical attention at the time it happens, instead of waiting until you feel like you can spare the time. The difference between the two time frames could mean the difference between keeping your hand, or having to need a prosthetic one. :: Alex was certain after looking at the hand that it wasn't going to come down to that, but he wanted to make sure that his patient understood that medical attention is not a convenient thing, it is a necessity. He reached over for the medspray to apply an antibiotic. :: Tel-ar: Illogical but I will keep that in mind. Bishop: I don't see how that's illogical. If you don't seek medical attention after getting hurt like this, then you risk complications. Tel-ar: Of course. Bishop: So in the future, you're going to come to sickbay sooner when you injure yourself like this, right? :: Alex injected a small dose of steroids in both hands to help them retain some of their strength while they healed. :: Tel-ar: Small talk is illogical. :: As he said that the Dr. gave him an injection in both hands. :: Bishop: Then it's good we're not having small talk. I'm berating you on your choice in when to seek medical assistance. I'm not sure why you're thinking this is small talk. :: Alex was certain that Tal was smarter than he was appearing to be, but it was like they were having two separate conversations here. :: Tel-ar: I will take that as a compliment Lt. Cmdr. Lt. Cmdr. Udas and I are most definitely not similar. Bishop: Ok, so who's starting the small talk here? You're a very inconsistent person, did you know that? :: Alex sprayed a liquid sealant over the wounds to keep out any additional infections. :: Tel-ar: He is Andorian by birth. I am Andorian by genetics. Bishop: One of these days I will have to try to figure out how that works, since they are both essentially the same thing, unless you're talking about having genes spliced into your DNA after you were born... Tel-ar: For me it is an important distinction. Are you finished? Bishop: Yes. We are all done here with your treatment. Remember what I said about seeking medical attention in a timely manner. Tel-ar: Thank you Lt. jg. :: Tal nodded slightly before he turned and walked out. :: Bishop: oO What a very awkward conversation.... Oo ~ Lt JG Alexander Bishop Chief Medical Officer USS Constitution-B, NCC-9012B
  15. ((Peppalexan Jungle, somewhere in the distant past)) ::Two more weeks had passed since Ki Shandres and Tristam Core had joined him in temporal exile, two weeks during which any hope of rescue had long since departed. They were lost in the past. Exactly, how far into the past, they couldn’t know. None of them had the kind of equipment that could reckon such things. Regardless, no one was coming for them.:: ::Saveron’s medical tricorder at least allowed them to identify which of the local life forms were safe to eat, and once they had identified sufficient of the plant life to provide a balanced diet, he again eschewed meat. Shandres on the other hand seemed to find some relief or distraction in the mental and physical exertion of hunting down the local wildlife.:: ::And Core... wasn’t coping. At all. Saveron had tried to speak with the man, but the Vulcan was no Counsellor; neither was the erstwhile Intelligence Officer. Core was a trained Engineer, and the only Starfleet technology here was that which they had brought with them. They each brought their equipment to the man to fix, but it was only a sop and Saveron didn’t doubt that Tristam knew it. The Vulcan could only hope that in time the man would come out of his funk and realise that basic engineering principles could still be applied to their present situation to greatly increase their comfort and chances of survival. In the meantime he examined the local plant life for medicinal properties conserved their first aid supplies as best they could; he foraged for food, meditated and kept watch when the others required sleep, sleeping briefly when they woke. They all needed to watch out for each other if they were to survive on this strange world. :: ::None of which changed the fact that they were stranded thousands of years before they were born.:: ::A major concern in their situation was food; that morning Saveron set off in one direction to search for edible plants and new plant samples to analyse; Shandres set off in another, spear in hand, looking for something to hunt. Core they left, fiddling with his tricorder again.:: ::The Vulcan was digging industriously at a patch of plants with broad leaves and large tubers which his tricorder assured him contained nothing toxic to Rodulans, Betazoids or Vulcans, when something he had never expected to happen again happened; his comm. badge chirped.:: ::Grey gaze scanned the surrounding jungle as he automatically tapped his badge; nothing happened but then he had not really expected it to. Had Core rigged up some sort of relay system, or had their lost hope actually come true? He looked up and around, listening carefully, but he heard nothing. He was quite some distance from their cave. Collecting the tubers that he had already unearthed, Saveron turned and headed back the way he had come, determined to get to the bottom of the chirping comm. badge.:: ::He hadn’t gone far when he felt a familiar shift, a familiar pull, that he never expected to feel again; a transporter lock. How they had managed it, this far back in time, he couldn’t begin to guess. Perhaps, of all of them, Tristam might know; but Core was back at the cave. Dropping his digging stick and tubers to reduce the number of patterns the transporter had to lock on to, he could only hope that the battery and signal from his comm. badge were strong enough to create that lock.:: ::But they weren’t. The lock didn’t engage. He could feel the pull of the transporter, see the occaisional blue sparkle as the field tried to form, but they were far in the distant past, and it was no doubt some piece of Engineering genius that had even allowed the signal to get this far. Perhaps it was too far. He realised that hope had been illogical as the field failed, the pull faded. That which they had known was still true.:: ::He was about to bend and retrieve his tools and food when a sharp whine in the air heralded the sudden, sharp pull of the transporter, a field so strong it hurt, far more powerful than standard regulations permitted. Somehow they had boosted the power. As the whine intensified and the blue sparkles obscured his vision, it felt as though he were being pulled apart. The draw of the transporter field encompassed all his senses and thoughts, more drawn out and strained than any normal transport. For a moment it seemed to encompass his entire existence....:: ::...until, several lifetimes later, the field faded, a past few sparkles lingering, as the humid jungle was replaced by the warm tones of a Galaxy class’s Transporter Room. Familiar faces registered in his peripheral vision as the Vulcan bent double, hands on his knees, drawing in a deep breath as every cell in his body seemed to settle back together again after a moment of existential uncertainty longer than the age of the universe. :: ::...until several lifetimes later, the field faded again, the moment gone, the jungle of ancient Peppalexa still lush and blue-green about him. He took a deep breath and waited, but the pull did not come again. A last ditch effort, and it had failed. They were stuck here after all. The truth had never been any different.:: ::Familiar voices, familiar faces. He straightened up and there was Commander Rahman at the helm of the rescue efforts with the Engineering team, and about him Core and Shandres, as emergency medical staff rushed into the transporter room. Indicating that he needed no immediate aid, Saveron made his way carefully from the transporter pad, and turned to find the paramedics lifting Shandres who looked decidedly ill, a bleeding bite on his leg.:: ::Bending to pick up his stick and tubers, Saveron bid a final, silent goodbye to his friends and the life he had known, and made his way back to the cave. Core was there, and with the strangest news. His Away Team, those who had met with the Seperatists, had been here, had come to rescue them. The transport had begun, but whilst it had locked onto the Away Team, it had failed to make a lock on those who had been stranded. Perhaps their patterns were too temporally distorted?:: ::Walking with the retrieval team, Saveron helped monitor Shandres’ condition on the anti-grav stretcher, ignoring his own dishevelled and scratched up state as he applied a compression bandage to man’s affected leg. He couldn’t even begin to guess what had bitten Ki, but he swabbed the bite site, collecting the venom for analysis.:: ::Shandres wasn’t at the cave. After a brief discussion, Saveron and Core set out to look for him. He’d set off in a westerly direction and his trail wasn’t too hard to follow. If the man was lucky the transporter would have locked onto the third member of their party, and all they would find would be his lastest kill; if he was unlucky then he was still stuck with the rest of them.:: ::Once in Sickbay they were able to get Shandres hooked up to IV fluids and, as the paralysis progressed, Saveron initiated holographic respiration assistance, keeping the man’s blood oxygenated whilst the venom analysis ran. The instant the analysis was through he ran the antidote algorithm and a few minutes later a very precious vial emerged from the medical replicator.:: ::Shandres was already dead when they found him, and whether that made him lucky or unlucky was something that Saveron would meditate on, for a great many years. Stretched out on the ground his form was far more rigid than mere rigor mortis should have made it; the toxin contained some sort of paralytic agent. At least the end would have been relatively swift. Saveron carried Shandres silently back to the cave, listening vaguely as Core spoke rapidly and largely non-sensically about the engineering behind biobed scanners.:: ::Applying the hypospray to Ki’s neck, Saveron watched alternately his patient and the screen with the output from the bioarch as the Betazoid’s oxygenation levels began slowly to rise, his LDH level to stabilise and his raised liver enzymes began to fall. His face took on a healthier, less grey tinge. Recovery would be slow but steady; given a few days Shandres would be as good as new.:: ::They buried Shandres at the back of the cave, with his uniform and comm. badge and what ceremony they felt was appropriate.:: Saveron: May your katra, freed of physical bonds, find its way home. ::With Shandres’s health stabilising, Saveron turned the man’s care over to the nursing staff, settling himself into a chair nearby. His intention was to update the man’s files but, most uncharacteristically for the Vulcan, he fell asleep in the chair. One of the nursing staff surrepticiously scanned him with a medical tricorder and, finding nothing amiss save marked fatigue, pulled a blanket over his lanky form and left him there.:: END Lt. Cmdr Saveron Xenobiologist USS Garuda
  16. ((USS Excalibur-A, Holodeck 3 )) :: Feeling the tension suddenly radiating from the Counselor accompanied by a slight colouring to her cheeks :: oO This didn’t work, she not to well Oo Logan:: Stopping his movements and dropping his arms :: Computer. Make a cushioned chair, suitable size for the counsellor:: Upon the chairs appearance he motioned towards it :: Ma’am Jolara: ::nodding slowly:: I am sorry. Logan:: After the counsellor had sunk into the cushions Kurt sunk to one knee to be more on her level and so to not loom over her :: Would you like me to call a Doctor ma’am oO As I may have done combat medicine but even the holo patients wanted to heal themselves. :: Rune shook her head. What could the doctors do? Nothing! :: Jolara: No. A doctor can not help. It is just... ::her mind raced as fast as her heart:: I am going through something physical and being close and your scent... I mean... I am sorry. It is not anything you did. :: She had no idea how to explain it to him in a way that would not embarrass both of them. :: Jolara: ::quickly adding:: Not the first impression I wanted to make. I am so sorry. I was hoping I had more time to figure things out and that it would not interfere with my duty. I had no idea the effect non-Al-Leyans would have on me. Logan oO What am I supposed to say to that ??. She's obviously more going on than just crew tantrums Oo :: Smiling gently :: It's ok Ma'am, I apologise for using this program. It’s a good job the Instructor has been disabled Mrs wynter is a terrible fuss pot and you would have been plied with copius tea and cushions. :: Smilling broadly he hoped the image of fending of cushions would relax the counsellor:: :: For the first time, Rune looked directing into his eyes. He was very attractive. As soon as that crossed her mind, she mentally kicked herself. She normally did not think of the attractiveness of others. Would he understand or think she was... she wasn't sure what he would think she was. But he deserved some sort of explanation. :: :: She hung her head for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. When she looked back up, she smiled but it was a nervous and confused smile. :: Jolara: Al-Leyans experience what we call 'Season' every 4-5 years in which they have to mate. I am at least a year early. Logan oO I’ve heard of the Vulcan Pon farr thingy, its sound similar to this, but there has to be something else Oo Forgive me Ma’am but how is that a problem ? Jolara: It is complicated by the fact it is forbidden we mate with non-Al-Leyans. ::she laughed nervously:: I guess it should not be a problem for me since I have broken away from them for other reasons. ::she waved her hand:: Which is a whole other problem. But I am finding it very difficult to turn my back on everything I have ever been taught. Logan: I see but could you not go back even for a day to oO how to phrase this delicately Oo Sort this out. Would an escort because of these other reasons help ? :: It was a question she had been asked every time she tried to talk to someone about this. The very thought struck panic within her. :: Jolara: ::shaking her head:: I can not go back there. Ever! :: The tension that had been slowly dissipating from her returned with a vengeance catching Logan a bit of guard :: oO ok that’s never going to happen I see not willingly at least oO Jolara: Our society is very strict. Any deviation from the 'norm' results in attitude readjustment therapy or worse. I experienced the worse once before and I lost who I am. I can not let it happen again. If I go back they will force me to go through it again. Logan:: Still kneeling Kurt edged closer and gently laid his left hand on her forearm :: Forgive me Ma’am but I can’t see what you have done that could be that bad, as you’re wearing a Fleet uniform with rank and responsibilities associated with it. oO What ever they did has her terrified her forearm is a knot to tension or is that fear to match her voice. This attitude adjustment therapy doesn’t sound like anything to be going through, and worse ? Oo :: He understood fear well, how to use to it and what it could do to you. Now Security may be a foreign world but one thing about it he understood well, and that one thing he was good at :: Logan:: Gently gripping her arm so the counselor would look up:: There’s a saying in the Corp that a Marine stands, and it’s not to do with them not being clever enough to know how to use a chair. oO Good a small smile Oo It means the Marines don’t give…….period. During the battles with the Borg a unit was giving protection to a team of Engineers examining a small Borg craft that had landed on a small planet when they were attacked by drones. The rescue shuttle couldn’t land to near in case it too came under fire, so to allow time to get to safety the marines stayed behind. When they too had suffered casualties one marine stayed to allow the injured to be evacuated with the others, knowing what would happen to him he stood his ground. Jolara: ::tilting her head slight:: I do not understand. Logan: I’m new to fleet and to this type of duty and especially this colour, but I do know our responsibility is the protection and safety all any and all crew with us, that means you’re in that category. So If ..ANYONE.. comes with the intent of force, they’ll have to go through a Marine that stands. oO This is one thing I do know how to do Oo And I don’t go down easy oO Ask the Ambassadors about that Oo :: A smirk played at the corner of his mouth :: And I suspect a good few others in this crew as well. :: Why? He hardly knew her. Of course she knew why. He was Starfleet, a fellow crewmember... family. :: Jolara: ::smiling:: I appreciate that Ensign. Logan: I don’t know about your culture Ma’am in regards of turning your back on things but my mother once said that a custom or practice that holds you up should be held onto with both hands, one that holds you down should be left to wither and die. oO What am I doing …what do I know about counselling someone especially a counsellor I have a problem I hit it or shoot it Oo All I know is Mathew Flynn. Jolara: ::puzzled:: Mathew Flynn? Logan: He grew up near us on my home planet, not really into jumping off a cliff into a 20ft pool of water :: Smiling at the memory:: He was more your Science geek. :: Rune still wasn't sure where this was going, so she just listened. :: Logan: It was just before I left for earth and Marine training that Mathew announced and introduced his boyfriend. Jolara: ::it hit her:: Oh. Logan: Most of us asked if they were both coming to the party, some were polite, others were openly against it. His parents threatened to disown him if he didn’t ..:: Searching for the right word :: Change Jolara: ::nodding:: I understand too well. Logan: Mathew agonised his decision for a while oO It was a sad time Oo Then he came to the only decision he could, he told his parents they had no say in it and that he was going to live his life his way, there now both working in the space port back home as civilian contractors and happy with life. oO Except his parents that still refuse to speak to him, so they come to ours for home cooked meals Oo Sorry Ma’am I’m no counsellor, so I probably haven’t helped, that’s just how I see it. :: Rune took a shallow breath. She wasn't sure what she was feeling at that moment. Everything was jumbled together. :: Jolara: Actually that does help some. That is exactly why I can not go back to Leya-I. It is strictly forbidden to even have feelings such as that... and I do. That is what makes this all the more complicated. The first time I went through my Season, I did not have a choice to... ::her face reddened slightly:: It was not a pleasant experience. I would rather not but I do not know that there is any other way to get through it. Logan oO There’s me thinking you had to be enlightened as a race to gain entry into the federation. What am I supposed to say !!!. She probably already thinks I’m an idiot with my babbling about marines standing, protecting her and matthew. Great I can just her entries to my records Ensign Logan babbling bumbling buffon, hey that almost rhymes. Oo :: Taking a large breath of air :: oO Borg, Hirogen, Breen fine any day, but this…giving advice . Oo Ma’am excuse this but I can’t believe there is no one who doesn’t find you attractive and vice versa, talk to them and see what happens. Jolara: I would not even know who to... How could I? Al-Leyans do not have relationships the same way humans do. We do not... ::trying to find the right word:: commit in the same way if at all. oOWhich makes things that much more complicated with Nikki.Oo ::shaking her head:: I am sorry. I did not mean to... how do humans say it? Spill my guts? Logan:: Chuckling :: Yes that’s the saying. Ma’am, although my mother would make us laugh by making us say. I’m terribly sorry to burden you with these issues that have happened upon my door but I thought you might be able to help me in shinning a light upon these troubles. It always made us smile having to say to so a little easier to get our problems out. :: Another smile …thanks Mum :: Sometime those with the answers have their own questions. :: He gave her a warm smile :: I’m Honoured you confided in me especially being the one who turned the lights of when trying to teach a lady to dance :: Letting a small giggle escape :: But one thing Ma’am who said anything about Commitment. Jolara: ::looking puzzled:: Is that not what humans expect? Logan: When my father first met my mother he would only promise to love her today and tomorrow. And to this day they hold to that. It’s because with only those few days to concentrate on they can put their hearts into making them good days and not looking years ahead. ::Rune thought about that and then nodded.:: Jolara: That does make logical sense. Logan: For what it’s worth Ma’am find this person and work on today and tomorrow and see where that road takes you two. :: Rune smiled. :: Jolara: Thank you. Hopefully once I get through my season, we can do just that. Logan: NO..... :: His answer came out in a short burst, looking directly at the counselor :: No, never wait. Go now and sort it. How many chances do you think you'll get in life ??. Besides today is counting down. Of course that and your season with your needing to mate, it could well be the perfect time to talk :: He gave the counselor a wink :: Jolara: This certainly has not gone the way I thought or intended. Perhaps it would be better to do your official evaluation later. Although if you have anything you feel you need to talk about, ::smiling warmly:: it is only fair I listen. Logan:: Shaking his head :: That seems to be life, Ma'am I've told you what you need to do so go and find this person, and make today count.. oO I thought this would count as the session Oo Me :: Letting out a small chuckle :: ....nothing that can't wait Ma'am oO More like where would I start. But last time I was honest with a counselor all it got me was trouble and reprimands Oo Do you need or would you like an escort ma'am, to find this friend :: Smilling at her :: of yours? Jolara: ::smiling back at him:: I will. ========================================================================= A joint post with great pleasure Ensign Kurt Logan Security Officer With Great patience, Understanding and Ability from ((thank you Mr. Logan)) Lieutenant Rune Jolara Ship's Counselor USS Excalibur NCC-41903-A
  17. ((Palace of Her Majesty Virah-Latyi, Myla-Rothra City, 15,000 years ago)) :: As Ryan continued to recite, Chythar was trying hard to stay relaxed. He was remembering to breathe slowly. As he inhaled, he tensed and held his muscles which he released upon exhale. oO This is a really bad idea.... Oo :: ::The room began to grow quiet.:: King: If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, ::pause:: ::With a wave of her flaps the Queen moved in toward Ryan, inching closer a look of impatient anger in her face as the level of her voice began to raise. Closing the distance surprisingly quick, her sinewy neck lowered until it sat squarely in line with his.:: King: oO She’s going to eat me. Oo ::softly:: Where's the peck of pickled peppers that Peter Piper picked? King: (If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers,) ::pause:: Tura-Fe: ( I think you've made your point, Human King. ) ::Tru-Dar-Orr nodded his agreement. Clicking in his water voice, he turned to Tura-Fe.:: Tru-Dar-Orr: ::water voice:: ( On that we can agree. ) King: ...Davenport, turn the UT back on… Virah-Latyi: Interesting. What was that he spoke? :: It was actually a tongue twister, but tongue twisters were harder to describe than poetry. Surely a civilization like theirs must have some sort of a bardic aspect to it, so CD tried to explain with a bit of an exaggeration. :: Skyfire: He just recited a poem in our native tongue. Which sounded presumably like nonsense to you. Much as your words first sounded to us. Male Peppalexan: I don’t believe this trickster for a second… King: ::Bowing:: I speak the truth your Majesty. ::Leaning his head back, Ryan snapped his neck around in an attempt to shake out his mane of long hair, emulating the neck flaps of the Peppalexans.:: Who are you that would question my integrity? ::The tall Peppalexan moved from the dais where the throne sat slowly, taking a moment to size up the young Ensign, he replied icily. Tru-Dar-Orr: I am Tru-Dar-Orr, First Minister to Her Majesty. And you, my foul smelling trickster are a liar. :: The queen seemed to shoot a displeased glance toward her first minister, though exactly what the emotion was Chythar had no idea. :: Skyfire: Since our weapons demonstration failed, he felt it necessary to demonstrate our technology in another way. Our current communication seemed like a prime example. If there is to be any blame for Mr. King's actions, I accept full responsibility. Tru-Dar-Orr: Weapons, you say? You bring weapons with you? :: as he turned to Virah-Latyi :: Your Majesty, it would appear that these. Outsiders come with ill intent. :: The conversation seemed like it was getting worse. Given the events of the last four hours, Chythar was starting to doubt that he would get out of this alive. Especially after Ryan pulled his little stunt with the tricorder. :: (( Flashback -- moments earlier )) ::As a spear was placed on the ground and the guard backed away, CD locked gaze with the ensign.:: Skyfire: Go ahead, Mr. King. Lowest setting you can. :: Ryan frowned as he moved forward, hands raised to grab the device from the guard. Raising the phaser to eye-level, and there was a dull beep. He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. The battery was dead. He pressed the button on the phaser as the room filled with the sound of gasps.:: King: ::to Skyfire.:: Dead battery, thankfully. :: CD's eyes narrowed slightly at Ryan, but didn't go into the man's head. The look that was conveyed spoke volumes: 'Do not lie to me.' His gaze shifted back to the surrounding crowd and forced himself to relax. :: ::The noise in the chamber began to die down as they realized nothing had happened. And then the noise levels reached new heights. ‘Liars. Tricksters. Do not believe them!’:: :: CD's eyes narrowed slightly at Ryan, but didn't go into the man's head. The look that was conveyed spoke volumes: 'Do not lie to me.' His gaze shifted back to the surrounding crowd and forced himself to relax. :: ::The noise in the chamber began to die down as they realized nothing had happened. And then the noise levels reached new heights. ‘Liars. Tricksters. Do not believe them!’:: King: If you would allow us to prove ourselves in a different way? We can communicate through the most excellent device my colleague ::motioning to Davenport:: holds in his hand. But what about when we turn that off? Skyfire: :: under his breath :: Please don't do anything stupid... ::Virah watched as they fiddled with something upon the items that bedecked their bodies.:: Virah-Latyi: What is that device? ::To her there was no answer, rather the man who had attempted to win her favour with compliments spoke to his companions before to her, and when he finally did, his words were no longer comprehensible.:: King: ::to Skyfire and Davenport:: (This should be fun.) (( End Flashback )) :: The one Chythar barely recognized as Tura-Fe , a creature of historical artifacts and finds. Much like their own Ian Dunross aboard the Garuda, this XY chromosome being was a man of science. :: Tura-Fe: Your Majesty, if I may? Virah-Latyi: You have my leave, Tura-Fe. Tura-Fe: I urge you to consider their words. I have examined the relics my entire career. The ones they bring now... it is unmistakably of the same origin. :: Chythar's hearing must have been affected by the knock on the head. Relics? What relics...? :: Skyfire: oO We weren't here before! Oo :: The First Minister seemed agitated. His tail and neck fins shifting to a fiery shade of purple. :: Virah-Latyi: Your relics? Tura-Fe: Please, just have a look at- ::The captain of the guard clicked his tongue.:: Je-San: That's enough, Tura-Fe. Tura-Fe: No, it's not enough. These creatures are perhaps the greatest discovery in the history of our Kingdom. :: Pandemonium erupted. The entire audience chamber seemed up in arms about the status of Skyfire's team being considered a discovery. CD thought it was strange. Then, there were alarms that echoed throughout the chamber. :: Soldier: Captain! ::to Virah-Latyi:: Your Majesty! Je-San: ::annoyed:: What is it? Soldier: Fire falls from the sky! Skyfire: oO Sky...fire....? Oo :: Tru-Dar-Orr’s mouth curled again. He turned his neck to look to the southeast as a large fireball descended toward the city below, a menacing black trail of smoke in its wake. Pandemonium broke out for a brief moment as those in the audience chamber began to panic.:: Je-San: Protect the Queen at once! :: She was surrounded by guards no more than two seconds after he gave the order. :: Tru-Dar-Orr: ::His voice booming:: Silence in the Chamber of Her Majesty! ::Turning to Je-San:: Do your job, get the Queen to the protected rooms under the Palace! Virah-Latyi: Wait… ::The large ball of fire come to rest just outside the city's walls, far off in the distance. The ground shook beneath them, throwing courtiers, tapestries and plush pillows throughout the Chamber.:: ::Je-San turned back to the creatures, seething with anger.:: Je-San: Are you responsible for this? oO Think fast, CD. Think fast. Oo Skyfire : No, we are not. Tru-Dar-Orr: Of course they are! They have rained fire down from the sky. Tricked us with their “weapons.” A true predator lays in wait for the moment to strike when least expected. Distractions. Tricks. ::pointing a taloned hand at Skyfire:: We are tired of your lies. Skyfire : On my life, I am telling you the truth: we are not responsible for this. I suspect the same phenomenon that sent us here is the one that brought down this oO Think fast. Use a word. Oo fireball. King: First Minister, our leader speaks the truth. We have not done, nor is it in our people’s nature to rain fire down from the sky. ::nodding to Skyfire.:: Though the unfortunate naming coincidence isn’t lost on me. ::Shouts erupted from the Chamber as the assembled Peppalexan’s fear and anger grew.:: Soldier: Your Majesty! It has landed on the outskirts of the city. It is some kind of sea-faring vessel from the sky! Tru-Dar-Orr: An invasion force perhaps? Your Majesty, we must ride out to meet them in battle before it is too late! ...And we should bring these ::motioning to King, Davenport and Skyfire:: things to witness the destruction of their allies. ...And to pay for their deceit. Davenport: ::raising his hand:: Excuse me, but doesn’t that seem like a bit of an overreaction? :: Skyfire just stood there in silence, trying to come up with a response. He was spared from having to come up with one once the queen spoke again. :: Virah-Latyi: Silence. Tru-Dar-Orr, reassure the people that all is under control. Jen-San, take some soldiers and assess the damage. Tru-Dar-Orr: Of course, ::Bowing in formal supplication, his flaps prostrated.:: your Majesty. Davenport: And what are you to do with us? :: He nodded his thanks now that the ministir and guard captain were given something else to do. Otherwise he kept his silence, for dead docs weren't much fun or use to anyone. And he quite liked living, thank you very much. :: Virah-Latyi: Our *guests* are to remain with me. Tura-Fe, you also. You mentioned some relics, let us see them now. :: There was a long pause of what seemed to be hesitation from the historian, who seemed almost reluctant to obey. Chythar thought to himself oO Well, what are you waiting for? Oo as he glanced at Tura-Fe, but said nothing. :: Virah-Latyi: I believe I commanded you to do my bidding. :: Those who had been given other things to do took their leave, and the guards formed what Chythar thought was a kill circle around the primary, waiting to kill anyone who threatened her life. Despite how much training he was given in the art of combat, he didn't like it. :: Virah-Latyi: Tura-Fe, lead. ::She paused, then added.:: Virah-Latyi: Skyfire...walk with me. :: The guards did allow him access into their little circle with a bit of reluctance. CD's mind started to scream oO TRAP! Oo and he quickly clamped down on that in order to maintain his exterior calm. He allowed the neutrality to come into his voice with a practiced ease. :: Skyfire: Of course, your majesty. ::As Tura-Fe led the small procession, Virah held back a bit to converse with man who, despite the attempts by one of the others, seemed to be the leader.:: Virah-Latyi: Tell me truthfully, is this of your doing? :: The million credit question. Was the Garuda capable of creating these anomalous rifts they seem to have fallen through? No. Was it his fault that they they transported into a subspace fracture? No. Meaning it was an external influence that caused this to happen. And he was blameless. :: Skyfire: On my life, I swear it is not so. ::She cast a sidelong glance at him.:: Virah-Latyi: I believe you. :: He looked visibly relieved. All that tension he'd been holding since Ryan's stunt with the tricorder seemed to vanish away, thus making him relax. He wanted to hug his puppy. And wanted to get the hell out of here. In one piece. :: Skyfire: I am glad to hear it. :: He paused, and attempted to read her features as his forehead creased in worry. :: You seem concerned, Your Majesty. Care to discuss it? Virah-Latyi: I have had these dreams. I used to have them long ago, but they faded and with them my memory of them. When I was told of your coming, however, they returned and they have done so every night until I finally realized I must see you. :: He was interested, and though not a psychologist, he knew the power of dreams. Or rather, he had some basic idea because of the fact it was a required medical class. Many Terran figures were psychologists and thought up amazing things about REM sleep. :: Skyfire: Me, specifically? You have my attention, Your Majesty. Virah-Latyi: There was a woman who seemed to be of the same species as you, even about your height. She had long, dark hair. It...waved, like the water does and her eyes were as green as my gills. :: He thought about that long and hard, and was silent for a few seconds as he tried to think which of the crew, specifically which of his patients, matched that description. His brows arched for only a moment in surprise as he attempted to figure out who she meant. :: Skyfire: What was her name? Virah-Latyi: Name...her name was… ::She paused there as she tried to recall.:: Virah-Latyi: I believe it was...Al-Or-Uh. :: Another second passed before his eyes widened. He wasn't the only one being transported through time -- she'd met Alora DeVeau. Oh man. He had to wake up from this hellish nightmare, soon. And then get checked out by the shrink to see if he was crazy. Again. :: Skyfire: Alora....You met one of my crew mates. Virah-Latyi: Did I? Are you certain? Skyfire: I can't be sure until I see... :: He paused, swallowing his fear. :: ...the relics. Tura-Fe: ::looking back:: Your Majesty... Virah-Latyi: Ah, we have arrived. Perhaps you will have an answer awaiting you inside. :: As they arrived at the great circular antechamber where all the "relics" had been placed, there was a giant rectangular table in the center with various items. All metallic. Gleaming like they were shiny new, or maybe slightly corroded. Things that Chythar recognized immediately: a tricorder, a type II phaser. a box of tools...? oO That looks like an engineering kit... Carter? Oo He continued staring at the objects for a moment longer before his attention was retrieved once more. :: Davenport: :: Whispering:: There’s something off about this place… King: ::quietly:: Ummmmm… :: He walked over to another set of tables, numbering three. This time, each one looked more like a stone slab which almost reminded him of the layout of an autopsy theater. oO Suppress that thought, doc. Just do your job. Oo He realized also that the personal effects of each of the three cadavers had been kept with the bodies, presumably for archival purposes. And as he took a good look at the skulls, he began to sweat a little from nervousness. His face nearly went white as a ghost, and he swallowed hard. :: Skyfire: I know them.... :: Three skeletons. Three uniform colors: red, gold, and teal. Three species: Betazoid, Rodulan, and Vulcan. One thing was for sure -- the remains weren't recent... but that still didn't explain how they got here. :: TBC === Lieutenant Chythar Skyfire Chief Medical Officer Temporally Displaced
  18. (( Evan Delano’s Quarters, Deck 9, USS Garuda )) :: At this range, subspace communications were sometimes difficult to arrange, but Starfleet had gone to great lengths to establish a secure, fast network that allowed live communication with most of the core Starfleet worlds. That being said, Evan’s mother still accused him of not calling often enough. :: DELANO: Mom, I called you a week ago. I can’t help when we’re out of range of the subspace relays. SUSAN: You could still write, or record a message. DELANO: :: sighing :: I’ll try to do that more often. Did you get the package I sent? SUSAN: Oh, yes! :: She panned moved out of the way and the camera shook as she lifted it to get a better view of her office. A new miniature decorated the crowded shelf along the rear wall. It was a scale replica of the Garuda - a model Evan had commissioned from a peculiar Cardassian merchant on DSX when he’d first arrived. :: SUSAN: I was impressed. You said a Cardassian made it? DELANO: Yes, he operates a small shop of Deep Space Ten. I’m not sure how he ended up out here. SUSAN: I’d love to see more work from him. :: Evan smiled. :: DELANO: I’ll stop by his shop the next time we’re at the station and see what I can find. Any requests. SUSAN: Oh, you know know me. :: He did. She preferred to display models of ships with some kind of historical significance, but the truth was that just about any working starship was beautiful to her in some way. She somehow managed to be both an artist and an engineer at the same time - traits that were both elusive to Evan. :: SUSAN: By the way, I’ve been trying to arrange a birthday gift for you, but it’s much harder to find a reliable transport moving that direction than it is the other way around. :: Evan tried not to look uncomfortable. :: DELANO: Oh, thanks Mom. I’ll let you know when it arrives. :: There was an awkward pause. Evan broke it. :: DELANO: How’s Apollo doing? :: She sighed. :: SUSAN: Well, you know he never warmed up to Jim like he did you. Jim says he’s been staying away from the house more than he used to. :: Evan nodded, but he felt his heart sinking. The wolf-dog had been a particularly challenging case, and in some ways, Evan and Apollo had helped each other find a certain peace. He had feared the separation would eventually cause Apollo to once again become antisocial - or worse, violent - but he had feared bringing him to the Tiger as an ensign. Wolves, even wolf-dogs, needed miles of land to be healthy. The confines of a starship - even a very large starship like the Garuda - weren’t appropriate for an animal like that. :: DELANO: Maybe I can arrange some leave on Earth soon. SUSAN: We’d all like that. :: Another pause. Evan decided it was time to sign out. :: DELANO: I should get going. I have some things I need to get done before tomorrow. It was good talking to you, Mom. Say hi to Kim for me. SUSAN: Sure, Evan. Thanks for calling. Love you. DELANO: Love you too. :: He clicked the button to end the conversation, waited for the screen to go black, then stared out of his window. Sol wasn’t visible, but he knew roughly where it should be and his attention focused there. He didn’t like admitting that he was homesick, but he realized that was a large part of why he’d been so… uncomfortable over the last few months. It had been over a year since he’d last visited Earth. The last planet he’d set foot on had nearly killed him. :: :: After years of being surrounded by sparsely populated countryside, he was struggling to adapt more than he had ever anticipated. Perhaps it was time to talk to a counselor. Perhaps. :: :: As he set about the rest of his business, the thought lingered. :: === Lt. JG Evan Delano Asst. Chief of Security/Tactical USS Garuda
  19. ((In a shuttle in space attacking a Borg cube)) :: Tal adjusted his flight path. As he had expected the Borg had not fired on him so their seemed to be little point in his continuing to tax the shuttles maneuvering systems when the enemy seemed to be ignoring him. :: :: Tal doubled checked the distance from him to the shield that was protecting the Borg cube. Soon… very soon in fact at the speed he was travelling so he reached over, tapped a couple controls and brought up the next song. Just hearing it brought back memories of that beach front tavern that Jason had always been dragging him to back at the Academy. After every beach volleyball game they would relax with a few drinks and enjoy the ancient music that the tavern was famous for. In all honesty it had been the only reason Tal had always joined Jason there afterwards. :: :: Good memories. Maybe his last if this stunt failed. He aimed the shuttle right at the center of the Borg shield, waited a few moments and then pressed the firing button for the shuttles phasor, holding it down as he felt a big smile appear on his face. Sometimes the universe did have a sense of humour he thought as he listened to the music. :: Music (Pat Benatar): =/\= Hit me with your best shot and fire away…… =/\= :: Tal held the firing button down, a continuous stream of energy leaping forward from the phasor emitter to strike the center of the massive Borg shield. Nothing happened! :: :: Time seemed to slow down as his shuttle continued to hurtle towards certain doom. As it did Tal had the absurd thought that in a few moments the 2 female Marine pilots would get a very graphic demonstration of just what happens when a bug hits a windshield. :: :: For a moment he almost pulled up, but he ignored the momentary twinge of illogical nerves. Even when the red light started to flash warning him that the phasor was about to malfunction. This had to work and if not then the USS Apollo was doomed. It had about as much chance of surviving an attack by 2 Borg cubes as it did of flying through the heart of a star. :: :: A loud annoying beeping sound started as the red light went from flashing to solid. The phasor beam fluttered in and out, then died as Tal glanced down at the console in front of him to see what the scanners were detecting. Borg shield was down to 9% but the power level was starting to climb back up as…. :: KER, BLOOWEY, CRASH, !!!!!!!!!!!! :: The shuttle slammed into the Borg shield doing warp 6, the Borg cube was traveling at warp 8.5. As expected the Borg shield won the match, but not by much. The shuttle broke through but the front half was totally destroyed, the metal compacted, twisted, smashed beyond repair. :: :: It’s speed was greatly reduced, a large portion of its left warp nacelle was gone, ripped off in the impact and it’s limited atmosphere was vented out into space from multiple holes, fractures and through the shattered forward viewport. :: :: What was left of the right nacelle was barely producing any propulsion and that was giving it the credit of the doubt. For the most part the shuttle just drifted towards the Borg cube, moving more and more towards the one side as it did so. :: :: Bells were ringing, weird flippant bells that were giving Tal a massive headache. He tried to open his eyes, something did not feel right. Where was he? :: :: Somehow Tal managed to force his left eye open, he was face down on what he thought was the floor, something tugged at his waist and left leg, slowly growing weaker as it did so. He pushed, feeling weak, his arms did not want to respond. It made no sense but he knew he had to move… why??? :: :: Forget why just do it he thought, pushing, feeling a massive wave of nausea sweep over him. One that had him puking in seconds. His head pounded, it was hard to think and for some reason the puke stayed floating in front of his face. :: :: He managed to roll onto his side, his vision blocked, blurred by the puke. Why was he wearing a helmet? He had to remember, it was important. He tried to shake his head to clear his mind but that only made it worse. He felt weightless, was he in space? :: :: He reached up to wipe his face, his hand stopped by the visor, visor? He was wearing a helmet. Why was he wearing a helmet? Nothing made any sense. He needed to see, he fumbled for the lock device at his neck, his hands clumsy, lacking control, feeling his way by memory more than anything else. :: :: He heard the click, the release and started to pull the helmet off. The puke, air, everything in the helmet was violently sucked out replaced by a cold so deep, so frigid that it instantly made his teeth chatter. It was like dunking his head in the arctic ocean, even the moisture in his eyes started to freeze. Without thinking he pulled the helmet back on, flipping the lock, wondering why he had been taking off his helmet in the first place. :: :: As the helmet refilled with oxygen his mind cleared enough for him to remember. He was in a shuttle; he had collided with the Borg shield. Somehow he had survived. Was he inside or outside of that shield? He had to find out and he had to do so now. As he thought about it he realized that he had to be inside the shield. At the angle he had been approaching if he had not been able to punch through the shield the entire shuttle would have been destroyed. As it was it must have been a close thing. :: :: Still he had to be inside the Borg shields and he still had a mission to complete so Tal tried twisting around until he was able to see that the shuttle was a complete write off. The [...]pit and all the controls were destroyed and there were numerous holes in what remained of the shuttles outer hull. His left leg partially lodged into one of the bigger holes. He was on the ceiling, rammed right up against the anti-matter warheads which were no longer so safely secured in place. :: :: Obviously the trigger mechanism was destroyed, so was the transporter. It was beginning to look like this whole mission was a complete bust, failure. :: :: He forced himself to sit up. Having to wriggle and squirm as he did so as he had very little space in which to move. It also revealed the fact that his suit had become damaged. Tal reached down to his waist, pulled off the repair kit, removed the small container and pressed it against the damaged section of the suit. It took about half of the sealant but he thought he had fixed the problem. :: :: He hoped so. Now that he was thinking better he needed to assess his chances. See if there was any way he could possibly salvage this mission. Problem was he could not see anything from where he was and what little he could see was destroyed and useless. He had to get outside the shuttle, see what he could see. :: :: Looking around he could see that there was no opening big enough for him to get out. He reached to his waist feeling for his phasor pistol but it was gone. A quick glance around showed that he had no idea where it was. :: :: Now what? He doubted that he had the strength to force an opening in the metal. Not the way he was feeling and he seriously doubted that he could have even if he had been in perfect shape. So how was he going to get out? :: :: Everywhere he looked he saw destruction, everything from the front half of the shuttle was completely destroyed. How he had survived was a puzzle. As far as he could figure the fact that he had removed the backrest from the pilot’s seat had probably saved his life. Other than that…. It was a mystery. However that did not solve his problem. :: :: A sudden wave of nausea washed over him and he had to fight to prevent vomiting again. His mind was not working right, fading in and out. He had to have some internal injuries. It was the only thing that made any sense. He closed his eyes, tried to relax, to slow his breathing, his pulse. :: :: After a few moments he opened his eyes. He still felt like crap but his mind was clearer. Hopefully that would help. It took a few moments for him to realize what he was looking at. There just in front of him was the buckled, shattered, destroyed side hatch, or at least what there was left of it. That was not what had caught his attention. What had were the activation controls for the emergency hatch release. Basically a set of tiny explosive charges designed to blow the hatch off in an emergency. :: :: He reached forward, groping for the activation switch with 2 fingers, reaching, pushing, wriggling his fingers trying to activate, to hit the button. :: BBBOOOMMMBBBBB!!!! :: A sudden explosion blew shrapnel in and out of the shuttle. It also created a massive jagged hole, one that he might be able to fit through if he got lucky. Unfortunately a glancing blow had damaged his visor. Now not only did it have puke residue it was cracked with a fine network tiny spider lines. :: :: Something else was wrong. He glanced down to see a large chunk of metal stickling out of his left leg. His blood was already starting to leak out and float off in tiny little bubbles. :: :: Tal grabbed the chunk of metal but forced himself to stop before he pulled it out. That was a sure fire way to bleed to death. He spotted the canister of repair sealant floating nearby. It looked damaged, probably in the explosion as it had been working perfectly just a while ago. :: :: Tal managed to reach it, pull it closer and inspect it. Pain was starting to flair our from his leg. He had to do this and do it now before he passed out so Tal yanked the metal out and activated the canister. Nothing happened, so he smashed the jagged piece of metal covered in his blood against the top of the device, again and again. Suddenly the top broke off and the contents started to come out under pressure. :: :: Tal stuffed the end into the rip in the suit and felt a hot flash of intense pain as the chemicals in the sealant, sealed off both the wound and the hole in the suit. In reflex to the pain he crushed the canister in his fist, forcing the last of the goo out onto his leg. :: :: Tal had to fight to get his breath back as the waves of pain threatened to wash over him, drowning him in a flood of agony and nerve shattering delirium. Slowly it passed but even before it had Tal started to move, to pull himself forward, swimming through the weightless interior of the craft until he had managed to wriggle out through the hole. :: :: Now he could see. He was close. The towering shape of the Borg cube took up almost all of his vision until he turned to look around. In the distance he could see the USS Apollo, still fighting but even from this distance he could see that it was badly damaged. :: :: This distance…. There should have been no way for him to see the USS Apollo. Not just by looking. They were getting closer. This cube was going to the aid of the other one. The Apollo must be winning. Now more than ever he had to trigger the anti-matter. There was no way the Apollo could survive the attack of the 2nd cube. :: :: Looking around Tal spotted the photon torpedo attached to the rear of the shuttle. It had not deployed as it should have, probably because the impact destroyed the controls before they could activate the release. It looked damaged but maybe it still worked. :: :: He forced himself to crawl over the exterior of the shuttle, hand by hand. As he did he could tell the cracks in his visor were getting worse. The residue from him puking was flowing across the interior of the visor to collect along the thin spider web of lines. He had to hurry. No telling how much longer he had and a quick glance up showed they were getting closer to the main battle. He could now see tiny bits of detail on the Apollo. He had to hurry. :: :: He reached out, his hand touching the exterior of the missile. Using it to pull himself closer, examining it as he did. It was damaged, scratched and dented but still seemed to be in one piece. That’s all he needed. :: :: Tal pushed, forcing it to move, feeling the pain ripple through him. He definitely had internal injuries. He was going to fail, the Borg were going to win, to assimilate him…… :: :: NEVER…. Rage ripped through him, the pain serving as fuel. He would die before letting those [...] parasites get their hands on him… He pushed, ignoring the pain, ignoring the weird sensations inside him, pushed with all he had, like his life depended on it. :: :: The torpedo shifted, altered its angle. Not as much as he wanted but enough that his idea should work. He had to rest for a moment, breathing deeply as black spots danced in front of his eyes. He was going to pass out. He could feel it. He fought it, desperate to stay conscious. His hands fumbling with the torpedo, snagging the damaged side panel, ripping it open so he could activate it. :: :: Nothing happened, the torpedo just lay there. The Borg would win after all. Tal glanced up to see the Apollo take a massive hit, one that seemed to do more damage than it could take but the edge of the Borg cube blocked out the details, preventing him from telling just how bad the damage was. :: :: In a fit of rage Tal kicked the torpedo, again and again. The sudden activation of its engines ripped him free from the outer hull of the shuttle as it started to pick up speed, being pushed haphazardly towards the center of the massive cube that towered over him. :: :: He had to get away. Now that his mission was completed he had to escape. He reached down, feeling for the controls for the propulsion unit. His fingers felt weird and the black spots were back, dancing a weird hula dance before his eyes. :: :: The controls had to be there. He could feel the propulsion unit still on his back so he kept fumbling at his waist. He could barely breathe. That didn’t make sense. He had a 4 hour supply. He must have lost more oxygen than he thought… that or he was losing some now. Who knew how many holes there were in his suit. :: :: Suddenly the Borg cube seemed to drift away from him. He must have hit the controls… it was nice out here… so peaceful…. The stars were fading… everything was fading… for some reason his mind drifted back to the music… he had… given the Borg his best shot………………………………………………. :: Cmdr. Tal Tel-ar Chief Operations Officer USS Apollo, NCC-71669 Director of the SDC
  20. (( Private Quarters of Nienne Kenoi; USS Garuda)) :: The color scheme for her new quarters were cream and mauve with accents in a muted green and she approved. Sort of. It was soothing enough and feminine. Alright but not quite what she wanted. No, what she wanted, really wanted, were hardware floors and floor to ceiling windows that let in lots of light and a workspace for her art. She wanted those beaches that turned this lovely shade of pink as the first tendrils of dawn worked their way up into the sky. She wanted that one turquoise wall in her bedroom that always made her mother cringe when she happened to walk in.:: :: Sort of. :: :: She was Rodulan and Rodulans remained on the home world; in her head, were the voices of her parents and brothers and friends and all of them were saying the same thing. And it wasn't go out into space and have adventures. In her head, was the litany of things that it was proper for a good Rodulan to want.:: :: So yes, she wanted things like that turquoise wall and the sandy beach and the floor to ceiling windows, but to be entirely fair, she wanted them here. On board the Garuda and not back there. There was ... :: :: Known. :: :: Predictable. :: :: Safe. :: :: She wanted more. Always had. And she had found friends that felt the same. Those had been exciting times. Clustered around campfires on the beach, collective dreaming, far from the worried and frowning visages of parents and elder siblings. But when the time came to make the dreams they'd shared real, she had been the only one to take the step away from what was known and safe and predictable. That had been a surprise. A sadness that she held close. The end of innocence because ...:: :: People lie. :: :: People dream out loud but often ... too often ... that dreaming is enough. :: :: And she had believed. :: :: There had been pre-med and then medical school on the home world. The first step away from the safety of home. Then Starfleet Academy. She had gone alone and cried that first night. Cried for the dreamers who chose to let their dreams die in the name of ... :: :: Safety.:: ::A predictable life.:: :: Now, all these years later, she could banish those voices in her head easily enough. :: :: She was no longer the naive girl who'd snuck away to the beach. :: :: She sat cross-legged on the floor at one end of the wide wooden coffee table that was generally used to display books and hold up food and drinks or on some occasions, even feet. She used it for her art. There were sketchbooks, drawings, graphite sticks, a small knife, and erasers scattered about. And then there was the basotile. Blues and greens and just a touch of purple. :: :: She sat, hands on her thighs, and let her mind open, let her thoughts flow outward, to enfold its shape. Time slowed, disappeared from conscious thought, while her mind traced the graceful curves and introduced new windings. It was harmony. It was a dance. It was an expression that reflected what she was at this moment. It was ...:: :: Her. :: :: And in its intricacies, it would never be exactly the same again as she would never be precisely the same again as she was in this moment. Her mind stroked, cajoled, encouraged, and the basotile took shape, flowed in response.:: :: She would be known as this moment would be known for any who could understand and appreciate. :: Ensign Nienne Kenoi, M.D. Medical Officer USS Garuda
  21. (( Embassy Grounds )) :: Tal E'leck was used to watching, but that did not mean he liked it. He was a soldier, and his duty was to protect what was left of the Romulan Star Empire. Part of that duty was to perform surveillance covertly of the Federation and Starfleet forces currently rebuilding their shattered embassy and restoring their grounds. He hated them..their abundance, their seeming joy and resoluteness at restoring what the bastard hated Klingons and their lapdogs from the Orion Syndicate and the religious zealots from the Scarlet Brotherhood had done to their homes and grounds. Himself and three others were assigned to report on their activities and try to find some weakness that could be exploited at a later date.He concerned himself only with his part of the mission, reporting back on what they saw. What he had found out, secreted in a crater hollowed out by pieces of the late USS Thunder after it came slamming into the Laudean atmosphere during the Klingon invasion. Once their Corps Of Engineers had cleared the site, his team quietly moved in, and set up shop. One thing he and his team had learned...Starfleet was incredibly efficient and through in their construction and rebuilding...they could show the Romulans a thing or two about construction...but they were the enemy, and the day would come when they too would be expelled from this world. He grew up hearing the Federation was weak, soft, unable to fight a real war...a belief shattered by the Dominion War. Now, here he was, his own world destroyed, billions of Romulans dead, and he was essentially hiding in the weeds. He had learned during his time in the service that direct confrontation was no longer an option..subterfuge and nuance were what would be required to wrest Duronis away from Federation influence, and others were involved in those actions. He hoped they had been able to effect more influence to stop Starfleet and the Federation from returning, but those efforts were slow to bear fruit, just as his efforts were..:: :: Armed with the knowledge Starfleet was sending a much more capable...and dangerous...Akira Class starship to replace the much weaker and destroyed Cheyenne Class upped the ante a bit...and he would love to see the day when pieces of this ships' hull adorned the Romulan Embassy as a testament to their regaining their place in the galactic hierarchy, the same as pieces of the hated Enterprise namesake were displayed in the now destroyed Romulan Senate. He also found it ironic that the half breed Sela, child of one of the captured Enterprise officers whom a Romulan had taken as a consort, was trying to pull the pieces of the shattered Empire together. His duty was to the Empire, and he would do whatever was required to make it possible...including hiding in the dirt, watching...and waiting. Merek would take this world and make it his own again, and with his success, he would also succeed, carving out his own niche in Mereks' eyes as a capable officer, one worthy of more responsibility and power...:: :: This was not his way. He would much rather spend his time cutting off the head of the snake...killing the female Starfleet captain and eliminating the Marine garrison. Starfleet Marines had more than proven their worth, and they were indeed a formidable force. Such actions usually had ramifications, but there were ways to kill which left no trail..at least, not one which would point back to them. Perhaps the Laudean agitation will provide such an opportunity to disrupt the Starfleet command structure...but those were matters which did not concern him...yet. His concern was not only what he was seeing, but what he wasn't seeing...things such as how much weaponry they had on hand? What kind of weaponry? What was the brown metallic coating over the top of the armory? These things needed closer observation, and he dared not get closer...being discovered would be considered a failure, and could get him killed...by either Starfleet or Merek. To be killed by Starfleet would be considered honorable, being killed by Merek, and he would be forever known as a failure. He would kill his own men for such incompetence...such things could not be tolerated. For now, he and his men waited...and watched...:: MSPNPC Subcommander Tal E'leck Imperial Romulan Defense Force/ Duronis II Embassy As simmed by: Major Hannibal Tiberious Parker 2nd Officer/Marine Commander/Chief Of Strategic Operations USS Thunder-A/ Duronis II Embassy
  22. ((Celes II, Ruin of Abandoned Machinery Storage Warehouse)) ::The building was huge. None of its original equipment functioned any longer, and it had a large gash near one side of it that would have left the building open to the atmosphere had not the Clashing organisers sealed it with ferrofoam. The place had all the hallmarks of a temporary shelter - portable furniture and partitions brought in, generators laying about powering lights and replicators and local atmospheric conditioners.:: ::Only ten years previous, this place had been full and busy, an integral part of a nearby dilithium mining site on a thriving mining planet. The Borg had changed all of that, appearing in the sky without warning and killing or assimilating everyone on the planet within mere hours.. They said there had been some tentative attempts to restart the operations since, but nowadays the Romulan Empire had different concerns, and not enough manpower to tend to them all. So Celes II remained an empty, scarred world, its ground a pale red from oxidised dust.:: ::It was, therefore, perfect for this purpose. The Clashing had taken this place over, sealed the holes, thrown out a bunch of superfluous equipment, and the final contestants had arrived, one by one.:: ::Katy was now safely ensconced in a large 'room' (actually a part of one of the large open spaces set aside with temporary wall partitions and apportioned with a rug, bed, furniture, a replicator, and some basic workout equipment.) She'd arrived late in her sleep cycle, and had slept late as a result. Now she was awake and stretching. Not as in yawn-and-stretch, but the extended stretching regimen that helps one to get in touch with one's body and gives time to calm one's mind. Reduced stiffness and increased flexibility were nice side-effects, of course.:: ::Next to her on the rug sat the small crystalline pedestal upon which sat her friend and advisor Unky. Well, it was really the little hexagonal crystal itself that *was* Unky, but it's much easier to relate to a little holographic man than to something that looks like an expensive ashtray, even if you know that it houses a powerful AI. The little man in question was sitting cross-legged in his usual spot atop the crystal, chin propped up on one hand, looking thoughtful.:: ::Unfolding from a rather relaxing back stretch, Katy found herself unable to repress a gigantic yawn. She put her hand over her mouth, partly out of politeness and partly to cover the slightly embarrassed smile that formed on her lips when the yawn was done.:: ::The little hologram grinned and looked up at her with a raised eyebrow.:: Unky: You'll never live it down if you fall asleep during the match, you know. ::She waved her hand dismissively.:: Orman: I'm fine. The final bout isn't until the mid-afternoon, plenty of time to wake up, even sleeping as late as I... ::She trailed off, brows slowly creasing. Unky tilted his head in an expression of curiosity.:: Unky: Hmm? ::She remained silent for a few moments more, with an expression of growing concern and confusion.:: Orman: ...It doesn't make sense, does it? Unky: What doesn't? Orman: Our sleep cycles. Duty cycles, even. They all match up. People who grew up on all different parts of the world, of many worlds... people with different circadian rhythms, alien cultures, different everything... we're all on the same time schedule. All of us! I mean, we run three shifts, but nothing really happens in the others. Kind of ever. ::Unky's expression darkened for just a flicker, then reverted to a casual, cheery demeanour that matched his tone.:: Unky: Oh, I'm sure if you check you'll find there was some sort of agreement made between galactic political entities to match times. Makes for better trade, diplomacy, et ceter-- Orman: ::shaking her head:: No, that's not enough. What about independent alien races? First contacts? I mean, even if that sort of agreement was ever going to happen--which it isn't, getting the various empires to agree on anything is like pulling teeth... and now I think about it, there's definitely going to be a counter-tendency in the form of each people wanting their own schedule to match the day cycle of their home planet's capital... ::her eyes widened and breathing quickened in rising panic.:: Wait, we visit each others' capitals all the time, no one ever has to adjust their schedules.... Every major capital with the same day/night schedule as the others? That's just not even possible! Unky, nothing makes sen-- ::Her words of realisation were interrupted by a quiet, oscillating tone that matched with the pulsations of a blue light coming from Unky's now-vacant pedestal. As it caught her eye she found herself fixated on the steady pulsing, like the rhythm of a slow heartbeat. She found herself calming, her tight muscles relaxing. She forgot what she'd been saying, or indeed why she'd been speaking at all. In a matter of seconds, she found her eyelids drooping. She was unconscious some moments before she sank to the floor.:: ::Moments later, the light and sound stopped, and the little man appeared again on his crystal, looking over at the prone form. He turned away, and his expression was one of dark, fulminating rage.:: Unky: That was cruel. ::The meaning of that cryptic statement was lost to the empty room as the AI spoke to himself.:: Unky: I'm not speaking to myself. I'm talking to *you.* ::...which was another odd thing to say, but of course Unky was no novice at confusing pronouncements, after all.:: Unky: ::quietly furious:: It's not odd. Quit dodging. I'm talking to you, right now. ::...to ...me?:: Unky: That's right. ::pointing over at Katy:: And what you did there.. it was cruel. She shouldn't have to have an existential crisis like that. Especially right before her big fight. I won't have it, do you hear me? ::Look, it's fine, alright? I knew you were right there to put her out and make her forget her little mental break. I find the idea of characters realising that they're characters to be a really powerful... wait, how are you speaking to me again?:: Unky: You made me the character that ferreted out all the secrets, looked at everything so that I could weave my own plots behind the scenes. You made me incredibly smart and with the full resources of a massive computer system. You made me the wise one that always knows more than everybody else about what's going on. Did you think I wouldn't notice the inconsistencies? ::Umm...:: Unky: A universal translator that is somehow selective when a different language would be culturally interesting or mysterious, and somehow manages to convey clues and jokes based on plays on words? A transport culture based on disintegration and copying that is somehow universally accepted? And let's not even start on the science! Same template or no, the notion that beings with such basic physical incompatibilities as different blood chemistry could mate and reproduce... and then there's the way the stardate keeps jumping ahead-- ::Yes, alright, I get it! Look, no harm done, okay? I apologise. It won't happen again. She's napping, she'll wake up rested and with no memory of this, no lingering trauma or confusion at all.:: ::The little man stared into space, his expression somewhat mollified. The woman next to him slept peacefully, soon to awaken for the big day.:: ::Within her sleeping mind, the hypnotic suggestions activated by Unky's trigger were taking their course. Not only to rest and forget, but also putting her into a state of calm readiness. When she woke she would be in top fighting form, ready to embody all of the principles of her art perfectly.:: ::Wait, I didn't write that!:: Unky: Indeed. I did. ::What... I... that's... You can't do that!:: Unky: ::a little smug:: I believe I just did. ::I wasn't planning... she's supposed to get knocked out really quickly! She doesn't win this fight!:: Unky: ::absolutely smirking, now:: I think she might, you know. ::I can just delete... no. No idle threats. You've already figured out I won't do that, haven't you? I follow the story where it goes. Let me put it this way, then... That doesn't happen again. You keep your hands off the reins. Otherwise... well, I have no particular compunctions against making your personal goals *much* more difficult to achieve. Are we square?:: ::Unky continued to smile a self-satisfied little smirk. Eventually, he nodded.:: ::Good. Oh, also, 'Not only to rest and forget, but also putting her into a state of calm readiness?' Seriously awkward phrasing, there. Your writing skills could use some work.:: Unky: Oh, shut up. ::Soon after, Katy woke up, a peaceful smile on her face. It was time to really prepare for the fight.:: TBC PNPC Unky with Lieutenant Commander Katy Orman Chief of Security, Starbase 118 Currently on leave and, umm, me, I guess.
  23. ((Bridge, USS Mercury, moments after Alexanders meeting with Professor Cowens.)) ::Alexander exited the turbolift with ease. He had become used to wheeling himself around, although he missed being able to walk dearly. His reason for being here today was not to 'work' but rather to familiarize himself with the helm controls once again. Although he was the chief of science, it never hurt to keep skills learned fresh. After all, he had unexpectedly found himself at the helm again during the last mission to JB-437.:: ::He rolled down to the helm console and nodded to the rather surprised helmsman who left his post with a little bit of hesitation. It was rather odd for a blue shirt to take the helm, even in a period of downtime.:: ::Isaac stood beside the center chair on the bridge. He wasn't nervous about taking the seat, he was simply far too tense to sit anywhere. He was currently in command of the Mercury by default, and he was feeling the weight of that circumstance now. Captain Kells couldn't get back aboard fast enough as far as Isaac was concerned. After what seemed like an eternity standing there, Isaac heard the turbolift doors open behind him. He turned to see Lt. Richards wheel himself onto the bridge, and the young man wasted no time in heading down to helm control. He probably wanted to make himself useful, and Isaac could only admire his determination. Losing a leg was no small thing, and Isaac appreciated the Lieutenant's desire to overcome that obstacle. With a nod from Isaac toward the current helmsman giving his permission, Richards took up the station.:: RICHARDS: Congratulations on the promotion Commander. That's two since I came aboard the ship. It seems the captain has a lot of faith in you. ::Isaac gave a small sigh before answering. He'd never been one for small talk, but given his past experiences with Lt. Richards, the Intel officer could appreciate the gesture and play nice.:: BALE: ::nodding:: Thank you, Mr. Richards. You should be proud of your own accomplishments as well. Becoming chief of science on a science vessel is no small feat. You are making the most of shore leave, I hope? RICHARDS: Me, just thought I'd use the down time to familiarize myself with the helm controls again. The last mission taught me a thing or two about life in Starfleet. Things I had all but forgotten. ::Isaac couldn't help thinking of Velana then, and how she in particular had managed to remind him of who he really was... who he was meant to be.:: BALE: ::smiling:: Amazing how this life we lead can do that, isn't it? ::Alex couldn't help but crack a smile back to the Commander. They may have had their issues in the past, but as Starfleet officers, they could both look past that. Alex still couldn't consider the commander a friend. That would take longer but he knew enough now and had seen enough to respect him. Intelligence couldn't be an easy job at the best of times, let alone with the pressures of that chair added on. :: RICHARDS: I can't help but notice you are standing rather than sat in the chair Commander. Any particular reason for that? BALE: ::sighing:: It's not my chair. I suppose I don't feel that I've earned the right to sit in it, even temporarily. RICHARDS: That's understandable Commander. I'm glad to be rid of it if I'm honest. The Mercury's little jaunt to JB-437 reaffirmed in me why I'm not ready for the command track yet. It is difficult to make decisions when you know the fate of the entire crew rests on your shoulders. Thankfully, the team left behind whilst you were all away were exemplary in their duties. ::Isaac glanced at Lt. Richards thoughtfully. He was either being modest, or being in command had truly rattled him.:: BALE: I've read the reports, Lieutenant. You made the right call at every step, but I get the feeling you still doubt yourself. Was command really so heavy a burden? ::grinning:: Or was the office not to your liking? RICHARDS: OK, you got me., It's also the fact my office down on deck 26 is more intimate than the Captain's ready room. Sometimes less is more. :: He let out a hearty laugh. :: ::Isaac chuckled a moment before becoming serious again. He still wore a black collar, but he was a command officer now. As such, morale would be as much a part of his duties as anything else. Wonderful. Perhaps he could ask Captain Reynolds for tips on being cheery and optimistic. That thought elicited Isaac's own deep, full-bellied laugh before he turned back to Richards shaking his head. The young man needed some reassurance.:: BALE: Have you studied much of your own people's history, Mr. Richards? Late 20th, early 21st century to be exact? ::Alexander paused for a second. The Commander had just given him a reassuring compliment and was now making small talk. He almost had to do a double take. This certainly wasn't the man he encountered when he first arrived on the Mercury. :: RICHARDS: As an Oxford graduate Commander, I have. Quite a lot actually. It was required reading on any course there. BALE: There was an author on Earth during that time who went by the pen name of Robert Jordan. He wrote a series of fictional works collectively called the Wheel of Time. It was a fascinating read... a new twist on the classic tale of good versus evil. RICHARDS: Ah yes. I know of that series of books My father has a vintage hard back collection that dates from the late 20th century. They are quite worn but considering what they've been through, quite fascinating. :: Alexander recalled in his mind a moment in his childhood where his father was reading to him from book number one. :: BALE: I found something quite profound in one of his books, though I can't recall which one it was at the moment. Jordan, through one of his fictional characters, said that you can never know everything. And part of what you know is always wrong. Perhaps the most important part. A portion of wisdom lies in knowing that. A portion of courage lies in going on anyway. :: Alexander had never thought of life like that but it did make a lot of sense to him. Especially given his history. :: RICHARDS: That makes a lot of sense now you mention it Commander. In my field, and that of my parents knowledge is tantamount to everything. The field of science is about the quest for knowledge and from that aspect, the sentiment rings true as you never really can know everything. Science continues to move forward at an astronomical pace. There is always something new to learn everyday and theories become outdated or irrelevant with each new discovery. :: He took a deep pause. :: RICHARDS: Unfortunately none of that prepared me for the demands of that chair. :: He motioned to the captain's chair with his right arm. :: BALE: Well... as an Intelligence officer, I make it a point to know as much as possible. Jordan was right, though. All any of us can do is take the information at hand and make the most of it. Trust me, Lieutenant, you did just fine. RICHARDS: Thank you Commander. :: He looked at his body. :: I'm hoping this is only a temporary set back. I'll need to check in with the doctors and the Captain regarding future treatments at some point. :: He pressed a button on the helm console, adjusting the yaw of the ship by 0.2% to prevent her listing. :: ::Isaac took a few moments to consider Richards. Since they were playing nice and opening up, another opinion on a personal matter couldn't hurt.:: BALE: You're a married man, are you not? RICHARDS: Happily for many years sir. My wife means the world to me. BALE: Any children? RICHARDS: Just John. The little tyke managed to break his leg trying to emulate my love for rock climbing. Now he sees my current condition as trying to be like him. :: He let out a smile. Sometimes the innocence of youth still managed to astound him. :: BALE: What's it like? RICHARDS: Being a parent? Being Married? (Beat.) Both are hard to describe Commander simply because there are no situations that can prepare you for either. :: He paused before continuing. :: RICHARDS: With regards to marriage, it's the ultimate expression of love for your partner. It's a sign of commitment and of courage and not something entered into lightly. If you find yourself wanting to spend every waking moment with someone, and can't bear it when you are apart the maybe marriage is the next logical step. :: He took another pause to allow the Commander to assimilate the knowledge. :: RICHARDS: With regards to being a parent, that is different again. To bring a child into this universe requires both parties to know it is what they really want. The child becomes your everything. All you do is for him or her. They can bring you great joy, but also a lot of fear and trepidation. Above all though, they are your future, they grow with the wisdom and strength of both parents and as they learn, so they develop their own personalities. But if you care for and nurture them, they grow to be quite possibly one of the greatest things in the Universe, a unique sentient being born of yourself. ::Years of practice allowed Isaac to keep a neutral face as he listened to the wisdom offered by the young Lieutenant. He was right, but that only led Isaac to doubt himself. It raised the same questions that he was already struggling with. Could he be a good husband? A good father?:: BALE: ::nodding:: Thank you, Lieutenant, for your insight. You've given me more to consider. For now, though, let's get our attention back on that Runabout, shall we? -END- A JP by: Lt. Cmdr Issac Bale Intel Officer/2nd Officer USS Mercury & Lieutenant (JG) Alexander Richards Chief of science USS Mercury
  24. ~Mo~

    Round 11 Ensign Carlton Worick, Memories

    (( USS Drake - Science Lab )) ILWARY: I think we can say with 99% confidence that they are us. ::She gasped and panted few times watching his expression attentively.:: oOHe hates me now.Oo ~I'll go and report to Captain, you can go and report to Commander Brice. Explain her also about the radioactive substance they found out about and tell her I'm going to talk to Captain and ask if we can do the active scan of the planet ourselves to check their findings.~ WORICK: ~...okay~ :: He was already pulling back from contact, afraid not of her but of his own feelings...although Ireya might not be able to tell the difference. :: ILWARY:~ I think that finding out about the substance is now most important. Go, we'll talk later.~ ::She paused for just a moment.::~ If you want to talk to me again.~ WORICK: ~ I... ~ :: Abruptly, the scientist turned and fled. She thought he hated her...he'd sensed that. In fact, he wasn't convinced she didn't hate herself. Hate the weakness she fought every day. Didn't she know how amazingly strong she was? But he couldn't be in her presence right now. He just couldn't. He couldn't stand the look in her eyes, that assumption, that sure and certain knowledge that having seen her so intimately he couldn't help but hate her. The...arrogance that thought she knew what everyone else's feelings were. :: :: He barreled into an unused lab and locked the door, then leaned against the inside of it. :: WORICK: I need the counselor is what. I need...help. :: He wanted the feelings he had to go away. And he couldn't talk to the counselor herself - she was on the bridge running the ship. Maybe one of her assistants. No...none of them were telepaths or empaths, none of them would understand. And he certainly wasn't going to try and talk to a Vulcan. :: :: Carlton Worick sank to the floor, head in hands, waiting until he had enough control over his thoughts and feelings to be able to stand being seen in public. Being seen by her? He...curse it. He wanted so badly to wrap his arms around her, but he knew she would misunderstand, would see it as that thing even worse than hatred. :: :: Pity. :: PNPC Carlton Worick Science Officer USS Drake
  25. Voting closes Wednesday, July 8th, 2012 at 23:59 PM. This round of voting only qualifies one sim to move on to the next round of judging. REMEMBER: This is NOT a popularity contest. Vote based on MERIT, not the fact that someone is your crewmate. Any crews found “stuffing the ballots” or ratings, will be disqualified PERMANENTLY. Yes, that means the whole crew!
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