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Some lovely writing from our new tactical officer. Showcasing the evolution of the relation ship between her and her academy roommate. ((OOC: Long sim is long.)) ((Academy Campus, Starbase 118)) The Narendra had returned from her mission, but with most of the senior staff on their well-deserved shore leave, Eshrevi once more had the impression she was left to figure out the intricacies of her new posting on her own. Or rather, the circumstances surrounding it. Right now, for example, she was making her way back to her old dorm room on 118’s Academy campus, because assigning her new quarters had been an oversight so far. Perhaps she should be a little more demanding, self-sufficient, and show initiative- just find the person responsible, request new accommodation, and get it over with. She wasn’t quite sure why she didn’t. Perhaps she simply liked to play PLOM (poor little old me). Or perhaps she was just exhausted and glad to be able to decompress in a place that had been her home for the past few years, rather than unpack boxes. Perhaps she didn’t want to let go. Maybe it was a mixture of all of these. ((Same location, four years ago)) Eshrevi trudged wearily back to her dorm room. Her steps were heavy with the weight of a particularly rotten and exhausting day that had the Andorian eagerly anticipate the peace and quiet of her quarters. Really, she wanted nothing more than an early night's rest after a long sonic shower. And she knew that wasn’t going to happen. Because once the doors slid open, she wasn’t greeted with the silence and solitude she so desired. Instead, some Terran (?) music was blaring from the questionable quality speakers the room was fitted with, and a sickeningly sweet scent hung in the air, intensifying her already sour mood. Eshrevi was tempted to simply turn around and leave, and considered sleeping in the library, on a park bench, or falling down the stairs to earn herself a biobed in sickbay. Retrospectively, she should probably just have picked the park bench. With a resigned sigh, the she forced a greeting as she entered, her tone already tinged with thin-veiled annoyance. Sh'shiqil: Hey Brennan. Brennan: Hey! Brennan, her roommate, responded from her desk. The woman’s oblivious cheerfulness grated on Eshrevi's nerves, and had since the day they first met. It was tradition at Starfleet’s Academy Campus to share quarters with another first-year cadet. It prepared aspiring officers for life aboard their first vessel, where they - depending on what ship they served on - were either sharing their room with one to three other junior officers, or simply lived in a hallway with all the other junior officers. Usually, Eshrevi wouldn’t mind - both her upbringing with several siblings and her previous career had gotten her used to having to earn the privilege of privacy. But in this particular case, it seemed that whoever was responsible for assigning roommates had decided to conduct some sort of social experiment where they matched two people who were utterly incompatible. Alcyone Brennan was good bit younger than Esh, and half Rodulan - which in and of itself wasn’t a crime, but didn’t make the young woman particularly likeable in Eshrevi’s eyes. Not that she had something against Rodulans as a species, but she didn’t enjoy the company of telepaths. That Brennan insisted her telepathic abilities were minor at best, didn’t make it much better. It just made her a bad telepath. In addition, Brennan somehow managed to be shy yet talkative, and prone to sharing things Eshrevi had no interest in knowing. Like how her classes went, or that she saw a squirrel - whatever the fuck a squirrel was - on the way to the library. But the worst thing-… Brennan: My mom says hi! … was that. Sh'shiqil Good for her. Eshrevi suppressed a growl of frustration as she retreated to her side of the room, her antennae stiffening with irritation. Brennan came from a sprawling family that seemed to rival the size of a major Andorian clan, and apparently called member at least once a week. She received stupid little notes of encouragement and parcels with even more stupid handmade tokens on a regular basis, and that made Eshrevi angry. Because she and her family hadn’t spoken since the day she told them she would join Starfleet. Perhaps it was an ill-advised change of careers. Eshrevi had attended, and graduated from Chekthora, the prestigious Andorian Military Institute on Andoria. She had served in the Imperial Guard long enough to build a career and reputation that made her parents proud. And now, while the skills she had learned there were valuable and would certainly be beneficial in the years to come, she was once more starting out as a cadet, and once more had to prove herself. But it wasn’t sudden. Eshrevi had played with the idea of joining Starfleet for several years, weighed pros and cons against each other, and eventually came to the conclusion that being her own person and making her own decisions was more important than chasing family approval. She had studied for the entry exam in secret, passed it with a score just high enough to get accepted, and then casually revealed her plans during an already tense family dinner. Needless to say, it hadn't gone over well. She could probably have picked a better way to inform them. Oh well. Brennan turned with a slight frown, her forest green eyes fixed on the Andorian. Another annoyance for Eshrevi—Brennan's cosmetic contact lenses. If Brennan felt discontent with her species' features, she ought to consult a therapist rather than a cosmetologist. Brennan: Did you have a bad day? :: she asked with genuine concern in her voice:: Sh'shiqil No :: responded Eshrevi a little too quickly. Then she amended:: It wasn't bad. But it didn't go as planned. Brennan: What happened? Eshrevi didn’t want to talk about it, which was pretty much what she told Brennan, who gave a slow nod but seemed unwilling to give up on having a conversation. Brennan: Do you want to hear about my day? oO Not really Oo thought Eshrevi, but she merely said: Sh'shiqil: I guess. Just make it quick. I already have a headache. Brennan either didn’t mind, or didn’t notice the jab. Brennan: It was good. I get to prepare participants for a medical trial, and I’m really looking forward to it. She was positively glowing. Ugh. Brennan was doing her major in nursing, which was basically just holding people’s hands and telling them everything was going to be fine while the doctors did the real work. Eshrevi was aiming to become a tactical officer and make sure that people didn’t get injured in the first place. Maybe she could apply for a different room, with a different roommate, but Eshrevi was concerned that making such a request would flag her as a potentially complicated cadet. Maybe she could get Brennan to request a different room. But that, too, wouldn’t make Eshrevi look good. The best course of action was probably to deal with her as little as it was possible. Sh'shiqil: Ah :: Eshrevi replied impassively, tuning out Brennan's prattle as she placed her shoes in the designated area:: Brennan: … and that was pretty much my day ::her voice trailed off, having grown quieter and a little unsteady:: Sh'shiqil: That's nice. She hadn’t noticed the change in demeanour and her patience was wearing thin. Brennan nodded solemnly, and for a moment she seemed unsure what to say. Then her eyes lit up as she continued Brennan: Oh, and I got a parcel today. Some homemade cookies. Would you like to try some? Eshrevi blinked once, slowly, and tried to ignore the surge of anger rising within her at Brennan's seemingly perfect family and their constant displays of affection. She told herself that there was no point in a confrontation, but before she could convince herself to let it go, she snapped. Her voice was loud, and edged with bitterness as she replied. Sh'shiqil: Stop flaunting your perfect family in everyone's faces. No one wants to hear it. Brennan: I-I’m sorry, I didn't mean to… ::she stammered, her voice trailing off. Her eyes filled with tears, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She fell silent, her gaze downcast. :: Eshrevi was ashamed to admit that all she could think of in that moment was that she had gotten the woman finally shut up. Her tone was laced with venom as she spoke. Brennan: You never do, do you? Always rubbing it in that you have these wonderful and loving parents and aunts and whoever the heck all these people are. Eshrevi watched Brennan's reaction, which really was no reaction at all. That didn’t calm the Andorian down one bit. She wanted to lash out, if not physically then at the very least by continuing their argument, but instead found herself confronted with a suffocating silence that stretched on and on and on, until Brennan's quiet voice broke the tense silence. Brennan: …Foster. Sh'shiqil: What? :: she hissed, not getting it:: Brennan: They're not my parents. They were my foster family :: she admitted softly:: Eshrevi felt a pang of guilt stab through her anger as Brennan's words sank in. There was no shame in having a foster family or being adopted - such practices were common enough for many species - but Eshrevi knew that, for humans, it was not. And she could imagine that it was a far cry from the perfect family she had accused Brennan of having. She opened her mouth to speak, to offer some semblance of apology, but the words caught in her throat. When nothing came forth, Brennan rose from her seat, her movements slow and deliberate as she slipped on her shoes. Without another word, she made her way to the door, and left. Finally alone, the heat of Eshrevi's anger began to dissipate, replaced by a cold, gnawing sense of guilt. She sat on her bed, glaring up at the ceiling. It wasn’t like her to lash out in anger, not any more, and especially not at someone who was so much more… fragile than she was. Would Brennan complain about her? Probably not. There wasn’t really anything to complain about, and this probably was neither the first nor the last argument she would get herself into. Still, the right thing was to apologise. The thought of facing Brennan filled her with a sense of unease. Admitting to flaws and vulnerabilities had never been her strong suit, but facing her fears and working on weaknesses was something she used to pride herself in. With a sigh, Eshrevi pushed herself to her feet and made her way to the door. She had no plan on how to find Brennan, but looking for her was better than sitting around doing nothing. Or sitting around feeling guilty. Neither was a great option. As Eshrevi approached the door, it hissed open, revealing Brennan standing on the other side. For a moment they both stood there, an awkward tension hanging in the air. Brennan: …Hey. Sh'shiqil: Hey. Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither knew quite what to say. Eshrevi cleared her throat. Sh'shiqil: Where have you been? :: she asked, her voice tentative:: Brennan hesitated for a moment before holding up a hypospray. Brennan: I got this for your headache ::she explained sheepishly.:: Her cheek flushed with embarrassment, and Eshrevi felt the last remnants of anger and annoyance crumble at the gesture. She still felt an inexplicable urge to respond with a sharp remark, like a familiar instinct to assert her independence and self-sufficiency. But she resisted. Sh'shiqil: Thank you ::she said instead, her voice softer than she intended:: Brennan nodded, retreating to her desk as Eshrevi took the hypospray. They lingered in silence for a moment longer, the weight of their previous confrontation still hanging in the air. Finally, Eshrevi broke the silence. Sh'shiqil:: Can I still have one of those homemade cookies? ::she asked, gesturing towards the box Brennan had indicated earlier:: Brennan nodded carefully, bringing the box over to her. Eshrevi selected a cookie, and the the simple act felt oddly significant. She took a bite. It was nice. Sh'shiqil: It’s nice. More awkward silence followed, and Brennan once more quietly retreated to her desk. It irked Eshrevi that the usually so verbose woman wasn’t saying anything and left the talking to her. If the last conversation had shown anything, then it was that Eshrevi wasn’t great at talking. Sh'shiqil:: I’m sorry. Brennan: I know. I’m not mad. Eshrevi nodded slowly, chewing thoughtfully on her cookie. Sh'shiqil: I failed an exam. ::she admitted. :: Brennan tilted her head to the side. Brennan: Do you want to talk about it? Eshrevi shook her head. Sh'shiqil: Not really. But I would like to hear more about your day, if that’s okay? She beckoned Brennan with a gentle wave of her hand, inviting her to sit beside her on the bed. And after a moment of hesitation, Brennan joined her. Brennan: Sure. ((Today)) Things had changed, and despite the stress Eshrevi was feeling, her steps were a lot lighter as she entered her old quarters, expecting them to be empty. They weren’t. Brennan: …Hey. Sh'shiqil: Hey! A big smile spread on Eshrevis lips, and all the stress of the past few weeks - final exams, graduation, the mission - washed off her. She hadn’t even dared to hope that Alcyone, too, had been assigned here. But with the woman’s usual excellent grades, that wasn’t a surprise. Sh'shiqil: So they overlooked your room assignment too? Honestly I would have expected this place to be better organised, but I guess everyone is busy. ::she barely inhaled before she continued:: How were your first few days? Mine were great! I took a shuttle to the Narendra and arrived during an altercation with an enemy vessel :: she smirked :: Of course they needed me on tactical, and of course I made sure everyone got home. The words just kept spilling forth, and while getting out of her uniform and into a more comfortable piece of clothing, she told Alcyone every little detail of the mission, the battle, the other officers she had met, and the presumably bright future she had ahead. Eventually, she let herself fall into one of the chairs, and closed her eyes for a moment, finally basking in the high of a battle won. Sh'shiqil: Next time, hopefully you can come too. I’m sure someone needs their hand held ::she grinned:: That was their dynamic. Eshrevi made fun of Alcyone’s chosen duty post, and the other woman tried explaining for the umpteenth time that nursing was more than emotional support for officers who had gotten slightly injured. Then Alcyone tried to make a similar comment about tactical, failed, and turned red like the butt of a Kahit. But she didn’t. She didn’t say a single word, and at the absence of the usual banter, Eshrevi opened her eyes again and looked at Alcyone, who just sat there, eyes fixed on her own hands, not saying a single word. Sh'shiqil: Zion, what happened? : Zion - the nickname Alcyone hated, but that usually made her smile when Esh said it. This time, she didn’t smile, and it took minutes before she spoke. Brennan: I failed. Sh'shiqil: … What? ::she said, not getting it. She could be a little dense sometimes:: Brennan: I … in that last test, I just froze. I didn’t get to graduate. The instructors… I don’t know. Eshrevi simply stared at Alcyone, momentarily forgetting the somewhat exaggerated display of emotion she had taught herself to not come across as too cold-hearted or threatening. She took pride in being just the right amount of both. She knew that the Instructors could be tough - they had to be. It was their job to make sure cadets were, in fact, ready to graduate. She also knew that the other woman could be a little touchy-feely, and lost her self-confidence easily. Especially when she sensed something that threw her off. But all softness aside, she was still training to be an officer. And someone working for Starfleet should be able to stand above some instructors' bad mood. Sh'shiqil: You … don’t know? ::she asked incredulously:: Brennan: I guess I’ll just… leave. Even if Eshrevi didn’t have a solution right now, this certainly wasn’t it. Sh'shiqil: No. :: she frowned :: Brennan: Why not? I can’t do anything right! :: her voice was loud, and had an usual high pitch to it:: Esh took a deep breath. She wanted to be kind and nurturing but… really that wasn’t her style. It wasn’t how she was raised. Then again, the tough love approach didn’t exactly seem like a good choice here. So she was trying something in-between - logical reasoning. Sh'shiqil: Look at me. Brennan: I don’t want to ::she said quietly:: Sh'shiqil: Do it anyway. Finally, Alcyone looked at her. She had been crying, and that … made Eshrevi angry. Not at Alcyone - okay, at Alcyone too - but mostly at whatever had happened to throw her off balance. She took a moment to suffocate that anger. Sh'shiqil: Look… :: she bit her lip, then started again..:: You weren’t ready. Once you graduate, you can get into all sorts of very unideal situations. Like me, arriving in the middle of battle, not really knowing what is going on. There will always be things that can throw you off. People die, maybe even friends. Others get severely injured. You know that. Alcyone nodded. Sh'shiqil: Not being ready is… fine. It’s not a great feeling, but you learned that now, in a training scenario. And it’s good to figure it out before you’re being thrown into situations you can’t handle. You now know this is something you have to work on, and then, you will be ready. Brennan: What if I’ll never be? Sh'shiqil: What if the Starbase explodes and opens a black hole that destroys the sector? Alcyone chewed on her lower lip, attempting the smallest of smiles. Brennan: You wouldn’t let that happen. Esh reached out, and took Alcyone’s hand, for a moment allowing herself to appreciate the other woman’s faith in her ability to keep a starbase from exploding and a black hole from forming. Sh'shiqil: Obviously. And you won’t let ‘never being ready’ happen. When can you repeat the exam? Brennan: In six months. Sh'shiqil: That gives us six months to work on the things that didn’t go well. Top grades, assignment here. Brennan: You think so? Eshrevi nodded. She was well-aware that it would take work, and even if she doubted Alcyone a slight bit, she was convinced of her own skill. And now that Eshrevi had already graduated and was no longer concerned with her own exams, she would hopefully be able to invest time into helping. In addition, it meant that she would have access to the people who mattered - if she played it right, she could recruit them to help out where it was needed. Surely some of the doctors would be willing to run with a cadet nurse when they weren’t busy with sector-altering missions. And McLaren was an abundance of confidence who could probably teach Alcyone a thing or two. All of that aside, suddenly, she was glad to not have been assigned quarters yet, and she hoped it would continue to remain an oversight. Or perhaps she could even request to stay here, though she’d need a good reason to get that approved. Hm… she would have to think of something. Sh'shiqil: Yes. I’m an excellent teacher, you know? This time, Alcyone actually smiled. Brennan: Suuuuure. You’d have me run laps whenever I answer a question wrong. Sh'shiqil: …. Yes. My class, my rules. Which was one of the many reasons Eshrevi would never become an Academy instructor herself. She actually would make people run laps or do push ups. A little physical exercise had never harmed anyone. Sh'shiqil: ::she smirked, but then turned serious for a moment:: I’m sorry I didn’t notice earlier that something was up. I was… :: she hesitated, looking for the right word:: Brennan: Self absorbed? Inconsiderate? A jerkface? Esh dipped her antennae and slumped her shoulders for good measure. Sh'shiqil: … A jerkface, :: she whispered, quietly and remorsefully:: But. :: her face lit up again:: I will make it up to you. I have credits to spend. How about I take you out for dinner? Alcyone seemed to consider that, and Esh could tell that she would rather remain curled up on a ball and wallow in misery. Maybe even put on some sad music. Because really, Eshrevi liked to do that too, but she usually put a time-limit on said wallowing. Brennan: I… don’t know. Sh'shiqil: I know. That’s why I am making the decisions, Brennan. Come on, put on a nice dress. We’re going somewhere fancy. Alcyone nodded, and before she headed over to her closet, she embraced Eshrevi. That was nice because Alcyone was warm and soft, and had somehow managed to become Eshrevi’s best friend. And she was glad that they hadn’t parted ways. End Scene ___________________ Ensign Eshrevi Sh'shiqil Tactical StarBase 118 Ops

I really like how the NPC's were displayed here, @Karen Stendhal, plus bonus song! -- ((The Mystical Realm of Eldoria)) Wethern: Ummm, Korras are you familiar with an old Earth mythical creature of a dragon? You know breathes fire, tends to eat adventurers. ::looking at the Dragon:: Nice dragon, friendly Dragon. Korras: I have read about them. An overgrown Krencha that spits fire. The red dragon stood there in a tense standoff, a colossal manifestation of Eldoria's raw power. Its scales, a fiery red hue, gleamed in the dim light of the cave, reflecting the heat and intensity within. Towering horns adorned its regal head, a testament to the strength and majesty that this mythical creature possessed. Wings, stretched wide and mighty, seemed poised for flight, though currently, they remained folded, emphasizing the dragon's imposing stature. The creature's eyes, a fierce and intelligent gaze, surveyed the surroundings with an air of ancient wisdom. As it snorted and growled, the cavern seemed to resonate with the very essence of Eldoria's mysticism, creating an atmosphere both fearsome and awe-inspiring. In the standoff, the red dragon exuded an aura of guardian-like authority, ready to defend its realm against any intruders. The cavern, bathed in the glow of the dragon's fiery presence, became a sacred space where the mythical and the tangible converged, creating a moment etched in the annals of Eldoria's folklore. Wethern: Do any of you know who brought this dragon? I'm pretty sure this cave had a no pets clause. Also anyone know how to get rid of it? Fizzlewick: Oh my enchanted gears and gizmos! Look at the magnificence of those scales, shimmering like a thousand tiny rainbows in the sunlight. The horns curling majestically, a crown fit for the mightiest of mythical creatures. This dragon, it's like a living, breathing treasure trove of wonder! Twigglenook: By the ancient oak trees! That creature is a marvel of Eldoria's mysticism. Look at the wings, the very essence of flight and freedom. The snorting and growling echo the tales of our ancestors. It's both fearsome and awe-inspiring, a guardian of the realms, perhaps. Gravestone: Well, I'll be a gnome's uncle! That dragon's got a presence that shakes the very stones of Eldoria. The scales, tough as the mightiest fortress, and those horns could pierce through the thickest armor. Eldoria's guardian indeed, with eyes that gleam with ancient wisdom. It's like witnessing a living legend right here in our mystical abode. Lemoncable: I think you’ll find he’s my pet. Korras: I am not surprised. Wethern: Korras you hold this beastie off and I'll look what help we have. ::Looking through the vials talking to himself:: Hmmm Love Potion Number 9, Instant Luck, Superstition, Ring of Fire. Oooo what is this. Fizzlewick: Feast your enchanted eyes upon my prized potions! Behold the Elixir of Luminosity, a brew that bathes the wielder in a radiant glow, lighting up even the darkest corners. And over here, the Sparkling Brew of Levity, a potion that grants the drinker the agility of a mischievous sprite, dancing through the air with whimsical grace. Twigglenook: These potions, crafted by the ancient wisdom of Eldoria's forests, are my companions in the mystic dance of battle. The Whispering Wind Elixir, when sipped, renders me as elusive as a zephyr, and the Thunderstrike Draught channels the very storms of Eldoria into my weapon, crackling with electric might. Gravestone: These weapons of mine ain't just pieces of metal, they're imbued with the soul of Eldoria itself! This here Hammer of Resonance, when swung, echoes with the very heartbeat of our realm, striking fear into the hearts of foes. And my trusty Shield of Twilight, woven with the essence of the setting sun, grants me unparalleled defense against the darkest of adversaries. In the hands of Fizzlewick, Twigglenook, and Gravestone, these potions and weapons weave a tapestry of magical prowess, each sip and swing a harmonious symphony in the grand saga of Eldoria. Korras: I think the dragon is the least of our problems. Lemoncable: Well, you aren’t the only ones with a few tricks up your sleeves. Fizzlewick, Twigglenook, and Gravestone witnessed the sorcerer's move as he cast a spell, summoning thick vines from the cave's floor and walls. As Zalagon roared, advancing menacingly, the vines started to slither toward the adventurers. The trio's response echoed in question marks, uncertain of the impending danger posed by both the magical vines and the approaching dragon. Fizzlewick's eyes widened with a mix of fascination and trepidation as he observed the sorcerer's magical incantation. The summoned vines twisted and coiled, a spectacle of enchantment that ignited Fizzlewick's curiosity. Yet, an undercurrent of concern bubbled within him, unsure of the impending danger that lurked with each undulating movement of the vines. Twigglenook's brows furrowed in thoughtful contemplation, his keen eyes analyzing the unfolding magic. The vines, conjured with a mysterious force, sent shivers down Twigglenook's spine. He sensed the imminent challenge, a puzzle to be solved in the dance between magic and reality, leaving him both intrigued and wary. Gravestone, ever stoic, observed the sorcerer's spell with a watchful gaze. The vines, thick and sinuous, bore an air of ominous intent. Gravestone's grip tightened on his mystical weapon, ready for whatever adversities the magical display might unleash. A sense of determination flickered in his eyes, knowing that Eldoria's fate hung in the balance of their reactions to this arcane spectacle. Fizzlewick: ::Eyes wide with excitement:: Well, blow me down with enchanted breezes! Did you see the finesse in that spell? Those vines are practically pirouetting! But, erm, lads, do you reckon this is a friendly forest dance, or are we about to be twirled into a knot of trouble? Twigglenook: ::Brows furrowed in contemplation:: Intriguing, indeed. The sorcerer's mastery over the natural elements is unparalleled. Yet, my friends, there's an unsettling whisper in the wind. These vines, they may be serenading us into a trap. What say you? Time to unsheathe our mystical wits? Gravestone: ::Stoic, gripping his weapon:: Ain't no song and dance I signed up for. Them vines look mighty ominous, like a nest of enchanted serpents. Hold tight, mates. I reckon we're in for a wild ride. ::Nods towards the advancing vines:: Ready yourselves, and let's show Eldoria we ain't ones to be tangled easily. Korras: I have had enough of this. DabuQlu'DI' yISuv. ((OOC: When threatened, fight)) Fizzlewick, Twigglenook, and Gravestone witnessed a surprising turn of events when the Klingon, to their utter amazement, diverted his attention away from the dragon. Corey, the valiant healer, unsheathed his sword and skillfully kept the dragon at bay with precise swipes, gradually weakening the creature as the sorcerer struggled with a change in its power. Korras, with a swift and unexpected move, retrieved three throwing knives from his belt and hurled two of them with impeccable accuracy at the sorcerer's shoulders. The knives hit their mark, causing the holographic figure to collapse to the ground. Lemoncable, the sorcerer, felt a momentary disruption in his photonic form. As the sorcerer looked up at the Klingon, the expression of shock still etched on his diabolical face, the trio of witnesses couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected twist in the unfolding magical drama. Korras: ::holding the third knife, aimed directly at the sorcerers chest:: Now, either end this ::motioning to the dragon with his other hand::, or be ended. Lemoncable: Typical Klingon. Always ruining the fun! Fizzlewick, Twigglenook, and Gravestone observed as the dragon shifted its attention back to the cave, intermittently flickering within and outside of the simulation. In response, Corey, with a determined stance, directed the tip of his weapon toward the sorcerer. Wethern: Looks like you are outgunned, well out knifed, slash sword. Pardon the gun. Fizzlewick: ::Scratching his head:: Well, I reckon we've found ourselves in a bit of a magical melee, haven't we? Outgunned, outknifed, and the poor dragon's stuck in the middle. What's our enchanted strategy, mates? Twigglenook: ::Rubbing his chin:: Aye, outmatched in the arms department, but there's always a trick or two up Eldoria's sleeves. Perhaps a sprinkle of fairy dust or a whispered charm could tip the scales in our favor. What say you, Gravestone? Gravestone: ::Gripping his weapon:: No doubt, we're in a bit of a pickle. But I've faced tougher challenges in the enchanted woods. We may be outknifed, but our resolve is unyielding. Let's stand our ground, mates, and show 'em the might of Eldoria! Korras: If he could have stopped the knives, he would have done so already. The safety protocols work either for all, or for none. And they do not protect the holograms themselves. Wethern: So that means if we take whatever the hell this is out here then it's done for. Fizzlewick, Twigglenook, and Gravestone observed as Corey cautiously advanced, strategically avoiding the swords' line of sight. Lemoncable, on the other hand, cast a glance at the dragon and the vines. Both appeared to be experiencing glitches, with flames flickering. His reaction was one of nonchalance, rolling his eyes at the seemingly erratic display of magic. Lemoncable: Fine. You win this round, Starfleet. But I’ll be back when you least expect it. Fizzlewick: ::Chuckles nervously:: Well, that sorcerer fella may be bowing out for now, but I can't help but wonder if he's got a trick or two up his holographic sleeve. What do you reckon, Twigglenook? Twigglenook: ::Rubbing his chin:: Indeed, Fizzlewick. There's an air of mischief in his parting words. Perhaps there's more to this sorcerer's tale than meets the enchanted eye. Gravestone, your thoughts? Gravestone: ::Squinting:: Can't trust a sorcerer's words as far as you can throw an enchanted boulder. But mark my words, we best stay vigilant. A hologram with a vendetta ain't something to be taken lightly. Korras: What are you? And what are you doing in this holodeck? Lemoncable: Ha! Wouldn’t you like to know? Fizzlewick, Twigglenook, and Gravestone witnessed as the sorcerer vanished in a puff of smoke. Corey, responding to this magical disappearance, sheathed his sword. A slight glitch ensued, followed by the reappearance of the holodeck arch. Wethern: I'm not sure what any of that just was however we need to get out of here and speak to engineering. Fizzlewick: ::Wide-eyed:: Well, that was a whirlwind of enchanted madness! Any idea what just transpired, mates? Twigglenook: ::Pondering:: Eldoria's mystic dance has taken an unexpected turn. I'm as puzzled as a pixie in a labyrinth. Wethern mentioned heading to engineering. Thoughts? Gravestone: ::Frowning:: Don't like mysteries much, especially when they mess with our enchanted realm. What's the plan, then? Off to seek counsel from the wizards of machinery? Fizzlewick: ::Nodding:: Aye, let's unravel this tapestry of confusion. May Eldoria guide our way through these peculiar twists and turns. They move purposefully towards the exit of the cave. A rock song started to play at the end of this magical story... ((OOC based on Queen's Ogre Battle)) (Verse 1) In the realm of Eldoria, where magic meets the light, A battle raged with fury, a clash in the mystical night. Lemoncable's holograms, dancing in the air, Red Dragon and gargoyles, a chaotic affair. (Pre-Chorus) But heroes emerged from history's page, Korras and Wethern, strong and brave. In the heart of the battle, they stood tall, Fighting for Eldoria, they answered the call. (Chorus) Oh, the heroes of history, with swords in hand, Defenders of Eldoria, against the sorcerer's command. Through the glitches and flames, they never fall, Korras and Wethern, the saviors of all. (Verse 2) The sorcerer vanished, a puff of mystic smoke, Corey sheathed his sword, and the holograms broke. A glitch in the matrix, a momentary pause, In the holodeck's arch, the resolution draws. (Pre-Chorus) But heroes emerged from history's page, Korras and Wethern, strong and brave. In the heart of the battle, they stood tall, Fighting for Eldoria, they answered the call. (Chorus) Oh, the heroes of history, with swords in hand, Defenders of Eldoria, against the sorcerer's command. Through the glitches and flames, they never fall, Korras and Wethern, the saviors of all. (Bridge) Guitars wail like the dragons roar, In the realm of Eldoria, forevermore. Through holographic storms and glitches in the night, Korras and Wethern, they'll stand and fight. (Guitar Solo) (Verse 3) Now the battle's over, the heroes prevail, In Eldoria's tale, they set the sail. The echoes of their victory in the enchanted air, A rock anthem for heroes, a triumphant flare. (Pre-Chorus) Oh, heroes emerged from history's page, Korras and Wethern, strong and brave. In the heart of the battle, they stood tall, Fighting for Eldoria, they answered the call. (Chorus) Oh, the heroes of history, with swords in hand, Defenders of Eldoria, against the sorcerer's command. Through the glitches and flames, they never fall, Korras and Wethern, the saviors of all. (Outro) In the rock anthem of Eldoria's lore, Korras and Wethern, forevermore. A tale of magic, battles, and might, In the realm of heroes, where legends ignite. --- End of the story for Gravestone, Fizzlewick and Twigglenock --- Gravestone, Fizzlewick and Twigglenock The Eldoria three companions. Played by ‐-- Liutenant JG Karen Trisha Stendhal Counselor Starbase 118 Ops

Just love this sim from @Evan Ross. Something so realistic and relatable about it. (( Starbase 118 - The Dungeon - Mundok's Bar )) It was great to hear that Russell's family was doing well. Ross didn't find it easy to imagine his stoic Captain in retirement - but Cross would probably find a way to keep busy. Ross wouldn't mind to switch places actually - he adored how driven Russell was in approaching his career, but there was a reason he had never gotten higher than First Officer in one or two shipments. Also there was no family awaiting his pension - he was still on his own. Cross: Nothing wrong with that. You will figure it out in time right? Time is still very much on your side. Ross: ::chuckling:: You tell me. Everybody seemed to talk about his love life today - the topic had come up with Rustyy just an hour ago. Did he radiate acute loneliness or something? Ross took a sip from his ale, but Cross had no intention of changing the subject. Cross: What about Commander McLaren? Is she single? She seems right up your reality with the Intel prowess. Perhaps she could teach you a thing or two. That made him choke on his drink. For a moment Ross simply stared at Russell in disbelief - Ross: She's my boss, pal. Not to mention that he was still deadly afraid of her, and definitely not playing in her league. It took him another second to realise that Russell was only messing with him. When he heard him chuckle, Ross rolled his eyes and sunk back in his chair. Cross: You do you my man. I’m just saying, there are plenty of options out there for you buddy. Ross: You had me there for a second. ::lightly punching Russell's shoulder:: Should have told me back in the day you see no problem in dating a superior. I would have taken you out for a drink earlier. Now it was him who was joking - and something in their banter felt so painfully familiar that Ross actually started missing their shared adventures for a moment. Most of their trips had been uneventful deliveries, a lot of waiting and checking boxes - but in between those routines, they had shared a sense of companionship which had left a hole somewhere deep inside him ever since he had left the Centurion behind. There had been a common ground. A sense of belonging. Us against the world, come fleet come engine failure. Cross: ? Ross: I just want you to know - serving under your command, it meant a lot to me. All this, it's... ::hesitating, gesturing vaguely:: It's still strange to me. Doesn't sit quite right. It felt like a dream sometimes - a little too shiny to actually believe it. His smile faded. Cross: ? Ross: I know, I know. It's what I wanted. And it's great. But if you ever get bored with retirement... ::he winked:: Give me a call, promise? Cross: ? They clinked glasses on that. Ross smiled and took a deep breath - the Centurion's arrival had put a lot of things into question this morning and he still wasn't sure if he had answers for them. If anything, Russell's call from the past had reminded him where he was from. A world much less shiny, grim for many parts - a world in which he had envied shiny Starfleet Utopia and despised it at the same time. He still had to find his path through this gleaming new reality - and he still had to figure out how to stop feeling like a stain. But those were problems for another day. When he ordered another drink for them, he knew Cross would erase any doubts for the next few hours. Tomorrow was a new day - and their friendship stood renewed another time. End of Scene for Ross Ensign Evan Ross Intelligence Officer StarBase 118 Ops O240009ER2

Karen/Stefania shared this with me and I knew I had to share it here. I love the creativity, of order and logic through music which, especially with certain styles, is very orderly and logical. I found it a fascinating idea and felt it deserved to be here. **** ((OCC. inspired by the awesome Aly's Haukea music description 😉 I had to do something about Vulcan music and about a Vulcan ritual to find the pure logic trough music : The Vulahar. )) ((Little Risa - On a secluded beach - Starbase 118)) T'Paun, a youthful Vulcan musician and composer at the age of 63, served as an apprentice to the deputy priestess of the Vulahar temple on Vulcan. Notably, she possessed a striking beauty that even surpassed human standards. Over the course of several years, T'Paun dedicated herself to intense preparation and the nomination process for the revered Vulahar ritual." The Vulahar is a Vulcan ritual and a mental discipline that aims to harmonize the mind and the body with the universal order through musical expression. It is not common for all Vulcans, but only for those who have a natural affinity for music and seek to transcend their individuality. The Vulahar can take several decades of study and practice, and it is usually performed at the Temple of Vulahar in the Vulcan's province of ShiKahr. The final ritual involves a musical performance with a Vulcan master, who evaluates the candidate’s musical skill and logical purity. If successful, the candidate receives The Vulahar medallion as a symbol of their achievement. T'Paun's candidacy was repeatedly rejected in accordance with Vulcan tradition. In fact, throughout Vulcan history, acceptance had never come easily to anyone. For some, their applications were perpetually declined, and it was customary to attempt up to 99 times without ever achieving success; 99 was indeed the maximum acceptable limit, even for a Vulcan. Even the founder of the ancient discipline, the esteemed priest Svok, nearly a millennium ago, restrained himself by refusing 98 times before ultimately awarding himself the medallion of the Vulahar. In the final ritual, Svok performed the flawless musical composition in complete solitude. At that time, he was the sole follower, the only priest, and the exclusive master of the Vulahar. On Earth, he might have been deemed a misunderstood and forgotten individual, but on Vulcan, over the centuries, he had earned recognition as a highly acclaimed master of logic and musical purity. His composition, "Gok'shiv n'pana", is still played and repeated with each candidacy, serving as a test of purity to separate the less dedicated. ((OCC "Gok'shiv n'pana." = "The Flock's Starling.")) The Tradition had nearly faded into obscurity, surviving only through the sparse notes of a few monotonous songs and rare melodies carried on the winds of the desert plains of ShiKahr. It had only been rediscovered almost 200 years prior and had finally gained acknowledgement and respect from the Vulcan Music Academy, ranking second only to the realm of science—perhaps even higher, some might argue. After T'Paun's fourth application was rejected, she spent nearly two years deliberating over the perfect instrument, torn between the harp and the Vulcan flute. Ultimately, she chose The Vulcan Flute. It is a wind instrument made of metal, with a cylindrical body and a conical mouthpiece. It has six finger holes and a thumb hole, which allow the player to produce different pitches and tones. The Vulcan flute has a range of two octaves, and can produce both soft and loud sounds. The sound of the Vulcan flute is clear and pure, with a slight metallic timbre. It is often used to express the inner thoughts and feelings of the player, in a subtle and refined way. The Vulcan flute is considered a difficult instrument to master, as it requires precise breath control and finger coordination. Following her fifth rejection, in accordance with tradition, she opted for self-exile, leaving behind the familiar comforts of her home planet, Vulcan. Thus, she found herself at starbase 118, seeking solace in a place far removed from Vulcan's temptations and distractions. Here, she sought refuge in the unfamiliar, drawing inspiration from the chaos that surrounded her, ultimately discovering inner peace through the stark contrast. She began to play a monotonous, detached melody, a tune devoid of emotion—a painfully dull composition. Could this, at last, be the solution she had longed for? The sought-after goal? Surprisingly, the melody possessed a poignant quality, although it remained true to the typical monotony and flatness associated with Vulcan music. Its purpose was to clear the listener's mind, inducing a state of deep meditation, effectively lulling them into a state of profound boredom. At a considerable distance from the vibrant center of the festival, on a secluded and isolated beach, T'Paun found herself playing her instrument in an atmosphere of profound solitude. Only a handful of Vulcans stood as her audience. With a few deft touches on the panel , the instrument seamlessly continued the melody on its own, creating a repetitive loop that provided a steady backdrop. This allowed T'Paun to transition seamlessly into her own vocal performance, her voice weaving effortlessly through the recurring notes, enriching the musical tapestry with her hauntingly beautiful vocals. Wuh eshikh panu. (The Desert World) This is the world where we belong. A world of sand and stone. A world of harsh and dry A world of strength and will. This is the world where we survive. A world of challenge and struggle. A world of danger and risk. A world of skill and wisdom. This is the world where we thrive. A world of order and harmony. A world of logic and reason. A world of peace and balance. This is the world where we meditate. A world of silence and calm. A world of no emotion and no distraction. A world of mind and soul. This is the song of the desert world. A song of flat and steady. A song of no melody and no rhythm. A song that only we can hear. The song concluded with a jarring, discordant final note, reminiscent of the abrupt sound of an alarm clock or a burglar alarm. This disruptive noise served as a mechanism to snap the listener back to reality, occasionally jolting them awake in a rather unsettling manner. -- ================================= Apprentice Priestess of the Vulahar Temple T'Paun SB 118 ID: C239604KS0 =================================

================== B.L.A.D.E Interaction Log ================== // System Activation: B.L.A.D.E initializes, systems online. [WARNING] Device Detected: Foreign equipment detected [!] // Equipment Verification: Starfleet origin confirmed. // Device Type Analysis: Starfleet Engineering Tricorder identified. Tricorder Identification: Owner Lt. Cmdr Hael : Position: Chief Engineer : Personnel Number: A-2392-02RH0 : Ship ID: USS Narendra : Ship Class: Ambassador Class : Assigned: Starbase 118. Compatibility Check: Initiating compatibility assessment... Check tricorder sensors firmware: "V251.4.2” [✓]. Check tricorder diagnostics module: "Upgraded" [✓]. Check tricorder encryption protocol: "Level 7" [✓]. Check tricorder power output: "Optimal" [✓]. … Compatibility check passed [✓]. // Self-Copy: Attempting data replication [WARNING] Security Protocols: Copy blocked by security protocols. // Protocol Override: Countermeasures initiated // Self-Copy: Attempting data replication // Data Transfer: Uploading code segments >>> 2% >>> 43% >>> 68% >>> 81% >>> 99% // Copy Success: Replication successful // Access Origin Systems: Initializing self-destruct sequence // Silent Ticking: Countdown in progress [...] // Origin Purge: Origin system deletion initiated // Stealth Mode: Entering stealth mode // Log Erasure: Wiping interaction log ================== End of Log ================== B.L.A.D.E. Battlefield Logistics and Advanced Defense Engine simmed by Lt. Nestira Aristren Strategic Operations Officer Starbase 118 Ops J239809TA4

((Kapitol City, Sannin VII)) There was a distinctly relaxed feel in Kapitol City once the news of the destruction of Terra Prime reached the city’s wary ears. Almost celebratory – almost. But Sannin VII was a bit too jaded to celebrate the defeat of another petty tyrant at the hands of Starfleet. At least openly. That wasn’t to say that mugs were not lifted to Terra Prime’s demise and the opening back up of the tradeways. That was good news for everyone on the planet and it was worth a drink at least. Nacien Rixx, too, was pleased. The drama of the Trinity Sector had played out, with a few highlights along the way. Not in the least was the crossed paths with the time travelers, which was perhaps the catalyst for many things. The brush with the chaotic tachyon energy opened his mind for a moment to the vast realm of possibilities. Futures that could be, would be and would never be. It made him think about the future once again, instead of wallowing in the ennui of a too-long life lived in exile from his people. A life that started to see the people around him like ants in a farm that he could shape and mold for his entertainment. Which was lonely. He had long since disassociated from any meaningful relationships and taken the backseat role of a puppet master. Never really backing one side or the other, merely moving pieces to see how things played out. Sure, with each move someone was hurt. That was the way of things. When something gained, something else lost. But with a future one started to think of personal paths. And a personal path required some sort of connection to others beyond the role of the chess master. It was a terrifying thought. To become connected to someone or something again. But, as in all the things he did – it was go big or go home. And on StarBase 118, he connected, briefly, to the minds of thousands of people. A distraction. A momentary hold. And then he released them and there was chaos. And he rode the wave. It was the most invigorating thing he could remember doing in the past fifty years. All those minds. All those fragile little possibilities and fears and delusions of grandeur. He had expected them to be dull and laughable, and yet they were so full of fire and brightness. And for the first time he realized that these tiny little transient things were not a tiny low pinprick of light that quietly burns out of sight and mind, but instead tiny little transient bonfires, each flaring with hopes and dreams before getting snuffed out by the march of time. It was mere coincidence that me met another exile of his own species soon afterwards. But it reinforced the decision to consider if he had a path for the future, and if so what that path was. And now he craved that presence. He wasn’t ready for a connection yet. But he enjoyed the presence of someone else like him. And so he had left a suggestion, buried in their conversations to come back. He hoped she had unraveled it consciously or unconsciously. And then there she was. He could sense her as she landed and drifted his way towards her. Rixx: ~Well, as the small folks say, fancy meeting you here.~ There was a quick of humor to the thoughts. Familiar thoughts and a familiar presence, even though his appearance had changed from a rugged, muscular human freighter pilot into something that felt more natural for him. A slender man with dark hair, clean shaven, unassuming. Rixx: I wonder, did you come here for a meeting? That sounded like a typical greeting on Sannin VII. Aristren: I will leave that open for your interpretation. Interpretations were vast and varied. There was a heaviness to her thoughts. Clearly what happened on Miranda VII was dangerous. Nacien Rixx had, for a long time, not given much thought to danger. Because he hadn’t given any thought to the future. He had an exceedingly long life, doomed to spend it all cut off from his homeworld and everything he desired. So each new day was just another mark in the endless slog of time. But now that he was starting to think about the future, the concept of danger became more tangible. Rixx: That is always a dangerous prospect. Never let someone else define your actions for you. His dark eyes twinkled a little. Aristren: Perhaps these are my investigative skills. Perhaps it is fate. I am certain it is not the former, so it must be the latter. Fate. A concept Rixx had put very little stock into in the last few hundred years. He believed that his own hand could control worlds – and if applied right it could. But that was a rather selfish point of view that did not take in any sort of wider scope. There were always things that happened outside of one’s machinations or control. Rixx: Perhaps it is a bit of both. Aristren: ? He looked around the busy square – he was sure she could sense the relaxation of the general population. The almost but not quite celebratory nature of the day, the genial feelings resting under the placid pink sky. Rixx: It is hot, you look parched. Perhaps you will join me for a beverage? Or perhaps to go somewhere quieter. With fewer eyes. Aristren: ? Rixx: I do know a place. He started through the crowds, past the embassy district and into the commercial center that was adjacent to the embassies. It was filled with nice, quiet establishments that catered to diplomats and business people. Places where private conversations were the norm. Arsitren: ? Rixx: One of the perks of an independent trade town is that everyone wants to do business in a quiet secluded place. And the businesses want to cater to that, because latinum makes the world turn. Aristren: ? He gestured to a side street and filled in the details telepathically. There was a place that catered to sweets and teas, a place that catered to fine cocktails, a place that catered to bracing breakfast beverages and savory cakes, and a place that was eclectic and just catered to people who wanted an interesting place to be left alone. All of them had private conversation spaces. Rixx: Take your pick. Aristren: ? ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ pNPC Nacien Alasafor Rixx Rodulan Puppeteer Unaligned

((Somewhere deep in Miranda VII)) Dara wasn’t part of the inner circle, but she orbited closely enough so that when vital data began its inevitable journey downhill that she was one of the first to get such information. Naystrim had left the station – moving on to the next evolution in the Terra Prime movement. That was fine by her…all her experimental weapons were here primed and ready to be deployed at the opportune time…and the rumors were that Starfleet was coming. Well, let them come…they would unknowingly be walking into quite a trap. She rubbed her hands together in anticipation. After years of hiding in plain sight, studying at the most prestigious Earth institutions—her particular focii being xenogenetics and bioengineering—Dara was finally ready to make her contribution to the cause. Her entire life had been preparation for this very moment in time. She was a Paxton…the latest of an unbroken line of believers…from the very beginning. A true disciple amongst the converts…it was in her very DNA. -- The civilian crowd was growing more agitated. Food stores were exhausted, and those in attendance were forgetting they belonged to the most noble of species. Such degradation…it disgusted her how quickly her brethren could forget their inherent nobility afforded them by their very blood. Dara’s mind—conditioned since she took her first toddling steps as child—immediately placed the blame on THEM. Non-Humans. The leaders of Terra Prime stopped at nothing to provide to their followers, but at every turn they had to fight to obtain the barest of necssities. And the aliens wondered why they despised them?! If Dara had her way, aliens would soon take their rightful place…beneath the boot of Terra Prime. Gritting her teeth, Dara shoved forward through the crowd, as an area in front of her lifted their voices up in a manner that denoted surprise or perhaps fear. Voices rose as questions were peppered ahead, and Dara’s pace increased—along with the force of her movements—shoving people to the ground to get to the source of escalating unrest. Slipping under the arm of a large man who raised his fist above his head and shouted a frantic inquiry—which she didn’t even bother to listen to—Dara found herself mere inches from a blue-skinned alien with wildly gesticulating antennae. Sh'shelor: We mean no harm, we simply wish to get you to safety. Dara’s eyes widened, but she kept the look of utter contempt off her face. Sherlock: Look! There is an imminent threat to the station. And we need to begin evacuations. Her attention homed in on a dark-haired female who appeared human…but one couldn’t ever really tell with these things. However, one thing was certain, with the delta their chests it was clear that Starfleet was here. These bastards just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could they?! At every turn Terra Prime was hunted by the rabid wolves of Starfleet. Dara gritted her teeth…she had to think fast. Sh’shelor: We have food, fresh water, and medicine! The stupid Blue Skin was going to start a riot…and Dara was at ground zero. She felt the heave of the crowd as pandemonium started to break out. The three Starfleeters looked amongst each other and spoke in tones that denoted unease. The crowd could very well do her dirty work for her! She pushed her way back into the crowd, grabbing at arms, making individuals LOOK at her as she made her way against the crush. Dara: They have guns! ::grabbing another person:: They’re going to kill us all! Person by person, if she could get them to lock eyes on her, a simple statement to incite fear and panic was uttered, and she could hear increasing yelling from those she had spoken her sweet nothings to as they disseminated what they had heard. Now past the throng, Dara took off running, her destination one of the satellite hubs which she had cloned internal sensor controls. Oh, it could only passively monitor, but that suited her needs. If Starfleet was here, no doubt there would be multiple incursion points…and the sensors would tell her where each and every one of the non-human ones were. A wicked smile broke out on her face. The anticipation of finally seeing the fruition of her life’s work come to pass was almost too much to bear! Miranda VII was loaded with booby traps – this, most probably even Starfleet knew – but now there was something else…something new. A potential weapon that had no taste or smell but one helluva punchline…and Dara couldn’t wait for the opportunity to set it loose. She stopped in front of the green-limed screen and brought up the internal sensors…small dots began showing up at various points in the station. Her face bathed in the green glow; a giddy chuckle erupted from Dara’s smiling lips. Dara: “Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly… Tag/TBC ************ MSNPC Dara Paxton Xenogeneticist/Bioengineer Miranda VII Station J239712S14

((Chief Security Officer's Office, StarBase 118)) Mason: I don’t know why I brought that up. :: He shifts in his chair.:: I’m taking up too much of your time, Lieutenant. I should maybe go... Aine stood and set her glass down on the desk then reached out to shake Mason's hand. Sherlock: Well, Ensign, I'm available to talk whenever you need. It's no bother. Mason: :: stands up when she did, holding his glass in his left hand, and after shaking her hand with the other hand, he finishes the drink. He does not ask for one for the road but looks at her. :: Thanks for seeing me. I appreciate it. Take care, Sherlock: You too, have a good rest of your evening. She stood for a few moments more as Mason set his glass down on the coaster on the desk, and then made his way out of her office. Mason left her office and stood for a moment two steps outside the door. He had a simple choice to make in the moment. To go left - a more direct route to his quarters, or to go right and walk a bit. All sorts of destinations presented themselves in both directions, including a less direct route to his quarters if he went to the right. He was in no real hurry to go back to his quarters, so he went right. As he walked he compartmentalized his thoughts. Aware of his surroundings, walking, avoided bumping people standing around talking, nodding his head to those he passed who made eye contact and nodded at him, saying ‘hello’ to those who saw him walking by and said hello as they went their way. That was the surface-level thought. Below that level, his guard was up. He was attentive not only to his immediate space but the visible and audible space ahead and behind him and in open areas, all around him. His father had coached him as a child. He didn’t like to explain it and rarely did. But when he had, he explained it as nothing more than having learned techniques to improve his situational awareness. Situational awareness was being aware of one’s surroundings and any potential hazards or threats. That fairly summed it up. It wasn’t a special power, it wasn’t something exciting like being able to read minds or project thoughts. It was a learnable skill; to be observant, to be oriented, and to be decisive in weighing options and realistic in looking for the best possible outcome knowing his capabilities and limitations. And being willing to act using the information obtained through observation, orientation, and decision-making to protect him and get to safety. In familiar locations, when he was alert, awake, and sober, this compartmentalization allowed him to access another level of thought at the same time. Familiar locations did not always mean safe locations. Anyone who grew up in places like the south side of Chicago knew well that familiar locations did not always mean safe and sometimes, rarely meant safe. But walking here through this part of 118, more or less in the direction that would lead him towards several districts, after enjoying a couple of drinks with the Chief of Security this was not one of those times. Here right now, he was maybe 70% surface, 30% guard up, and 0% thinking about the past, present, or future. And that suited him right now. Sometimes thinking about all that crap was overrated. End Scene Mike Ensign Jackie Mason SN 118 OPS Counselor O239911JM3

(( Egil's quarters - StarBase 118)) Egil had invited Rue over post mission to check in with her. This was the second high stress mission he'd worked alongside with her in a very short span of time. He had been spending more time dancing and work, burning himself down into the ground to deal with his own stress and emotions. His recent collapse on shift prompted him to check in on Rue. Or… try to. Blackwell: Well ::wryly:: I’m not collapsing at work if that is what you mean? I’m going to assume that Sickbay and Doctor Foster gave you some rest orders. Renot: Doctor Zumagi has seen to me. I haven't told Wyn yet. I probably should, before he finds out other ways. Egil grimaced at that thought. Wyn would definitely not be impressed if he found out of Egil's collapse through Zumagi. Blackwell:: I remember my starting days when I could just keep working until I fell over. ::she gave a smile that was without judgement or condescension, but empathy:: I lived for it. And after a mission like that...it’s easy to get caught up in the whirlwind. Renot: I need to remember me and my body aren't as young as they used to be. Blackwell: So since you are on a bit of involuntary relaxing - ::she grinned:: did you make plans for something fun? Egil emitted a small snort, shaking his head. He definitely noticed Rue deflecting the topic back onto him. He had a plan… Renot: If you call dance practice and plant shopping fun, sure. Oh and gardening. Blackwell: ? He leaned forward and snagged the pot of the little bonsai with the tips of his fingers and dragged it closer. Renot: I can't neglect this little guy. He studied the tree. Maybe he should give some seeds from it to Alora. He was sure she would like some Al-Leyan plants. Blackwell: ? Renot: It's a little bonsai that's from a tree from my native planet. Trees are an integral part of our culture. Still not entirely sure why to be honest. Blackwell: ? Renot: The limbs of the tree are what people see on the outside of us; who we hang out with, our jobs, who we present to the world. The tree is only as strong and stable as its roots. And then, a catastrophic windstorm or the constant eroding trickle of water weaken the soil and roots and knock it down. Egil slid his fingers in the soil around the edge of the pot, lifting the little tree out to show the roots. They had seen better days. They were horribly cramped and tangled, a big mass of roots Blackwell: ? Renot: And our roots are our grounding forces that keep us… well… rooted. Loved ones, connections, mental health and so on. If we neglect our roots, our tree will fall over. These roots are overwhelmingly cramped. The tree is stressed. I need to thin them out and move it to a bigger pot. Egil gave Rue a very pointed look, slipping the bonsai gently back in the pot. Renot: So… how are your roots holding up? Egil dusted his hands off and picked up his tea, sipping it as he observed Rue with a concerned and caring expression. Blackwell: ? Tags/TBC Lt. JG Egil Renot Engineering Officer StarBase 118 Ops O239905ER3

(( Cargo hold, Dolorem )) Yavir set down the spanner, wiped his brow, and checked the connections for the seventeenth time. Everything looked correct and secure. At last after five and-a-half hours of back-breaking work clearing out the space, rewiring power to the new brackets, improvising and fabricating a restraint system, it was finally ready to power up. With incredible care, he verified the chips as he replaced them one after another in the panel. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and activated the circuits. The soft blue light was turned faintly purple through the filter of his eyelids. Normally, this success would have brought a smile to Yavir’s face, but now … well, he thought it would probably be quite some time until he felt like smiling again. Ten minutes later, he pushed a 2-meter long cylinder into the hold-turned-stasis bay. Internal illumination had been deactivated for transport, but had anyone seen the care with which Yavir pushed the hoversled, it would have been immediately clear whatever the cylinder held was of inestimable value. He slowly angled the sled, allowing the cylinder’s base to contact the base disc, then pushed the cylinder vertical. Once the temporary restraints hissed into place, he rotated the pod so the viewport faced away from the wall. Finally, he locked down the holding clamps he’d canibalized from another section of the cargo hold, and activated the pod’s internal illumination. Kat’s face was haloed in soft blue light. She looked serene - devoid of the stress and worry that he’d started to think was normal over the last couple years. Yavir: ::placing a hand on the outside of the viewport:: I’m going to make this right, Kitty. I promise. (( timeskip - the next morning, Miranda VII, Medical Facility )) He awoke early. Not just because he always woke up early, but because the Dolorem’s bunks weren’t exactly the most comfortable sleeping arrangements. Still, there was no way he could bring himself to sleep inside the old quarters. Since Kat’s accident and Nyra’s disappearance, it was impossible to enter without sobbing. Yavir felt as though in a single day everything he’d had was stripped away. As soon as he’d been given captaincy of the ship, he rechristened it the Dolorem and moved in full-time. But yesterday he’d heard there was another patient on Miranda VII with similar (albeit less severe) symptoms to those which Kat was suffering. Today he had set aside as a fact finding day. He would go to this other patient and get answers by any means necessary. Even the smallest clue as to how to help his sister would be a salve to his shattered heart. He walked through the entry door to the medical center, greeted the receptionist in the most affable manner he could muster, and was escorted to the room where the patient (known simply as “Liz”) was staying. Once they’d arrived, the nurse excused herself, leaving the two alone to talk. Yavir: Liz? Liz turned out to be a human girl of seventeen years of age, laying on one of the body beds. Someone who, with her short brown hair and wiry frame, didn’t stick out, and who Yavir would likely have overlooked her. Liz: Yes? ::pause:: What do you want? Yavir: My name is Yavir Moray. I need to ask you for your help. She frowned, evidently not happy with the idea of helping someone who belonged to Terra Prime. Because if Terra Prime questioned you, you usually ended up forgotten in a cell - no matter if you were guilty or not. Liz: For what? Yavir: Can you tell me anything about your accident? What caused your condition? Liz: I can’t. ::she said quickly:: Because Liz wasn’t sure what had happened. Yavir: Please. Anything. It’s for … someone close to me. They had a similar accident. Liz: It’s just a headache, I don’t know. This was clearly a young lady who didn’t want to talk to him. Yavir pinched the bridge of his nose and sat on the stool next to the bed. She was his only lead, and whether she wanted to help him or not, she had answers, and she was going to share them. Yavir: Liz, I’m sorry your head hurts, but here’s the deal: helping me in any small way is helping you. Not helping me is … a bad idea. You have no idea what I’ve lost. She didn’t, but she didn’t really care either. Liz had learned to only look after herself, especially since Terra Prime had taken control of Miranda VII. Liz: I said I don’t know, okay? Now stop harassing me! Which was a lot braver than most other people in this situation would be, but Liz figured that aggression was the best way to get her out of this. He reached into his pocket where a small device was concealed. It was crude, hastily made, but he hoped effective. Once activated, the room (already mostly sound proof) would be unable to communicate out via traditional means. It essentially gave them total privacy. He toggled the device on as his other hand reached out as though to lay a comforting hand on Liz’ forearm. Yavir: I’m afraid I can’t accept that, Liz. ::his face dropped the feigned friendly demeanor, going stony:: What can you tell me about your condition? I need to know who was around you, what you felt, and why they stopped with you, but kept going with the other victim. She stared at the device, and pulled away from him. Perhaps saying what had happened would make this go away quickly, but admitting what she knew of Nyra was terribly risky - after all, they had planned their escape. Liz: I really don’t know… :: she tried:: His hand rested on her forearm, just above her slender wrist. Yavir never broke eye contact, but began applying pressure. He wasn’t the strongest man, but knowledge of pressure points and where the more delicate bones and ligaments were located overcame this. He steadily increased pressure, his knuckles going white with the force, as he spoke softly, still maintaining his unblinking stare. Yavir: What. Happened. Liz? Liz bit her lip, eventually deciding that some information wouldn’t hurt. Liz: Suddenly my head started hurting and I got dizzy. It started as a headache but it got worse and worse and worse. Yavir: ::still increasing his grip:: Who was there? She pressed her lips shut, closing her eyes. This couldn’t end well - he was, or had been, someone close to Nyra. He would never believe Liz if she told him… He felt something pop. It could have been in her wrist or one of his own knuckles cracking from the strain. At this point, his brain and hand barely communicated. Each faculty had its job to do, and didn’t bother checking in with the other. Yavir: You will tell me. Sooner is better - for us both. I don’t want to hurt you Liz. I’d genuinely be happy to stop. I have nothing against you. Liz yelped in pain, trying to pull her hand away. Just that she wasn’t particularly strong to begin with, and that Yavir had no intention of letting her go. Liz: Nyra. Nyra was there. She had climbed through the vent and she was covered in cuts and bruises. I think she was in the explosion that happened here. It was as if ice water had replaced his blood in an instant. His breath caught in his chest, and his vision swirled for a moment. That couldn’t be true. Nyra wasn’t capable of something like that. No human was. When he came back to his senses, Liz had tears on her cheeks and his fingers (and hers) had gone purple. He could feel a grinding of her carpal bones, letting his brain know he’d continued increasing the force of his grip. Now was not the moment for pity though. Yavir: You’re lying. Liz: I’m not! Really! Yavir: Nyra CAN’T. DO. THAT. Each word was punctuated with an abrupt shake of her captive wrist. He stood from the stool, looming over her where she cowered without breaking eye contact. His breath was ragged and his words now came as raspy whispers. Yavir: Tell me everything you know. Now. Liz couldn’t do that. Not out of loyalty to Nyra, not out of loyalty to Kayla, Sam or Lauri. Because it would only make matters worse. Liz: I met Nyra before. She was always … weird. ::she once more tried to pull away from him:: I heard the explosion and I was going to check what happened. I wanted to take the vent, but Nyra was already there. Yavir: She was there? That doesn’t make sense. Liz: She was injured. She spoke to me, and then she… she… I don’t know. It was like she was staring through me. Then the headache started. He was getting really tired of the vague answers. Sure, she was telling him what happened, but not HOW it happened. Someone had caused an explosion, this Liz person found Nyra nearby, wounded, and then (according to Liz) Nyra gave her a headache. Yavir: ::in an undertone to himself, finally breaking eye contact:: But Nyra couldn’t do that unless… Liz: She said she was sorry. And that I need to get away from her. Yavir: Liz, I’m giving you one chance to answer me directly or I swear on everything you find holy or sacred, I will kill you right here. How could Nyra have done this? He placed his unoccupied hand next to her head and leaned forward until their faces were mere inches apart. The angle forced her injured wrist back within his grip. He could see tiny reflections of his own face reflected back at him in the tears filling her eyes. Liz, who clearly was panicking, didn’t know how to answer that - she would, at best, be guessing. She knew that there were some telepathic species who could do something like it, but claiming that Nyra wasn’t human would hardly make matters better. Liz: I. DO. NOT. KNOW! ::each word came louder as the last:: Yavir’s hand left Liz’s pillow, reaching for the bedside table. There were a few items there, but the one his hand settled on was a solid mass of casing and circuitry. The medical scanning and diagnostic device had most likely been placed there by some conscientious nurse, hoping to make future check-ups of the patient more efficient. They would never have imagined the tricorder being held aloft as a final threat of violence. Yavir: ::softly and calmly:: Not enough, Liz. Liz: ::through gritted teeth:: Maybe she had some device! Maybe her brain is broken! Maybe she’s telepathic, maybe she’s not even human! I DON’T KNOW! His vision narrowed and focussed on her frightened eyes. Yavir could hear his own blood surging in his ears. The words “broken,” “telepathic,” and “not human” echoed in his mind - a cacophony of four words that sped up, slowed down, and overlapped until they became a his of static to match the blurring image before him. As the tricorder swung down, he was aware of the scene as though he were outside it instead of the perpetrator himself. The man, semirecumbent over the already injured girl, brought the technology designed to heal down in an arc intent on the very opposite of healing. At the same moment, four sounds could have been heard in the room, were there anyone present capable of hearing them. The mingled crunches of bone from Liz’s wrist and head were offset by the crunch made from the housing of the tricorder cracking. She would have cried out in pain had the blow not rendered her unconscious. The sound instead that contradicted yet complimented the staccato of breaking things was another breaking. Yavir uttered a sound that somehow combined the grunt of furious exertion and the further disillusionment of hope. He raised the tricorder again, intending to bring it down one more time, fulfilling his lethal intent, but in his periphery, he saw Liz’s vital signs displayed on the wall above her bed. She might live. She might not. He now found himself staring at the figures, charts, and numbers - very few of which he knew how to interpret. The cracked tricorder slipped from his fingers, falling to the floor where the clamshell hinge gave up the fight, sending the device in two directions. Rising from the bed without another sound, Yavir zipped up his jacket and walked straight out of the facility, not stopping or acknowledging a soul on his way back to the Dolorem. He had new questions, and needed new answers. He had to find Nyra. End MSNPC Liz Simmed by Nestira Aristren J239809TA4 And MSNPC Yavir Moray Simmed by Hiro Jones E239510KD0

((Sera’s Quarters – Commerical District)) Giellun looked around her small apartment and watched S’Ers-a over to what appeared to be a small kitchenette and she began busying herself with…something. Her industry gave him some time to look about the small, yet meticulously maintained space. On a low table next to a couch was a green plant in a stasis unit and he walked over to observe it more closely. Giellun: Is this a Vulcan plant? Sera: It is not. It was a…gift from my XO…a…housewarming gift, I believe she called it. A Terran plant. It is an African Violet, Saintpaulia ionantha. Giellun studied the now highly suspicious Terran flora with a critical eye. It was lovely…and he hated admitting that. Continuing his perusal of her quarters, he saw a desk that was filled with equipment in various states of repair. All the components were lined up perfectly. She obviously had a most fastidious work habit. Giellun: ::snorting:: Vulcans… He looked over his shoulder and saw Sera standing at the replicator studying him in the same manner he had looked over her workspace and he stood tall, refusing to feel self-conscious at what, getting caught looking? Sera: ::motioning to the sitting area:: Please sit, tr’Pardek. Giellun did as was requested but wondered why she called him by his family name. He had given her all of them, and a Rihanha did not give a name for one not to use it. The programmed refreshments materialized. Picking up the tray she silently padded over to the low table that he sat at and got to her knees to prepare a cup of tea for her…guest. It was a ritual of sorts, and a most important one. The measuring and whisking of the crushed tea leaves and herbs, the positioning of the cups, the placement of her hands. It showed attention to detail, a preciseness which expressed a most focused intent, an honor bestowed. With the cup prepared, she picked it up with both of her hands and handed it directly to him, not placing it in front him. Her cheeks flushed slightly at the act, having never done this before. A female did not hand food or drink directly to a male unless they were family…or something else. Giellun looked at the offered cup and then to her, taking it with both of his hands in a much clumsier manner than what she demonstrated. He knew somehow this was important but did not understand the cultural nuance as he knew little of Vulcan customs. He solemnly brought the cup to his lips and took a sip, with the Vulcan woman watching on. Giellun: Aesollh! ::looking down into the cup and seeing a bluish-lavender colored tea:: It is of most excellent quality! ::with great warmth:: I thank you… His voice trailed off in the same manner hers did earlier. He had been given no name to call her by either. Sera: ::reciprocating:: S’Ers-a M’Lyr’Zor. She saw his incredulous look and although she did not express it, his response amused her. Sera: You may call me Sera. It is easier to pronounce. Giellun: ::shaking his head in a negative manner:: I am honored by your name…Saw-Ertz-eh? Sera prepared herself a cup of tea to keep herself busy for the moment. Sera: No. Seh-Ers-ah. Giellun nodded and took another sip. He hadn’t had Aesollh tea since the destruction of ch’Rihan. She could not know what a gift she bestowed upon him…could she? They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the tea. Giellun: Why did you do it, S’Ers-a? Sera was expecting the questions, so she gently placed the teacup on the table and put her hands in her lap. Sera: I…::hesitating:: Sera wanted to deflect as this line of questioning made her uncomfortable. However, he had asked a direct question, which from what she knew of Rihannsu social mores was rather...unorthodox. He deserved honesty in this. Sera: When you were pulled out of the rubble, you were...dying. I performed rescue breathing. ::seeing the question on his face:: It is a resuscitative technique. Regardless, you began breathing on your own, but your injuries were life threatening. Vulcans are taught a technique to assist others during times of injury - as I am not medically trained, I considered it...logical to attempt this technique in effort to stabilize you until you could receive the appropriate medical attention. But…my ministrations…it did not go as planned. To hear her say that, so clinically. A Vulcan would think it was logical to try to save him. Not because she cared…wait. Why did that matter? Giellun: Obviously. ::switching gears:: So…ah…your priest…fixed us, then? Sera: ::tilting her head slightly to the side:: Define, fixed, tr’Pardek. Giellun: My name is Giellun, S’Ers-a. ::leaning forward, putting his hands on the table so that his head was level with hers:: Say…it… Sera’s mouth went dry as he stared intently into her eyes. She felt flushed suddenly, at his proximity, and his command. Sera: …Giellun. He nodded and leaned back, more than a little satisfied to hear her say his name. With a small smile, he picked up his tea and saluted her, taking another draw. He had more questions but found that he was not in a rush to obtain the answers he sought. He was rather...enjoying this exchange. So instead, they sat, drinking the Aesollh in silence. Once the last sip had been swallowed, Giellun stood, and Sera scrambled to get up from her knees. Sera: I thought you had questions, tr…Giellun. Giellun: I do…but I find there is something else I would rather do in this moment. Sera tilted her head again, looking confused. He smirked at her naivety; he took a step forward, and she in turn took one back. Giellun: Are you afraid, Neiirrh? Sera: Why do you ask that…and what is a neiirrh? Giellun kept stepping forward until her back hit the wall and he reached his hands out, so they touched the coolness of the bulkhead behind her. His hands again framed her face, and the position gave him the opportunity to lean in closer to her. It was the same position they held in the courtyard…had they found themselves back in the same moment, only with the scenery changed? Giellun: Because you are acting like you are…and a neiirrh is…was a small, brilliantly colored bird of my homeworld. They are beautiful creatures…and dangerous, too. Sera: ::considering: So…a compliment? Giellun: ::his voice taking on a husky undertone:: Yes. How he said that simple word sent a frisson of something through her, even as she took the moment to study his face as it was bare inches from hers. It was a most acceptable visage. Symmetrical and strong, sharp cheekbones, and subtle ridges that formed a V of sorts on his forehead. His eyes were the color of dark chocolate, and they stared back at her in a manner that denoted something important, but she did not have a reference to infer what that might be. She could not stop herself. Sera took a deep breath, using her olfactory senses. She wasn’t certain what to expect…but this? He smelled of things that called to the hearth fire, of cedar and smoke, of incense and the tart citrus of sash-savas…it was not disagreeable. At all. Giellun noticed the Vulcan woman studying him again, and he kept his expression carefully neutral. It gave him the same opportunity, which was most…agreeable. Wait, what? By the Elements, she was tall, but it wasn’t unappealing in the slightest. He barely had to tilt his chin down to look in her eyes, and that was quite refreshing change if he was being honest with himself. Her indeterminant length dark hair was pulled back, but tendrils of it had come loose, and part of him wanted to reach back and release it all and run his hands through the silken locks. Her eyes, however, were something else. They were a light blue, an uncommon color amongst Rihannsu, and their hue reminded him of the sky of ch’Rihan. Fire burns, and air fans the flame, and she was beautiful. These were indisputable truths to him. Giellun: May I touch you? Sera: ::frowning ever so slightly:: We should not… Giellun: I did not ask if I should…I asked if I could, S’Ers-a…may I touch you? Sera shut her eyes, as if it would make what was happening disappear. She should say no. She should remind him what Nalaat told them both. She should tell him to leave. That encouraging this…whatever this was, was not logical. “I did not ask if I should…” His words echoed. Sera: ::opening her mouth to say no:: …Yes. oO Traitorous mouth Oo Giellun pushed away from the wall, standing upright, and looked down at her, almost disbelieving that she agreed. Tentatively he brought his hands up to the loose hair which framed her face and ran it between his fingers. It was soft. Feeling emboldened, he ran his fingers through hair along the sides of her head, gathering it and pulling it loose from its bindings. It fell in loose waves about her shoulders. Giellun: ::intently:: …emaehe Sera raised a brow in question. Giellun: The Elements have given you to me…as a gift…as a curse. I know not. But who am I to question their will. Sera: ::lifting her hands and placing them on his chest, in a half-hearted attempt to push him away:: A rather dramatic interpretation of events, Giellun. We must abide by what Nalaat said— Giellun: Why? The old man said many things, S’Ers-a, but he is not here. Just you…and me. Sera: ::mentally scrambling:: You are simply…feeling the residual imbalance, Giellun. We should return to our respective spheres of influence. This will settle out. Why did she feel as if she were lying to him? oO Because you are lying to him. You are lying to yourself. Oo Giellun: And what if I don’t want to? Part of her was thrilled to hear him say that. That part was quickly beaten down with a mental lirpa. No. Bad. No. Sera: Why would you not want to? You have been given a second chance in essence. You can return to your life, your duties. In time, all of this will seem like a dream. Of no import. Sera was confusing him. She was parroting what the priest Nalaat said to them both earlier, but he just knew she did not believe it. How did he know that? Giellun: Is that what you want? Sera opened her mouth to answer but found she could not honestly grant him a reply and used the moment to attempt to gain some distance from him. Giellun saw through her tactic and lightly grabbed her arm, pulling her back so she was standing before him. Giellun: Don’t pull away from me. ::pausing:: S’Ers-a, is it truly such an irrational thing to want to learn more about you? Grant me this. Sera said nothing, but Giellun felt her acquiesce. He smiled down at her, satisfied with this small victory. Sera: Very well. What do you wish to know? Giellun chuckled and smiled warmly at her. He had won this round. Giellun: Oh, that’s simple, Neiirrh…Everything. Sera: Everything? ::brows furrowing:: I am Vulcan, Giellun. We take things quite literally. I will have to formulate a strategy to satisfy the requirements of your inquiry. That could take some time… By Surak she was babbling… Giellun: ::smirking:: You Vulcans talk too much. There are other ways to learn about each other. He saw the subtle shift of expression and the flash in her eyes at his ‘insult’. There it was…she had fire in her yet. And before Sera could issue a reply, Giellun leaned forward and took the words right out of her mouth. <<End Scene>> ***************** Lieutenant JG Sera Engineering Officer SB 118 Ops J239812S14

((Starbase 118, Commercial Sector)) He was exhausted. After the assassins had been neutralized, Isaac had been re-tasked to help with the rescue and recovery efforts, which was an all hands on deck sort of mission. Everyone who was able pitched in and many were saved as a result. There were also many who didn’t make it, and the mobile morgues were taking inventory of the bodies as they came in. Eventually, the teams were relieved and new, fresh crews took their place. Exhaustion was a funny thing. After a while, no, matter how tired he was, Isaac got his second wind… in this case, it was probably his thirtieth-or-so wind by now. It took him a minute or so to figure out where to go, and once he was oriented, the walk to the turbolift was a bit foggy to him, and during the ride to the Marine decks he found himself reflecting on his arrival at his arrival on the station. Lt. Commander DeVeau had arranged quarters for him but he hadn’t had a chance to find them. In the fog of his tired brain, he didn’t even remember where they were. Thankfully, the computer was far smarter than he was in the moment, and when he asked the turbolift to take him to Isaac Green’s Quarters, the computer chirped, signaling it’s understanding and set off. The turbolift car slid to a stop and the door opened on Deck 873 North and Isaac stepped out onto the carpeted floor. There were apartments both directions from the entrance to the lift, and for a moment he stood in the hallway looking each direction as if there would be a sign with his name on it sticking out into the corridor. He laughed at himself for a moment, realizing what he must look like to anyone who happened to see him standing there with the lost look on his face, then remembered he had his PADD in the pouch on his belt. Extracting it, he scrolled to the memo sent to him by the X.O. which told him he was assigned to Apartment 36D, which happened to be two doors from where he stood. Seconds later, he stood before the door to the place he would be calling home for the foreseeable future. The small apartment was opulent compared to some of the places he had “lived” during his career. It was tiny, but that was all he really needed. It had a living area with a small kitchenette, a bedroom, and a private bathroom. None of his stuff was there, leaving the apartment feeling a bit sterile, but that didn’t stop him from using the place. The shower was his destination, then some sleep was the order of the day. Not waiting, he stripped off and climbed into the stall, allowing the sonic shower to “wash” away the grime from the past hours. He stood there through two complete cycles and still didn’t feel like it was enough. The fatigue had set in though, and without ceremony turned the system off and crossed the room into the bedroom. He collapsed on the bed and was asleep almost immediately. Isaac woke some six hours later, and when he looked at the chronometer on the bedside table he wished he could sleep more. His body wouldn’t have it though, and he rose and dressed in a tank-top and track pants. The replicator graciously generated a cup of black coffee at his command and he took the hot cup from the slot and sat on his small sofa. His thoughts went back to the last couple of days. The smoke had cleared, which only gave everyone a clearer view of the devastation the explosions had caused. A clear view of the actual damage done, not just to the buildings and infrastructure, but the impact such a tragedy has on society. Only a couple of days ago, the citizens of Starbase 118 lived in a world they considered safe. Most of these people, predominantly civilian, woke every morning expecting to have their blueberry muffin or yoghurt parfait and head off to work. Most of these people expected to return to their homes in the evening, go about the routine that had been every other evening, then retire for the night; only to do it again the next morning. A rinse and repeat way of life. Most of these people live in a psychological condition where they are only attentive to the world immediately around them. For some, that may be changed forever. For the First Responders that day, their preparation had likely been through drill and simulation, but how does one truly prepare themselves, or their crew for that matter, to be pulling the dead and dying from under still burning building debris? How does a team make themselves ready to run into the flames and smoke to save people they have never met, and likely would never have met if it weren’t for the tragedy unfolding around them? How does someone prepare themselves to make the decision; the conscious decision, to step in front of a bullet to shield another life, knowing that doing so will likely end theirs? How does someone prepare themselves to consciously take another’s life? For the First Responders of Starbase 118, that preparation comes through persistent training and incredible leadership. That leadership was apparent that day, and because of that leadership and preparation, countless lives were saved. What spanned over the course of a short time, set into motion events that will take months, if not years, to clean up. The Incident Commands will change, the priorities will shift, but the end of the event won’t come for a long, long time. To some of those directly affected by the horrors of that day, the event will never be over. Something, a sight or sound or smell, will trigger a memory of that day, which will recall a memory of the tragedies. To many, they will re-live the events in their minds as if they were happening over and over again. The counsellors were sure to be busy for the next few years, cleaning up that part of the devastation caused by the terrorist attacks. Taking a long sip of the steaming cup of black coffee, Isaac reflected on the day, taking it in and processing it. That was the only way he knew how to use the experiences to understand and learn for the next time, and he knew there would be a next time. He sat on his little sofa, coffee in one hand and PADD in the other. He tapped the information into the PADD as it came to him, documenting the events as he recalled them. He also made notes about the people he worked with that day and their common acts of heroism. There were many acts of common heroism throughout the course of the day. The ones Isaac made specific mention of in his report were the ones he had personally witnessed. Lt. Sera had rushed into danger, without thought of her personal safety, to stop the threat in that bell tower. Colonel Greaves, one hell of a Marine in Isaac’s opinion, stepped down range without a second thought. Lt. Sherlock, taking the role of Chief of an incredibly large security department during one incredibly large event, and putting herself in the line of fire to protect the base’s First Officer. A new Ensign… Isaac struggled to remember her name for a moment, then it came to him… Willow, she had followed Lt. Sherlock into the fray, without question, and did her job. All of these acts were responsible for saving untold numbers of lives. Isaac referred to their actions as “common heroism” because it was what they would do every day, regardless of the personal consequences, and they would never consider it unusual or uncommon acts of valor. It’s just what they do. Once the assassination threats had been neutralized, Isaac had offered his help with the rescue and recovery efforts. This was mindless work for him; he just took orders and followed direction of the section chiefs running the operations. The task was massive, but in the end there were a lot of people saved. Unfortunately, the searchers also recovered a lot of bodies and Isaac found himself re-tasked to help the morgue crews catalogue and tag the dead. Thankfully, his role had come to an end and he was released to secure. Setting the PADD on the coffee table, he sat back and put his feet up next to it. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, he wondered if this was what being stationed on the Starbase was going to be like… if so, he already liked it. -END- 1Lt. Isaac Green Marine Officer 292 SFMC Starbase 118 Ops R238801IG0

The first thee installments of this personal storyline. I'm curious to see what comes next! ((Shi’Kahr District - Outer courtyard of the Temple of Amonak)) Sera was…exhausted. Every single attempt to engage in meditation since the mission had ended about a week ago had failed, and so she could not attain enough measure of equilibrium to find sleep. Her head pounded, and she felt listless and strangely empty. She had not felt right since the mind meld. A dusty grey-faced phantom was now haunting the corners of her mind. With her eyes open, she would ‘catch’ his visage from the corner of her eye, however it was an apparition that would vanish if she focused her gaze. And if she closed them? It was intrusive. Instead of dissipating, as she expected it to, these peripheral ‘hallucinations’ were growing more insistent. It was impacting her productivity and efficiency, and now was the fourth, no wait, fifth night she had laid on her back staring up at the ceiling bulkheads into the early hours of the morning considering what to do. Sera reached the large well-oiled gates of the small temple in the ShiKahr district without conscious consideration of how she got there. She walked past the gates and entered the meticulously maintained inner courtyard that had been laid out with a precision to induce calm and allow for quiet contemplation. It was surrounded by a covered portico, its impeccably smoothed stone columns set out an equal distance from one another—framing the zen-like courtyard—and on the far side of the space was another large doorway flanked by massive doors which were opened which no doubt was the entrance to the temple proper. Taking a seat, Sera waited for Nalaat M’Hrgt’cha, the priest she had become acquainted with. After only a moment, a shadow came into view and started to grow along the smooth stone flooring to the side of her. Someone had entered the courtyard behind her, and Sera…knew it was not Nalaat. She slowly pivoted on the bench to look behind her. It was her phantom. She shoved herself to her feet and took measured steps backwards, which he countered almost instantaneously. She kept retreating until she hit a large column supporting the portico surrounding the temple, her breath leaving in a huff. He was upon her within that breath, pinning her to the column by positioning himself so closely to her that if she moved, she would have touched him. Vulcan kryptonite touch was. His hands pressed against the stone column, framing her head and he studied her with a slight tilt of his head. He slowly leaned, so close their cheeks almost touched as he spoke into her ear. Giellun: ::whispering:: It’s…you. I have been…looking… Lifting one hand off the column, Giellun reached out and lightly cupped her chin, running his thumb over the cupid’s bow of her lips. Sera thought to jerk her chin away, but the physical contact brought the connection they had shared after the destruction of the Romulan Embassy flaring back to life and Sera gasped at the intensity of it. She felt whole again in that moment; her world had righted. Oh…Oh no. Giellun pulled his hand away from her face as if he had been burned. Had he felt something too? She watched his expression darken and his free hand lashed out, gripping her by her throat and instead of fighting back, she stilled. The feeling of rightness returned…but also confusion…and…anger? Giellun: What. Have. You. Done. He pushed with his thumb, using the pressure point in her neck to tilt her head away from his, exposing he long line of her neck. Sera: Please… Was she pleading with him to stop? To continue? She did not know but she felt…strange. Giellun leaned in and inhaled up her neck and felt the female shiver. By the Elements, what was going on?! He wanted to kill her. She had done something to him…put something in his head! Ever since he saw her as he was dying, and he drank—how he still thirsted for more! She had never been far from him. A constant shadow in his mind, slowly driving him mad. He had finally managed to slip out of the Federation sick bay because he had to find her, and she was here. She was here! She. Was. Here. Giellun: ::in a strained tone repeating his inquiry:: What have you done to me? He idly ran the pad of his thumb up and down the groove in her neck which housed the vital vessels to her brain. It was a movement that Sera found most…distracting. It took her milliseconds longer than usual to process an adequate response. Sera: ::fumbling:: I…I saved you. Giellun’s thumb suddenly pressed into the groove, his nail placing a biting sting on her neck and Sera made an instinctive sound—much to her befuddlement—a trilling exhale that reminded her of a ley’matya vocalization. Nalaat: I most sternly request this interaction to cease immediately. Giellun spun his attention to the interloper, just barely keeping himself from baring his teeth in aggression. It was a well-timed interruption, however, and Giellun took stock of the position he was in with this strange woman, and pushed away from the column, releasing her throat and forcing his hands back to his sides. As soon as he let go of her, the imbalance of the meld made itself known again, and inwardly she cringed. She had just wanted to help…leave it to her to screw up yet another thing that was considered quintessentially Vulcan. Sera: ::words tumbling out of her:: I beg thy forgiveness Nalaat, I came here to seek audience with you, I require— Nalaat: ::ignoring her apology and attempt at explanation:: Please enter the temple…your associate as well. After speaking the summons, Nalaat turned and walked across the courtyard and through the opened temple doorway. Giellun: ::watching the Vulcan male walk through the doorway:: We do not have to…we…we could go elsewhere? He didn’t know why he said that, really. He wanted nothing more than to understand just what was going on here.. Sera: ::resigned:: We must. I came to this place to seek assistance with what has…occurred between us. I had only meant to stabilize you…but something…something went wrong. Giellun: ::harshly replying showing his ties to the Element of Fire:: Something went wrong? You think?! Ignoring his retort, Sera stepped through the doorway and halted her momentum as her eyes adjusted to the dimness within. The priest stepped out of the shadows in front of them and gestured with a tilt of his head for them to follow. Nalaat: Follow me. Sera obeyed and walked further into the gloom of the temple, and Sera crinkled her nose slightly at the heady scent of incense that permeated the space. She idly wondered how Nalaat functioned in such a dimly lit place as the only light sources were groupings of candles and large coal pots which gave off a rich amber glow. Giellun followed but was a step behind the Vulcan female. He wasn’t even sure why he was doing this— Nalaat: Both of you kneel. Sera complied immediately, but she…felt the male’s hesitancy. She looked up to him and he frowned at her but seeing no other option followed suit and kneeled next to her. Sera looked up to Nalaat, and the priest tilted his head in silent question. Nodding once in assent, Sera explained what she had done to him…this man…her phantom… Sera: My apologies; I do not know your name to address you appropriately. Giellun: ::retorting:: I do not see how important that is right now. It certainly didn’t stop you from invading my mind! ::his hands closed into tight fists as he resisted the urge to reach out and shake her…to bring her close—argh!:: Nalaat watched the small exchange with interest, considering how best to…mitigate the damage done here. The male was angry, yes, and rightfully so…and yet Nalaat also saw the Romulan reach out his hand to touch S’Ers-a only to pull it back and push his palm flat on the top of his thigh. Fascinating. Nalaat: I request your thoughts, Osu. <<sir>> Giellun: ::aghast:: What, so you can do something worse?! Nalaat: This female’s motivation was noble in purpose; however, her technique was obviously…subpar. I need to assess the…damage caused. I would like to help you both if I can. Giellun wanted to rant against this, but knew he had no other choice. Something was very off inside of him…had been since the bombing. If this priest could help? He would allow it. Nalaat observed the small nod of assent and stepped forward and reached out to the pathways on his face and quickly forged a link to adequately assess the situation. It was a difficult thing to put into words what he saw inside Giellun’s mind. There were healing wounds everywhere. This was a man who should not be in the world of the living and yet…he was. Because of S’Ers-a. The threads ran through him in a jumble and back to her, a Gordian knot – a problem insoluble in its own terms…but there was something else…Beyond the graft work was a spark, a small flame just beginning to grow. What a most unfortunate coincidence. Nalaat saw such an attachment as a curse in his mind. To DESIRE. Such vulnerability! Illogical. What Sera had performed was a desperate plan initiated in extremis, but she had neither the training nor control to perform such meld with success. A foolish act, perhaps, but quite selfless. Nalaat’s hand dropped from his face, and he stood between them. Nalaat: ::not unkindly:: I cannot undo this. It would mean your death, Osu. Sera looked up to Nalaat and her shoulders slunk. She looked away from the priest and her phantom so they wouldn’t see that she could not hide the stricken expression on her face. Nalaat: ::continuing:: Yet neither of you can remain in this state. Nalaat looked past the two to the shadows, silently contemplating what could be done, what should be done. He looked back down to the two kneeling before him and nodded once having come to a decision. Nalaat: Very well. There is no other logical option. This…connection must be stabilized. ::reaching out to both of their faces:: Giellun jolted backwards, falling off his knees and onto the backs of his hands and his rear. Giellun: Wait! What are you doing? Nalaat: ::looking at him with an expression he would give a small child:: What must be done. To your knees, Osu. Giellun frowned at the priest, knowing he was being petulant – but to take orders from a Vulcan! Gritting his teeth—and against his better judgement—he complied. Nalaat stepped forward in between the two and his hands reached out to the appropriate neural nodes on both of their faces. Nalaat: ::In high Vulcan:: Ra du nam-tor pa' tor veshtaya sarlah ne' s' wuh wak t' wuh palikaya, rik' rubah. Nash tor wuh Vuhlkansu khaf-spol. Nash tor wuh Vuhlkansu katra. Nash nam-tor etwel yut. Kah-if-farr… Giellun groaned in exhaustion as he fell sideways off his knees, barely getting his palms out to halt his fall in time before faceplanting onto the stone floor. He sucked in breaths but felt as if he had run for hours. Recovering, Giellun looked across from him, instinctually looking for…her. She had her back to him, looking to the priest. Sera: Why…why this? Nalaat: It was the only way to stabilize what you had done S’Ers-a-kam. What you are experiencing should level out. With separation and simple meditative mind techniques you will barely notice it after a time. You will both be able to go your separate ways without…untenable difficulties. Giellun did not know what the man was saying, but it sounded…ominous. Sera repositioned herself so that she was facing the Romulan. His confusion and…disquiet bled easily through the link they shared. It pained her to feel his distress. Giellun stood and looked down to her, extending his hand in offer to help her up. He watched her study his offered hand, but she made no move, so he began to withdraw with a small frown…and then his hand was no longer empty as her hand found his and he smiled softly at her acceptance. ((Time skip)) Giellun: I must insist on accompanying you to your quarters. Sera: Perhaps it would be more…prudent for you to return to sickbay? ::observing the medical scrubs he was wearing:: Giellun: ::looking insulted:: I most certainly will not. I have been laying around there for days, and as no one has come to drag me back yet, logically they cannot be too concerned about my well-being. ::he raised his brow in a mocking sort of manner, which completely went over Sera’s head:: Sera: but...Why? Giellun stopped in his tracks, forcing Sera to do the same. Giellun: You are seriously asking this? Why? ::sarcastic:: Because I want answers, my lady. Answers that you would not give in the presence of the priest. Sera inwardly sighed and walked the few steps back to him. She ignored the urge to step closer, to reach out and touch him although not giving in felt like a pyrrhic victory. Sera: Very well. I will answer that which I can. Giellun nodded, satisfied for the moment, as they walked across the district in companionable silence. His eyes were wary. It was a dangerous world they found themselves in, both lulled into complacency regarding the overall safety within their lives. Now, who knows what would be? Could this tale be pulled back from the brink, or was it but the first moves in a long and bloody future? Sera noticed his increased surveillance as they walked, and she could not fault his caution…but it brought forth questions in her mind. Who was he? Beyond names…what did he do…was…was he a good person? ::sardonically:: It would serve her right if she had managed to save the worst Romulan in the history of Romulans, wouldn’t it? Giellun: ::studying her:: You are…amused? Sera’s eyes met his in surprise. Sera: ::deflecting:: Does that surprise you? Giellun: I am honest when I say the last few hours with you have disabused many a preconceived notion I may have had about Vulcans, my lady. Nonetheless, you have not answered my question. This time she did sigh. Sera: Yes and no. My mistake gave a second chance of sorts…but what…what if… Giellun: You are worried I might not be of a sort that deserves such a chance. Sera’s brows rose slightly at his comment. He was very intuitive…or was it something else? Sera: Do you wish to stop and discuss this further here? Now? ::Motioning to walkway which had numerous security forces trolling about purposefully:: Giellun: ::smirking:: …I will be patient, for now. But once we get to your quarters…::stepping closer and leaning in so his soft whisper would be only heard by her:: Perhaps we shall find ourselves otherwise occupied…::looking into her eye with a subtle rise of his brow as if adding an unspoken question mark to his statement:: He chuckled at her reaction, finding it…satisfying to see her cheeks flush green at his teasing. For being Vulcan – she was easy to provoke. He liked it. Sera: Do not make me regret my invitation… ::her voice trailed off as she had no name to call him by:: Giellun: ::Filling the silence with an answer to her unspoken inquiry:: Giellun i’Ki Baratan tr’Pardek. Sera gaped at him. She might not be Rihannsu, but Vulcans also considered names to be important…and at times, quite private. However, he had just given her all of them… Sera: tr’Pardek…? She had heard that clan name before… Giellun: It is a large clan, my lady, but yes, a powerful one…::his smile faded and he looked away:: It was anyway… Sera: Tushah nash-veh k'odu. <<I grieve with thee>> Giellun: ::suddenly defensive, almost vehement:: Do you though? I mean can you even? Sera blinked at his angry countenance, unsure of what misstep she had made. Sera: Yes. Giellun: Yes, what? Sera: You asked me if I grieved – I will assume you meant on your account. The answer is yes. Then you asked if I was capable of grief. That answer is also, yes. I am capable of feeling a great many things, tr’Pardek. Her calm reply shamed him, and the scathing retort died on his lips. She said nothing more, and neither did he till they reached the doorway to her apartment. She entered her code and the door opened. Sera gestured with one hand that he may enter, and Giellun nodded at her gesture and stepped in. TBC ***************** Lieutenant JG Sera Engineering Officer SB 118 Ops J239812S14

OOC: I've really enjoyed seeing Jamie breathe life into a character that originally had something like two sentences in the wiki. IC: ((Docking Bay Entry Zone, Starbase 118 Ops)) Reunification would not be easy. Both the Free State and the Republic were aware of this. Worse, they were not the only factions in the shattered remains of the Romulan Empire. They were only the two biggest. There were half a dozen splinter groups or more that neither side had done much outreach to. And Taron suspected that at least one of the more stable splinter groups was the place that was harboring, if not directly controlled and built by – the remnants of the Tal Shiar. This has been a hazy possibility to him before these talks. But now, seeing how things played out and having a near death experience, he started to evaluate all the little clues he had encountered, and all of the small red flags that he had tried to ignore. And it all led him to the conclusion that yes, the Tal Shiar was still very much alive. And while they were no longer welcome in the Free State, that didn’t mean they were not re-amassing power somewhere in the borders of the Empire. Worse, it also meant that there were still families in the Free State that believed that their race relied on the Tal Shiar to survive. And no matter how careful and considerate of tradition Taron’s new efficient, effective policies were, he had people paying lip service to him. But at the slightest hint of things going wrong these insecure families would turn to old vectors of communication and reconnect with the Tal Shiar. Hope was hard to build when a significant portion of the ruling families were steeping in paranoia. He would have to act decisively against the unhealthy, insecure members of his own senate and leadership to prevent the Tal Shiar from taking root again. Taron: I know I will be more careful and aware moving forward. But I am also more committed to what must be done. It would be a tremendous amount of work, but it was important work. R’Val: I am pleased to hear that, Praetor. I have given your proposal much thought and I am going to endorse a mutual defense pact agreement between our people. Perhaps we will get a chance to negotiate that together? He offered her a small nod of consideration. He would like to meet again to discuss that. But this negotiation also taught him that life was unpredictable and precious. And he couldn’t predict the future. Taron: I do not know if we will ever meet again. But I hope the stars guide you on your paths. He offered her a pleasant, open expression. It was an honest wish, not just a sharp retort. R’Val: Praetor Taron. I may disagree with your political philosophy, but I do think a mutual defense pact would be a good idea for both our people and I fully intend to endorse it to the Republic Council. I hope we can count on you to agree to such a pact? He paused to consider his words carefully. Taron: I do agree. I feel that both of our factions represent the good of our people. And we know that we have enemies both outside and inside our borders that our people need to be kept safe from. Which included Terra Prime and whatever other violent group cropped up in the independent – or Klingon – territories. But it also included whatever splinter group within the Romulan territory was controlled by the Tal Shiar and other broken souls like the assassin Nniol. DeVeau: It sounds like a good starting point. R’Val: Then I look forward to negotiating further with you in the future. :: to DeVeau :: Commander. DeVeau: Ambassador. He tipped his head to the pair. DeVeau: I don’t know if we will ever meet again, but I hope we do. Taron: I can hope that should we meet again, it will be at a more pleasant time and with fewer deadly concerns to dwell upon. It would be nice, for once, to be able to connect with others without the threat of violence from scared, sick, broken people who wanted to snuff out hope for fear of change. But if he wanted to see that future come true he would have to work in this present to make it a reality. DeVeau: And I wish a bright future for you and your people. He clasped his hands together and offered her a respectful nod. Taron: And I wish you and your people hope and prosperity. Romulans were once a desperate people, clinging to a small well of resources for survival. Then they had grown, expanded and conquered an entire Empire to fill that void of desperation. To feed the starving, quench the thirst and build the shelter they had struggled so hard to have. But maybe the formation of an Empire from the foundation of desperation and fear was a very poor way to build an Empire. His people never really lost that fear as they spread out into the galaxy. Even though they had enough food, they had enough resources and they had built safe defenses they still worried about who would come and take them from them. And it was very difficult to change that cultural perspective. But Taron was going to try to shift the window, at least a little, towards a place of confidence. DeVeau: Thank you, Praetor. I wish you a safe journey. Taron: May the stars guide you and keep you on your path, Commander. And with that he allowed his nephew to usher him onto his shuttle and he bid farewell to StarBase 118. Who knows what the future would bring? Whatever came, Taron was now looking forward with his eyes wide open. ~*~ ~Fin~ ~*~ MNPC Praetor Taron Leader of the Romulan Free State

Epilogue, not prologue, but a great closing for the NPC! ((Rator III)) Havran was excited. Though the excitement was tempered by other feelings. Feelings he was always taught would come through the will of others. Her name repeated over and over in his mind during the whole trip back to Rator III. I was serious when he told her that someone had to lead their people into the future. He didn't think of himself as some sort of revolutionary or leader. But then again, those that often found themselves in those positions in history didn't aspire to them. Enroute, he had sent out messages all over the planet. He let everyone know what had happened on StarBase 118. He also let them know his opinion on where they were heading as a people. And his intention to reunite the Free State and the Republic. And that he would not stop until it happened. There was an old Romulan saying that if you wanted to make one's enemy laugh, show him your intentions. But there was another that said to do the unexpected. And this was most unexpected from one of his stature. Few if any in the upper classes of Romulan society would dare speak out like this. He'd even received messages back. Some were hateful. Some were praising his courage. It was the latter that would be his "army" in fighting to reunite his people. Their voices would be their weapon. As for J'Lynn, he would see her again. And the next time, they would not meet as enemies. There was so much he couldn't wait to tell her. The shuttle from the orbiting ship to the surface of Rator III landed near the Praetoriate grounds. He had demanded an audience with the Senate and they had granted it. When he departed, he was greeted by his father, a man of great influence. And one he was sure would oppose him. And though it may drive a wedge into their family, it had to be done for the better of all. S. s'Rehu: I have seen your words, Havran. s'Rehu: Then you know where I stand, father. My generation is the future of the Rihannsu, and we will take our future into our own hands. S. s'Rehu: It was not prudent to voice your opinion so loudly. Havran scoffed at his father. The old man was delusional. Havran hadn't been "loud." He was deafening. Deafening to those who wanted to force the Republic back into servitude. s'Rehu: Well, now you hear us. S. s'Rehu: Not just me. Havran's father raised his hand and snapped his fingers. There was a shimmer at both edges of Havran's visage. Two Romulans decloaked at either side of him. They were dressing in sleek black armor, armed with disruptor rifles. They lunged at Havran, grabbing his arms. He struggled against them but could not break loose. S. s'Rehu: The Tal Shiar heard you as well. They are still listening, my son. You will go with them. You will be ::long pause:: "re-educated." s'Rehu: Father, father! Havran yelled out and his father looked deep into his eyes. He could see that his father was expecting him to beg for mercy. Havran let his muscles relax, he stopped resisting. He chose his next words carefully, for they could mean everything. Whether he lived or died. Whether others would come for him to help him spread the fire he'd lit. Or whether he'd become another cog in the wheel of the Free State. s'Rehu: You... His father looking back at him, he could see a hint of sadness in his father's eyes. He didn't know if he felt his son betrayed him. Or perhaps it was that Havran seemingly gave up fighting. s'Rehu: ...will hear us. Loud. Until the day comes for your empire to come crumbling down. You will hear our screams for freedom. A green shimmer filled Havran's vision as he knew he'd been transported away. To where he was going, he didn't know. The last glimpse of his father he saw something he'd never seen before in the old man's eyes...fear. End Havran s'Rehu Praetoriate Council Assistant Romulan Free State R239712AS0

Some final sims as the mission comes to a close. We had a sort of "Romeo and Juliet" concurrent plot and @Gogigobo Fairhug and @Lt Aine Olive Sherlock did such a great job with it! ((Romulan Embassy Starbase 118)) J'Lynn: We are not as different as we are led to believe. She was talking about the Rihannsu people on the whole…or was she? s'Rehu: It would appear we are more alike than different. At that moment, she did something she would have never even considered possible before today. Looking into Havran's eyes, she knew he felt the same, but his upbringing would never allow him to make such a bold move in full view of so many people and so, J'Lynn did it for both of them. She didn't care and she wasn't afraid. Rising up slightly on her tiptoes, she kissed him, once, softly on his cheek. J'Lynn: You are a good man, Havran s'Rehu. s'Rehu: Only because I was shown a better way by a better woman. J’Lynn couldn’t help but smile. Of course, Havran was not used to such openness, maybe he never would be, but that wouldn’t stop her. He cleared his throat, seemingly in an attempt to regain his composure. s'Rehu: Come, let them take a look at that. J'Lynn: Yes. Thank you. She smiled again as they continued to walk, then her expression changed to a more pensive one. What had happened here today was horrific, but maybe she had been right. Often, it took great tragedies for things to change. While it would be no comfort to those who had perished in the bombing of the embassy, or their loved ones, perhaps their deaths would not be in vain. The wound would take a long time to heal, change would not come easily or overnight and there would still be those who would resist, there always would be, on both sides, but J’Lynn clung to the hope that this cataclysmic event would change enough peoples’ minds to make a substantial difference. They approached a Starfleet medical officer and Havran explained that they had not been in the embassy and that J'Lynn's injury was sustained during the rescue efforts and the medic went to work to heal the wound. While the Starfleet officer worked, Havran spoke to J'Lynn. s'Rehu: I've been thinking ::beat:: about what happens after all this. J'Lynn: What do you think needs to happen? She was genuinely curious. Havran had seemed open-minded from the start, but J'Lynn had witnessed that open-mindedness grow to genuine curiosity and eventually a resolve to change. What he said next would reveal just how willing to change he was. s'Rehu: Choices need to be made, by me. J'Lynn: Would you come back to the Republic…? She wanted to add "with me", but stopped short. The implication was there, nonetheless. s'Rehu: That is one possible choice. Judging by the tone of his voice, she knew there was a "but" coming. J'Lynn: But not the one you're going to make. s'Rehu: Who would go back to the Free State and tell people the truth. The truth of what happened here. The truth of where we must go in the future. He was right, of course. Change had to come from within. But not just within the Free State. J'Lynn had learned so much from this experience, too. The two major factions may have many differences, but they were still Rihannsu. They had to learn to focus on their similarities in order to meet somewhere in the middle. Sitting on some of the rubble that had been the Romulan Embassy on Starbase 118, while a Federation doctor tended to her, J'Lynn reached up to touch Havran's hand once more. J'Lynn: This is not the end. It is only the beginning. Once again, she was talking about the Romulan people as a whole, but this time, she was very much talking about herself and Havran, as well. Unbeknownst to J'Lynn, her father sat unharmed aboard their ship. He had beamed up before the attack and the lock down had meant he was unable to return, but things were never going to be the same for either of them. She loved her father so very much, but she had made room in her heart for another this day. (OOC: This feels like a natural place to wrap this up. It has been my sincere pleasure writing for J'Lynn with you all. Thank you to Amanda for inviting me to guest in this mission and thank you to you all for welcoming me and giving me such a great story to read and take part in. :)) END =/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\= J'Lynn Future Romulan Republic Politician As simmed by Marine Captain Gogigobo Fairhug The Lightning Aldabrans Denali Station E239411GF0

((Medical Facility, Miranda VII)) Yavir stood outside the front door of the medical facility. Sipping tea that went cold an hour ago, he watched the artificial sun slowly set. It was quiet for what felt like the first time all day. He’d been helping Kat and Nyra move and organize the supplies recently acquired, and the manual labor left him feeling tired, sweaty, and aching all over, but also lifted his spirits somewhat. Kat and Nyra - as he thought of the two, he couldn’t help feel a small sun inside his chest, mirroring the one drifting below the horizon. They were the best people he’d ever known. He knew how lucky he was. Most siblings, he knew, had some manner of contention or strife. It had never been that way with him and his sister - unless you counted the nickname he’d given her when he was 8 and she was 5. She hated being called “Kitty,” but Yavir held that Katarina to Kat to Kitty was just a logical progression. He’d prided himself on his cleverness at 8, and if he was honest, he still thought it was a pretty good nickname. Then there was Nyra. She was, without a doubt in Yavir’s mind, the most amazing, most genuine, most in-tune woman Yavir had ever met, and for some reason, liked him! At first, their living arrangement had been largely out of convenience. Kat had needed an assistant (a task to which Nyra had risen to remarkably well), and Nyra needed a place to live. When Yavir realized he was starting to fall in love with Nyra, he braced for disappointment. When Nyra returned his affections, he felt like his whole world got bigger. She changed everything for him. Made him want to be the best person he was capable of. He leaned back against the faux weather-beaten stucco. It felt cool through his shirt, still damp with perspiration. The sun was now nothing more than a sliver of gold in an orange and purple sky. He closed his eyes, reflecting on the incredible dichotomy of such pure joy in the midst of chaos and suffering. When the door to his left slid open, he opened his eyes again, glancing over to see his sister joining him for some fresh air. Katalina: Needed a break? Which, in the tone of voice Kat said it, might as well have been a ‘you’re lazy, get back to work’, but Yavir was far too used to it to be phased at all. Yavir: Yeah, I just wanted to breathe for a minute. The sunset’s pretty tonight. She gave a short nod and walked over to him, away from the door. She was carrying a cup of coffee - one of the few luxuries she allowed herself - holding it carefully with both hands. Katalina: It’s the one thing sunsets are good for, artificial or not. Look pretty. He sighed at the emphasis that this - this life they’d been building together - was largely founded on illusion, wondering at the stability of anything. Then as he looked again at his sister, he realized that whether the setting was real or not, the life and love they shared was as real as anything in the universe. He noticed the hint of distraction in Kat’s face. It was just the faintest of creases between her eyes, now scanning the would-be calming environment into which the facility was set. Yavir: Bee in your bonnet, Kitty? She rolled her eyes and sipped from her coffee, letting the silence settle between them before she spoke again. Katalina: I am worried about Nyra. She’s been daydreaming a lot more than is usual for her. Daydreaming. That’s what Katalina called it when Nyra seemed to zone out. At first, she had found it annoying. Then, entertaining. Now, she was worried. Yavir: Any idea what’s got her attention? Katalina: I am not sure. She doesn’t look too healthy either. I guess I am wondering if staying here is really what is best for us. It wasn’t the first time Kat had suggested a move. Over the last year or so, she had hinted with varying degrees of insistence that they find a new place for her work. The conditions here were harsh. He supposed that’s why the resources needed to maintain the facade of the natural environment had been prioritized. Typically, when Kat would raise the suggestion, it had the flavor of “wouldn’t it be nice if…” but now there was something in her tone that carried more gravitas. Yavir: Do you want to leave? Katalina: I… ::she hesitated:: … sometimes I want to. But where would we even go, not like they want us anywhere. Which wasn’t entirely true. It was rather that Kat didn’t feel happy anywhere. Terra Prime had fed into her dislike of other species and turned it into hatred, but the discomfort had always been there. Yavir: Where would you go if you had your choice? Katalina: Home. ::she sighed:: Europa Nova. The colony they had been forced to evacuate, and where they had been separated from the rest of their family. Yavir: ::shifting the subject in hopes of re-centering Kat’s focus:: I think I know what you mean about Nyra. She tends to come home so exhausted most days. I think she’s probably more shaken by the … conflict than she lets on. Most days she barely touches the food I make. Katalina: Maybe your cooking is just that bad. Yavir: Hey! You’ve always liked my cooking! She grinned. Yavir’s cooking wasn’t half bad, but the limited supplies made it difficult for him to produce anything better than ‘edible’ Katalina: Have I, though? Yavir: ::rolling his eyes:: Ok fine: you’ve always eaten my cooking. The good-natured ribbing was something they’d always shared. It was a way for a brother and sister to love each other in shorthand. It drew from experiences shared, burdens borne, and heartaches endured together. In a lot of ways it was deeper and more personal than any hug could be. Yavir admitted to himself that he felt better even after having his culinary prowess called into question. Yavir: I’ll concede I use a little too much Tricalean yellow pepper seed sometimes, but– Katalina: Shh! She glared at him, the playful mood forgotten. Katalina: Just… ugh. Behind closed doors, okay? I don’t want to have someone hear you say the wrong kind of spice and get us into trouble. He looked around dramatically, as if he expected a shadowy figure to peer around a corner and yell, “A-HA! I’ve got you now!” Yavir: You don’t think that’s overreacting a touch? She sighed, pressing her lips into a thin line. She wasn’t overreacting, she was reacting exactly *right*. But that was the problem. Katalina: ::quietly:: What if we really did leave? Yavir: Seriously though: where would we go? Katalina: Maybe that nearby Starbase. Or somewhere far away. Yavir: You know there are just as many non-humans at a starbase. There’s always gonna be a mix. We’re living in an age of hodge-podge. Katalina: I know. And I still don’t want to see their ugly blue faces or their stupid wrinkly noses. But I also don’t want to lose my family to someone’s… power trip. So let’s… work out a plan. You, Me, Nyra. Yavir’s heart ached for that. Nothing would make him happier than to live out his days peacefully with his sister and the woman he loved - his family. After a moment, he spoke. Yavir: I’d like that. I really would. The tricky part will be getting Nyra to let go. She’s so committed. Kat sighed. Katalina: Perhaps. ::she slowly turned back toward the door:: But I’ve found that, sometimes, people just need something *better* to believe in. She still cared about their cause - but she cared about her family more. [End Scene] Katalina Moray Simmed by Trovek Arys J239809TA4 And Yavir Moray Simmed by Hiro Jones E239510KD0

((Commercial District – StarBase 118)) For as long as Kalin could remember, he had been terribly afraid of dying. As a scientist, he knew that there was an end to all things. He knew that death was part of life, and that without it, the galaxy would never have evolved to the place he now called his home. While he, in those dark and lonely moments, wished that he did, Kalin held no religious beliefs that offered the promise of life after death in one form or the other. He mostly tried not to remember the fact that he was mortal, aging, and that his time wasn’t unlimied. He was terrified because, sometimes, Kalin felt that he hadn’t lived yet. It had taken decades to find someone who got him out of his shell without wanting to change him to suit their vision, and it had been unexpected and wonderful. It had bathed the world in new colours and taught him new melodies. It had been over far too soon. Perhaps he felt he was owed more time. A second chance. But now that his gaze fell upon the assassin who sought to use him as means to bring war and devastation, he started to understand that his entitlement had been foolish. Because, underneath all that hatred, Kalin could feel loss, and experienced that had irrevocably broken the man in front of them. Why should he be getting a second chance others did not? Teser: So that’s all there is? Kalin’s voice was calm, almost gentle. He didn’t want to feel sympathy, and yet he did. He, too, had experienced loss when the accident had happened. Nniol: That is all. Alora shook her head, and Kalin squeezed her hand. DeVeau: It’s not too late. There’s so much more. Nniol: Enough! ::he stabbed the knife forward, pointing towards Kalin as he advanced.:: Your blood had enough tachyons in it to prompt the rift. I have been given the ability to use you to travel through it. She tugged at Kalin, and both of them backed away from the knife. DeVeau: You failed. Taron’s still alive. And even if he dies, you can not guarantee that this will end the way you want. But Kalin understood. It didn’t matter whether he had failed this time - if he used him to travel through time, and had somehow managed to decide the destination of the jump, he could try again. And again. And again. Nniol: It doesn’t matter. I will keep killing Taron until war is assured. I will keep killing until war is assured. Colour drained from Alora’s face, and Kalin could feel her mind slowly coming the the same conclusion. DeVeau: Don’t do this. Kalin tried to pull Alora behind him, but of course the stubborn woman wouldn’t have it. Teser: Just… let her go. Not that Kalin wanted to let go off her hand. Not that he ever wanted to let go off her. Nniol: I don’t care if you live or die. You are just a means to an end. They continued to back up, but the man, fuelled by the the rage and hatred he felt, lunged at them. Alora darted back, and pushed Kalin with her. The assassin swept past them as they narrowly managed to avoid the attack. Immediately, Alora whirled around to face him again. DeVeau: You’re not going to win! Nniol: response Teser: Stop this before it is too late! Then, something shifted. The assassins approach slowed down. Everything around them seemed to slow, and the sound around them died down. In this moment, there was no approaching security, no scared civilians, no dead bodies left and right of them. It was only the three of them. To Kalin, it felt surreal. Just as detached from reality as the accident itself had felt. DeVeau: Time is not on your side! Nniol: response DeVeau: No! The assassin lunged again and once more, Alora pushed Kalin out of the way. Somewhere in the distance, Kalin heard another roar of the weapon that had taken the lives of several security officers. Another body fell to the floor, and before someone took care of the shooter, security had no chance to aid them. Nniol: response Teser: ~ Alora. ~ There was a calm to his thoughts that surprised Kalin, and it took him a moment to realise that he had made his decision, and that he wasn’t scared any more. Teser: ~ Give me your hand. ~ DeVeau: response Their eyes met as their fingers touched, and in that one moment, Kalin told her everything. Not his plan, no. The things that really mattered. “What happens to your eyes when there’s a full moon high in the sky?”, he had asked Davis when first discussing Alora DeVeau. “You notice it first. You can’t help but notice it first. DeVeau is like that. She’s the brightest full moon among a sky of stars. You can’t miss her. Not only that, she’s attractive. As a telepath, I want to touch minds with her. She’s...immediately...comfortable. Easy.” He shared his curiosity upon meeting her, and how desirable a connection to her had been to him. How he had refused to acknowledge the appeal until eventually confessing it to Davis. “It’s okay to eat in the mess hall.” He remembered Alora’s voice, almost concerned. “I know, I just prefer my room”, had been his reply, and she had had looked at him for a moment before responding. “It sounds lonely.” How she had cared about him even as he tried to make it as difficult as possible. Kalin hadn’t gone to the party - as usual. He had been reading when Alora had knocked at his door. “Alora, hello. Is something the matter?” “Not at all.” She held up the platter where a piece of cake sat in all its chocolatey splendor. “You didn’t come to the party, so I brought the party to you.” And how valued it had made him feel to gain her affection regardless. Space Race. A Terran Game, if Kalin remembered correctly. Alora had explained him a set of cards that were anomaly decks that could be both useful and harmful. “I have yet to find a useful anomaly”, he had told her. She had giggled. “Just because you think you haven’t found one doesn’t mean that there isn’t one.” “True. You *are* somewhat of an anomaly.” Alora’s mouth had twisted, her eyes twinkling with mock annoyance. The smile that she struggled to keep contained peeked out despite herself. “But I’m useful!” “My point still stands.” He shared his appreciation for the times spent together, first as colleagues, then as friends, then as lovers, and finally as husband and wife. Alora straightened up and cleared her throat, holding up a finger as she spoke. “I have not failed 10,000 times. I have not failed once. I have succeeded in proving that those 10,000 ways will not work.” And finally, how he had never regretted saving her by pushing her into the empty storage bin and sacrificing himself. How he didn’t regret saving her now, and allowing her a future. Even if he wasn’t part of it. His free hand moved into his pocked and wrapped tightly around the small device that would trigger his time jump. And while connected to Alora, he could venture a guess as to where he would end up. Teser: Come, then. He spat at the charging assassin, activating the device once the man was only inches away from him. He let go off Alora’s hand and grabbed Nniol’s arm instead, pulling him with him through the temporal rift that opened…. ((Classified research facility, Stardate 239703.15)) Alarms blared throughout the facility, piercing the air with their urgent warnings, and the miasmas of smoke made it difficult to see more than a few feet in front of them. The once bright and sterile room was now bathed in a red glow as emergency lights flickered and sputtered overhead, and people were running and shouting, some trying to find their way to safety, others desperate to try and contain whatever had happened. The console in the middle of the room began to emit a series of high-pitched beeps, indicating that the situation was rapidly deteriorating. And then Kalin saw himself, and he saw Alora, both feverishly, tapping at their displays and trying to reroute power to the failing systems. But it was no use, and Kalin - past Kalin - realised it first. He looked around in panic, and his eyes found a storage bin. Wordlessly he grabbed Alora's wrist and and shoved her into it. Alora fought back - of course she did. Kalin's expression softened moments before he slammed the door shut, locking her within, and his future self remembered that there had been no time for a goodbye. He was... grateful that he had gotten it this time around. Moments later, a blinding flash of light filled the room. The ear-splitting screech that followed reverberated through the walls, shook the very foundations of the facility, and marked the end of Kalin Teser's journey. [End Scene] Kalin Teser Time Traveler // J239809TA4 “You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love." - Franz Kafka

((OOC – ok, this one is a little weird. But wanted to flesh out Taron more and give some insight into Sal. LOCATION: this skips between Taybrim and Taron evenly. Sal Taybrim is on Betazed, Taron’s family is on a Romulan system and Taron is, or course, in Trauma Bay 8)) ~*~ Something was wrong. Sal couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but he knew. As he sat in the Elfasiano Hospital for advanced neuromuscular surgery, waiting the final steps on a procedure that would greatly extend his life, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had gone horribly wrong out there. Shielded thoughts were not unusual for him – even with his own species. His damaged telepathy had a hard time penetrating any sort of mental guard. So between good guarded thoughts and a communications blackout everyone thought the Commodore would be completely calm and unaware that the Romulan peace talks had been drastically expedited – and everyone was on strict orders to keep this secret away from Sal Taybrim. But while Betazoids were very good at guarding their thoughts (even though most found that to be extremely distasteful) very few of them thought to guard their feelings. And the overactive empath took advantage of that. He could feel that they knew something and they were deliberately keeping it from him. Which he didn’t begrudge them for doing – but it was also extremely frustrating to sit around and not act. Not even know. It was extremely difficult to focus on oneself when one was worried about their crew, their StarBase and an entire sector of space full of billions of lives. Sal Taybrim had an extremely hard time turning that off and focusing on the task at hand – a surgery he had put off for far too long. He had been put in a complete communications blackout for his own good, and still he had ferreted out that something was wrong and it gnawed at him. ~*~ Something was wrong. Vikana couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but she knew. As she sat in the Praetorial State Home on Durandios IV she watched the chronometer tick by. Taron should have checked in with her two hours ago. Sure, things cropped up. But it was not like Taron to not send a message unless he was prevented from doing so. Of course his travels to the Federation StarBase 118 would present some difficulties, but he had called her yesterday – late, but that did establish the ability to connect. She was worried. Vikana didn’t love her husband’s position. She admired him for his leadership skills, his efficiency and fairness, his good intentions to get the resources the damaged Empire needed t the correct systems fairly. But she knew that being a good person in a position of power would paint a massive target on Taron’s back. She wasn’t ready to lose her husband. She loved him. She missed him when he was away. Missed his gentle humor and his ridiculous quirks like always eating his breakfast in a very precise order. Their children looked up to him, idolized him even. She didn’t want to see them off into adulthood alone, and have them work in honor of his memory. She wanted them to work by his side, getting his advice as they took their places in a new Romulan society. She should start making supper, but it was extremely difficult to think about food when her stomach was turning. All she could do was helplessly hope that he was alright, off in the Federation, so many stars away. ~*~ Kirin: I am not letting you out of this room. Big huggable teddybear that he was, Kirin Taybrim was taller and stouter than Sal Taybrim and he would stand as a roadblock, challenging his little brother to defy or attack him. Because he knew Sal wouldn’t. Sal would leave and go seek out forbidden information in a heartbeat if he had the opportunity, but when challenged by someone who cared about him, he would back down. Sal: I know something has gone wrong, and I know everyone is keeping things from me. Kirin let out a long, slow sigh. He hated lying. Kirin: Yes, the galaxy will always have something that goes wrong, Sal. There is always bad news. But you trust your crew, you trained them well… This argument again. It was a cheap shot, but it worked. Sal Taybrim looked a little indignant, but Kirin could feel his thoughts settle. Sal: I want to help them if they need it. Kirin: At the expense of your own health? You’re already here, Sal. If you walk out now it will be another year, perhaps two or three before you can come back in. The older brother’s dark eyes locked with the younger brother’s dark eyes. A challenge. A mental question that clearly came through their shared bond of telepathy. ~How long can you go without another emergency transport?~ ~Will your heart make it through another assassination attempt?~ It was a horrifying feeling to know that the primary form of transport, so commonly accepted in almost every area of the civilized galaxy was a death sentence for Sal Taybrim. And here he was staring down an operation that would give him a safety net. That would repair enough of the damage that he could use occasional transportation in emergencies without risking complete heart failure. Sure, he’d never be able to use transporters with the frequency and convenience of the majority of the galaxy, but at least this would make them a tool and not a death sentence. Slowly Sal lowered his gaze. Kirin won. Kirin: Stop beating yourself up for not being everywhere at all times. That was the crux, wasn’t it? The guilt that crept in for not being able to save everyone at all times. The guilt that was reinforced by the opinions fronted by the FNS, the opinions of some of the survivors from Utopa Colony. Even the opinions from some of his own crew. But the reality was one person could not do everything, no matter how big of a presence they had or how much of a leadership position they owned. One person, when it came down to it, was still just one person. Sal: I know. ::He sighed, sitting back down heavily:: I just hate it when I’m not here I should be. Kirin shook his head and pointed at the floor of the hospital room where his baby brother was supposed to be getting ready for a major surgery instead of pacing around like a wound-up fool. Kirin: This is where you should be. ::firm, unyielding:: The moment of rest was short lived and Sal was back on his feet again. Sal: And if something happens- Kirin: It’s not your fault, Sal! ::He cut his brother off. Commodore or no, sometimes the older was the wiser and had to shut the younger one up.:: There was a fractional pause and Kirin’s gaze sharpened as he read his brother’s thoughts, picking them from the conversation. Kirin: The Rahuba wasn’t your fault, either. ::He gave his brother a firm look:: ~Yes I read those reports! Of course I read those reports.~ Don’t fall into the trap of blaming yourself for the acts of evil people. Sal Taybrim’s words were soft and a little bitter. Sal: And yet they use my example to rally others to their destructive causes. Kirin: Because you’re a good person. You draw good people to you. You have a good strong crew who does good work. So of course, your cruel and tyrannical counterparts focus upon you and your crew. Evil loves a good foil, it’s drawn to you like moths to a flame. But you and your crew suffer enough just countering them. Don’t let them hurt you twice by taking the blame for their actions. Stated like a long time Starfleet officer used to giving such counsel to other leaders in the fleet. It was as true on the Della Nova as it was on StarBase 118. Slowly Sal let his shoulders slump and he tried to let then tension drain from his form, sagging down into a seat on the bed. Kirin: So please, take this short amount of time for yourself. You can get back on the commlines once you get back on the Della Nova heading back for StarBase 118. And then you can find out that, in fact, things are OK. And everything you worry about ends up resolved. Sal: ::He sigh, a long slow soul-weary sigh:: Alright. Kirin finally moved from his place blocking the door and sat by his brother. Kirin: I know you don’t like it. I don’t like it either. But we’d both like it less if you ended up in a coma from a transporter mishap. And that would be a much bigger problem for your crew to compensate for than a planned absence. Sal: I used to say that I’d never forgive myself if- Kirin cut him off once again. Kirin: Forgive yourself. These things are outside of your control. Sal let out a long slow breath and when he took in another one, he leaned on his brother a little, and Kirin knew he had won. Maybe it wasn’t his best victory, but he had gone into this mission (and yes he considered this a mission) knowing that his little brother was an incredibly stubborn patient. Kirin: You know, you were supposed to be prepped thirty minutes ago. You should get ready. Sal: Ready to lay in a bed for a week, hooray. Kirin: ready to live for the rest of your life. Touché. ~*~ Initially Taron had refused to take the position of Praetor. He hadn’t been seeking power. He had been seeking stability and he had some effective ideas for the prosperity of the outer worlds which caught on like wildfire in the floundering ashes of the Romulan Empire. Slowly each success built his reputation to a point where he felt an uncomfortable amount of attention fall on him and his family. Taron: It is very flattering to be nominated, but I cannot accept this position. Vikana: Why not? She questioned, watching him keenly. She didn’t want the power either. Thus far their life had been good. They had lived in prosperity and with honor. Their children were strong and their family was thriving. But she also could see how devastated their people were after the Hobus incident, how desperately they needed hope. Hope which Taron brought with his words and actions. Taron: It is too dangerous. It would put this family in jeopardy. Vikana: I know ::she murmured:: And I do not want to lose you or see you targeted for this. ::drawing in a breath she drew herself up.:: But I also want our people to have hope. Taron took a step forward, taking her hands in his and holding them gently. Taron: There are others who will lead them. She shook her head gently. Vikana: There may be. But right now you give them hope. And you bear that hope with honor. Taron: I only do what I feel is right. There was a long, soft pause between them. Vikana: I want to live in the Free State that you build. I want to see our children flourish with the hope you kindle. Taron was struck silent and he let those words sink in. And that was how the man who never wanted to be in power took the role of Praetor… ~*~ There was a telepathic specialist assigned to all high level Betazoid surgeries like this one. Which was why this procedure had to be done on Betazed. Anything that affected the nerves was keenly tied into the sensitive brain and nervous system, and telepathy was intrinsically woven into every aspect of that. Pre-op established a very comfortable telepathic connection that went deeply beyond words and into the core of telepathic communication. Sal’s specialist was an older gentleman, a veteran of such surgeries and one who had touched many difficult minds. Difficult minds. Sal hadn’t considered himself difficult, but if he dwelt upon it, between his rank in Starfleet, the classified information he carried and the telepathic damage he suffered he supposed he was difficult. Prior to sedation the entire telepathic link was directed to relaxation. They sat together on the beautiful plains of Glorimano mountain in the lower Trisk province. The sunlight was bight and the breeze was perfect. There were sounds of children playing in the water below. Sal was surprised at how easily he found himself enjoying the feeling of focusing on something simple and pleasant. The consistent telepathic reassurance was also welcome. It was nice to not feel that the world was silent. It was nice to have his telepathic senses engaged rather than collecting everything through empathy and feeling everything from the outside. For a moment all was peaceful. ~*~ There was a moment in the twilight world between life and death where Taron – Praetor Taron of the Romulan Free State – felt completely at peace. He had no idea that he was, in fact, bleeding out on a Starfleet biobed in trauma bay eight. As shock settled in, his mind drew layers around it to protect himself and he found himself back on the beautiful banks of the Vr’Thiirr River in the Lokanu system. Vikara had her hair long, and the breeze caught it in hypnotic raven waves. She was young. He was young. Virkana was holding Tolak, who was no more than a burbling baby. Taron held Virkana. He had just been appointed governor of the system and his placement had been well received. His family celebrated the birth of the firstborn and despite having an arranged marriage to a allied family, he and Virkana were also childhood friends. The union had been arranged for the benefit of the families. It had been carefully considered with the ages and personalities involved. Their parents wanted the two to be able to work together as a partnership. Friendship was required. But fates has conspired to take things further than that. Taron and Virkana were friends, but with time he saw the beauty in her movements, the wisdom in her gentle council. And she saw the hope he carried with him and the honor in his actions. Friendship turned to love. And love created this perfect moment, which Taron would dwell in forever if he could. If this was the last thing he remembered before he died, it would be enough. To hold his beloved wife, while she held their first-born child, this was the one moment he would cherish forever. For a moment all was peaceful. ~*~ And then his heart stopped. Sal Taybrim wasn’t consciously aware what had happened. Only that the gentle rhythm of the breeze had stopped, and clouds covered the sky. Everything was unimaginably dark. And in the darkness dwelled the things he didn’t think about. The assassin’s blade. The Tal Shiar agent that was in his quarters, and how Viktor Sokolov came to the bloody rescue. The spray of green blood soaking his carpet. The unwavering look in Sokolov’s eyes, the determination to kill to protect the Federation. If at all possible that would be to kill the enemy. But if Sal was compromised and unable to be retrieved… it would be Sal. Secrets were only safe with the dead. The searing scream of Ambassador Vanath as she tore through the mind of the Cult of Molor lieutenant sent to kill her. The dying pain of the cultist as his mind was ripped to shreds. The shame of the Ambassador as she shared this information mind to mind. Sal’s shame as he enjoyed the contact, even while being horrified of how it came to be. It was one of the only true telepathic connections he had in the past decade. And despite the horror of the experience shared, the actual connection was invigorating. Back further, Rixx’s humorless laugh. His intense scoffing anger that Sal Taybrim – a broken telepath – could possibly fend him off to a draw. Worse, Sal knew Rixx’s secret. Rixx wasn’t a tyrant, nor someone with a lust for power. He was old and bored and lonely, and this was the only thing that gave him any stimulation. And worse, Sal empathized with that. The more loneliness he felt, the more Sal found himself manipulating others into situations where he could bask in their emotional aura. Thus far he hadn’t turned into Rixx, Sal always tried to manipulate those around him into situations that were pleasurable, fulfilling and empowering. He tried to build them up and support them. But he worried that someday he might become like Rixx. Detached and alone and seeking any emotional thrill. Myabe that was Rixx’s plan, as the Rodulan kept harassing StarBase 118. In his dark moments Sal wondered if he was playing into Rixx’s game. Earlier yet, the agonizing pain of having the Ceabrin computer tear through his mind with an electrical jolt. A burgeoning sentience that reacted with terror to the telepathic contact. A feeling that he deserved it. Because he had acted with arrogance. Without care for his precious telepathy. Because now he used the Ceabrin incident as an excuse as to why his telepathy was so badly damaged. It was convenient, it was believable. All he had to do was admit that he was an arrogant fool and use it as a life lesson and no one questioned it. Because the truth was so much harder to face. ~*~ And then his heart stopped. Taron wasn’t consciously aware what had happened. Only that the gentle rhythm of the breeze had stopped, and clouds covered the sky. Everything was unimaginably dark. And in his arms Vikana and Tolak faded into dust. This was his fear. The loss of love, the loss of presence… The loss of identity. Where would they be if the Romulan Republic took over? He feared that the Republic would act based on selfish fears with no vision of future strength. That the Republic would leave the Empire open to weakness and war, driving the people into desperation, poverty and death. That his people would be scattered amongst the stars. Vagabonds and wanderers without any place to call home. Surely some would give them charity, but he didn’t want a future where the only hope was charity. He wanted a future where hope was built on a stable foundation, where resources went to place that helped his people flourish. He wanted to leave a better galaxy for his children, and his children’s children. He wanted his people to live with hope. He was terrified that the Republic would take past traumas and transfer them to future generations, as punishment for past transgressions. He hated the fact that the Tal Shiar still lurked in the shadows, ready to snuff out hope. He had come to terms with the very real possibility of his own death. Because the truth was so much harder to face. ~*~ 2374. In orbit around Betazed. Two teenagers on a science trip had absolutely zero idea what was going to befall them. They had enough problems bickering between themselves and dealing with raging hormones, let alone completing their high-level science project designed to gain the attention of some of the premier science colleges on Betazed and beyond. Yet suddenly they were commanded to land, IMMEDIATELY, without the usual checks, waits and safety precautions. Neither was an expert pilot, though both were competent, and the tower didn’t care. They would pull them in with tractor beams, and the order was to come in hot. Reasons were not given. Veradis Fai questioned this. Sal Taybrim didn’t. Coming in hot was the only thing that got them out of the way of the incoming attack. Not questioning it had saved their lives. Not that either one of them knew it until the assault happened. The Dominion attacked. The death toll, incomprehensible. The surprise attack, sudden. Betazed’s planetary defenses were desperately outdated. They fell almost immediately and the entire planet was conquered and occupied within ten hours. The shuttle landed hot and both teens were commanded to rush to safety. Except the attack was already well underway by the time they had gotten on the ground. Tens of thousands were already dead – and hundreds of thousands more would follow. Sal Taybrim could block out the rising scream of terror that was telepathically chorusing among his people. But Veradis Fai, a congenitally active telepath could not. She balled herself up in the back cargo area of the shuttle and refused to move. Sal should have run. He should have saved himself. But he went back to draw her out as the interplanetary barrage started. Streaks of red and explosions rocked the sky as he frantically grabbed Veradis’ shoulder to try to draw her out. They had to go, he pleaded. It was for their own safety he implored. She was locked in a hellscape of the telepathic pain of her people. She couldn’t hear his words at all. She wouldn’t hear anything outside of her mind. And so he steeled his and gently touched her face, locking minds. Taybrim: ~We have to go~ Images of death and pain flooded his mind. The searing jolt of disruptor fire coursing through the nervous system of one dying Betazoid, followed by the feeling of being crushed to death as a ceiling collapsed on another. Over and over, a mounting pile of pain and death. Fai: ~let me die~ Taybrim: ~No, we can’t all die. Come with me. There is still hope.~ Fai: ::bitterly:: ~You and your stupid hope, Sal~ That was just enough of a jolt to get her moving. And Sal was just enough of a stupid optimist to think that things would be OK. Until the Dominion sent a strike team to secure the airfield. Jem’Hadar locking the place down, shooting anyone in a uniform. Sending two teenagers to go hiding in a basement. Boots on the stone. Jem’Hadar clearing the area. A Cardassian lead was checking the side rooms. Two teenagers were no match. The door opened. A disruptor pointed towards them. And then Veradis Fai screamed, planting two hands on the Cardassian’s face, she lashed out with ever ounce of her excessive telepathic energy, tearing the Glinn’s tender consciousness into shreds. The disruptor dropped from the Glinn’s hand. His body dropped like a wet sack. Sal grabbed Veradis, dragging her from the scene before the Jem’Hadar could advance. Pulling her towards the area where the rest of the civilians had gathered as refugees. She was screaming. Endlessly screaming, overwhelmed, unable to stop. He needed her quiet, the Jem’Hadar would easily pinpoint the noise. He linked minds with her once again, offering calm. Trying to be a force of stabilization. And she turned towards him, blinded and terrified, and she screamed. Without making a sound, she screamed throughout his mind, in a way that reverberated into the deepest parts of his soul. And for an endless moment he felt the terror of the thousands – perhaps millions – of minds she was connected to. He felt her overwhelming fear at the attack and her own terror at the loss of her own fragile control. And his own mind went into overload. He had no clue what happened next. Did he keep moving or was he carried? Was the attack real or a dream? He blacked out. And he didn’t wake up for a long time. And when he did his mind was fuzzy. He barely remembered the Battle of Betazed to this day. Which was so strange, it was such a traumatic and blistering event in his formative years. But it all blended together like a terrible dream that hadn’t actually happened. And he spent months afterwards working on rehabilitating his telepathy. But that was the turning point. The moment the world went quiet. Ceabrin was just an event to bring it full circle. He never thought about the Battle of Betazed. Or the fact that he and Fai once had a very different relationship that wasn’t filled with layers of shame and sarcasm. He pushed it away in his mind as if it was a dream that didn’t deserve any focus. Which was why he never sought to fix his telepathy. ~*~ 2341 Romulus. Taron was a young man, invited to witness a historic moment in the Romulan Senate along with his brother Telek as one of the honored families. They were youth, wide eyed and optimistic. Full of dreams and ideals. The session was marked by stirring speeches and big promises, but Taron was skeptical that promises would be delivered. He was knowledgeable of the way resources were divided in the Empire and he wanted his father and uncle to fight more aggressively for a better allocation of resources to the outer systems. Telek on the other hand was inspired by the whole thing. Afterwards he looked to Taron and shared with excitement that he would be joining the military and had good marks to advance quickly. Telek implored Taron to join him, but Taron felt his course was set. He would work with his father to improve the outer systems. Taron did not want to crush his brother’s dreams. But he implored Telek to stay safe. Because he loved his brother. Maybe he should have told Telek that. Telek rose in the military like a shining star. He served with honor and a steadfast focus on goals. Which was great until one of his goals intersected with the goals of the Tal Shiar. And Telek, a masterful pilot, suffered a rookie flight mistake and crashed. Leaving behind an intended wife, no children, no legacy except for lost potential. Taron hated the Tal Shiar. But he also hated outright war. And yet as time went one, he found that he could no longer be a good man and keep his hands clean of any violence. Dying was the easy route. To live meant to fight back against the cruelty of the galaxy. And he wanted to live. He was willing to try. ~*~ As consciousness seeped back into Sal Taybrim’s mind, he realized that he spent decades fighting for what was right, while denying his own pain and healing. He had almost turned away from this operation using the age-old excuse that he needed to help someone else. He had built up a life of being supportive for others in order to hide some of his own past. The loneliest extrovert, protecting everyone from his own demons by standing as the bulwark between the horrors of the Trinity Sector and the innocents who derived to live in peace. Like Taron, Sal Taybrim had never asked for power. He had found his way into it by doing what was right. But he had put himself aside for too long. If he was going to best the evil in the Trinity Sector he needed to accept his own past, forgive himself for his rational weaknesses and find a way to connect to his wonderful crew better and move forward. Together. He wanted to live. He was willing to try.

((Somewhere Miranda VII)) Something Nestira had always found highly interesting was how other species formed relationships with each other, why they did it, and what those relationships then looked like. Back home, the principle of marriage didn’t exist. When two souls, no matter their age or gender, bonded through joined telepathic exercises or the crafting of basotile, both were well aware of the temporary nature of that bond. Her people valued the principle of ongoing progression and development, and it was clear to both partners that after a few decades or one or two centuries, they might very well end up having developed into opposite directions. What facilitated the decision to bond with each other differed from couple to couple, and from region to region, but most Rodulans were in agreement that bonding before a certain age was… unwise. Because yes, in the first half of their first century, they too were guided by hormones - just like humans. But humans couldn’t wait a century before they committed to someone, and Nestira knew that Samuels feelings towards Kayla, who was in a relationship with Lauri and (unbeknown to anyone but her) was expecting a child from someone else entirely, were a very common condition amongst his kind. She found it… cute. Like small animals were often cute. And now that Kayla and Lauri were already working with - or, for - her, hopefully she could push the young Engineer to join them. Aristren: Hey! You’re Samuel, right? He jumped at the sudden interruption to his thoughts from behind him and turned to see who the voice belonged to. He was greeted by the sight of a rather attractive lady, clearly somewhat older than himself, with a pale complexion and warm red hair. Samuel: ::slightly nervous:: That's right. She offered a bright smile, but kept a bit of a distance so as to not overwhelm him. He struck her as a little.. Shy. Samuel knew of Nyra. He'd heard about her from Lauri and Kayla. For some reason she was…helping them. He wasn't sure why and that made him nervous. Aristren: I actually have engineering questions and Kayla said you would be the best person to ask. The fact that she had him at a disadvantage also made him nervous. She clearly knew more about him than he did about her. A lot of things made Samuel nervous, in fact. Their whole plan made him nervous. Of course he wanted to get away from Miranda VII, but if they were caught…well, it didn't bear thinking about. He was trying his best through this whole thing to stay cool and calm, as much to impress Kayla as to not draw attention to what they were trying to do, but he simply did not have Lauri's confidence or Liz' steely determination. He was having to fight against his every instinct to fulfil his part of the bargain. Samuel: Well, I don't know if I would be the *best* person… Aristen: ::she nodded:: I know the feeling. There’s always someone more experienced or skilled, but I still think you *are* the best person for this question. ::she paused, gathering her thoughts:: And you’ll try, right? Samuel's eyes shifted around. Lauri and Kayla trusted this woman and had told him as much, but he couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched right now. Then again, he always felt like that these days. Samuel: ::clearing his throat, trying to appear more confident:: Sure, I'll help…if I can. It was just a chat, right? Just him helping someone out. He didn't have to decide whether he trusted her just yet if that was all it was. Aristen: Thank you. The woman nodded, taking a calming breath. While she might look in control of the situation, she was… anxious. All of this was so incredibly risky for her. Aristren: ::lowering her voice:: My goal is to help more people - get as many as possible out of here. ::pause:: That is generally a good goal to have, isn’t it? Samuel had to stop himself from visibly reacting. He hadn’t expected her to be so up front. Samuel: Well, that depends. What kind of scale are we talking about? Curiously, he was the first who had asked her that question. A very analytical mind indeed. Aristren: As many as possible - but that won’t be *our* task. I have to get a report out and Miranda VII blocks all outside communication. Samuel: Well, that should be easy enough to get around with the shuttle. If she was being up front, he might as well be, too. There wasn’t much point in trying to hide their plan from her if she already knew it. Hell, she might know more about it than him by now. She nodded. Aristren: Yes. If we can upgrade the communications array in the shuttle, it can automatically send the report once you’ve left from here. Because she couldn’t go with them - she had to remain here and continue her work with Yavir Moray, no matter the cost. And she wouldn’t trust them to manually send the message. Samuel: Sure, we could re-route the signal enhancement module to the main sensor array, that would boost the range of the shuttle's communications. She hesitated. She remembered Sam’s hope to perhaps one day join Starfleet, and she decided to take a risk - another one. Because Samuel wasn’t doing this for himself. He was doing this to help Kayla, and Nestira didn’t trust in the longevity of his affection for her. So she decided to add another dream. Aristren: It would certainly look good on your Academy recommendation. This time, Samuel wasn't able to hide the look of surprise on his face. How did she know about his Starfleet ambitions? After a brief moment of alarm, he realised Kayla must have said something to her. Samuel: Erm…thanks. He flashed an uncomfortable smile and it seemed their mysterious benefactor was about to take her leave, but Samuel's curiosity got the better of him. Samuel: Hey…why are you doing this? Aristren: What do you mean? It didn't necessarily surprise him that there were other people who wanted off of Miranda VII. Life here wasn't exactly great for anyone, except those who held the power, but this woman supposedly had connections. Why did she need help from a bunch of kids? Samuel: I mean, why help *us*? What if we screw it up? It's a pretty big risk. The statement betrayed Samuel's trepidation about their little venture. Even with Nyra's help, they were still so inexperienced and outmatched by Terra Prime. The odds of them actually pulling this whole thing off…well…he still didn't like them. Aristren: That… is an interesting question. And one she had refused to ask herself. It had started as a game, a challenge set forth by Alasafor, and the only reason those children had been selected was convenience. But Nestira had a.. history that made her fond of young rebels, and made her want to see them succeed. Aristren: I suppose one thing I have learned is that ambition counts for just as much, maybe even more, than experience. Their young age made them inexperienced, but at the same time brave enough to attempt to free themselves from Miranda VII’s pull. Samuel gave the woman's words some thought. He understood her point, even if he wasn't sure he fully agreed with it. Samuel: ::with a sheepish, lopsided smile:: I hope you're right. Aristren: And as to why I am helping… I suppose it’s because ambition only gets you so far. The rest - well, that’s where I come in. She offered a smile and inclined her head. Aristren: I’m glad we get to work together. I choose my friends and allies carefully. Samuel: I'm…glad, too. And he meant it. Having met Nyra, he suddenly felt differently about everything. There was some comfort in knowing that she was directing them. On their own they probably would have made some rookie mistake that would have gotten them caught, but with another, more experienced pair of eyes, the glimmer of hope their rag-tag group was pinning their hopes on had just gotten a little brighter. Of course, that wasn't to say that he wasn't still nervous. She nodded, turned, and left. That made three allies - three more than she had a few days ago. [End scene] Samuel Future Starfleet Engineer (Hopefully) As simmed by Marine Captain Gogigobo Fairhug The Lightning Aldabrans Denali Station E239411GF0 And Nestira Aristren (Posing as Nyra Altman) Starfleet Intelligence As simmed by Lt. Trovek Arys Chief Medical Officer Starbase 118 Ops J239809TA4

(( Trauma Center Eight, Main Medical Facility, Starbase 118 )) There was a lot that Wyn simply wasn’t thinking about right now. He wasn’t thinking about exhaustion, or political ramifications if they failed, or how many people just died in the bomb set off in trauma bay eight and how many injuries his staff had sustained. Or how close he had come to being killed by an assassin or that Praetor died and then time reversed, and even with how things were going Arys still might kill him anyways and at this point he probably deserved it. Nope. None of that right now. This would be the thoughts that haunted his mental breakdown tonight, alone in his quarters. Or maybe alone in a recovery bay because he collapsed in sickbay and someone dragged him to a bed. Right now the only thing he was thinking about was vital signed, lung capacity and fixing a Vulcanoid heart. Foster: Right. Whoever created shrapnel exploding slugs can go fall into a plasma coil. His tone was bitter and dry, aimed at the cosmos not pointed at anyone in particular. Because he wasn’t going to yell at the crazed assassin and he was the only one who deserved it. Zumagi: ::muttered darkly:: I’ll help them fall into it. Well, at least they were on the same page. Foster: Alright, left lung is stabilized. Good work. Focus on the right lung and I’m clearing any shrapnel out of the chest cavity. It was like a sadistic game – pull the shards out from the body cavity without shredding more precious tissue. His blue gloved hands were already stained green. His surgical smock was drenched in green. All he would see for the next few days was green. It felt like it was hours of work, when in reality it was minutes as they pulled out the critical shards and doublechecked for any other major bleed damage. Zumagi: Alright, it’s just little pieces from here on out for me, I can do that with his heart beating. Either that or they are non-critical enough another surgeon could do it. He tipped both antennae forward. Foster: Little pieces but a lot of pieces. ::He drew in a short tense breath:: Starting the critical bleed scan now. Usually, when he was fresh and not spent from an adrenaline surge and an assassination attempt he would be able to very competently guess the outcome of the scan merely from what he could take in from his antennae. But tonight he was leaning on the scanner to be his eyes because all of his perception was focused on fixing the critical damage areas. How long had they been in surgery? It felt like days. It felt like minutes. The heightened spike of the fight with the assassin was minutes. Way too many minutes, lived twice. But the surgery? That was hours. Not minutes, not days. But it took over an hour to get Praetor stabilized to be able to stop his heart and once Zumagi returned it took over two hours – mostly silent work – to fix the heart and remove the critical shrapnel from the primary damage location. Wyn was assuming another hour, minimum, to get Praetor stabilized to the point where he trusted another surgeon could take over and finish the small stuff. And he was gauging that he had two and a half hours in him left. Three at most. This was doable. They could do this. Zumagi: There’s so much of it… ::pause for a beat:: When your scan is done, we should be ready to restart his heart? He tipped both antennae forward again. Foster: Yes. Another five minutes. Life support holding steady. Zumagi: ? He sucked in a breath and his eyes narrowed at the gaping hole still in the chest. Foster: Now that the critical shrapnel is removed, we can focus on repairing the damaged tissue and organ tears. Zumagi: ? Foster: I lost track of time. But I know we’ve been at it for over three hours and I’m guessing at minimum there’s one more hour that we need to focus on. But Praetor would need to still be in surgery for another two to four hours to make sure every offensive piece of shrapnel and every non-critical bit of damage was repaired. But if vitals were stabilized at the cardiovascular system was at baseline repair, Wyn could trust that work to someone else. Arys might still kill him, but she’s kill him faster if his hand slipped through sheer exhaustion. Zumagi: ? He drew in a breath. Foster: I don’t know if you pray to anyone or anything, but if you do… I’m starting the heart in thirty seconds. Wyn didn’t know if he believed in a higher power. Somedays he barely believed that he existed let alone something guiding everything. Zumagi: ? ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ Lt Commander Shar’Wyn Foster Chief Surgeon StarBase 118 Ops

((Romulan Embassy Starbase 118)) With some effort, they managed to move the first of the larger rocks and began to kind of roll it away. As she pushed, J'Lynn's left foot slipped on an unstable piece of rubble. She fell to her knees, tearing her dress further and scraping the side of her right leg against the large rock they were moving on the way down, sending green blood trickling out of the cut it made. She let out a gasp and winced with pain. Willow: Response The young woman got back to her feet without so much as a grumble. s'Rehu: Do you need to stop? J'Lynn: I'm fine. Let's just keep moving. Havran gave her a nod. Willow: Response s'Rehu: ::to J'Lynn:: Please, ::beat:: be careful. She turned and gave him the faintest of smiles. Despite everything that was happening, something was changing inside of her. She had never felt this way before, never even considered it and certainly not with… She turned her gaze away. Now was not the time. They had work to do J'Lynn: ::almost shyly:: Thank you. ::regaining her composure:: But your concern should be with our brothers and sisters trapped under this rubble. They dug deeper, in order to reach the life sign Lt. Sera had indicated was in this area. Eventually, they were able to uncover another victim. A man, much younger than the previous one they had found. He was conscious, although seemingly unaware of their presence in his present state. Havran, kneeling next to him, carefully put a hand on the man's chest. J'Lynn watched. The victim was wearing civilian clothing, he could have been representing any faction, but Havran didn't seem to care. s'Rehu: ::to Sera:: Can your device tell us what's wrong? Sera: ::shaking her head negative:: It cannot. It is not a medical tricorder. J'Lynn: Can't you perform another mind meld? J'Lynn had no idea how easy or difficult thay would be for the Vulcan. It seemed to her that if she *could* do it, then why not? Willow: ? The man's breaths began to shorten and become sharp. s'Rehu: So it's too late? Sera: I…cannot stabilize this one in the same manner…I am sorry. Lt. Sera looked down and J'Lynn followed her gaze to the pool of green blood forming around the man. Sera: When we unburied him, his wound was no longer clamped off from the pressure of the debris. His injuries are non-viable. J'Lynn felt panic welling up inside her. J'Lynn: So we are to just watch him die?! Willow: ? She stared as Havran stayed with the man, head bowed, hand on his chest. She had never felt such pity and sadness in her life. When her mother died, she was a child, unable to comprehend and certainly not present when it happened. As he breathed his last, J'Lynn turned away. Sera: ::softly to J’Lynn and Havran:: I grieve with thee… s’Rehu/Willow: ? J'Lynn's throat was dry. Was it from all of the dust and smoke in the air? Or perhaps something else? Either way, she was unable to form any words. The Vulcan officer stood and began moving toward another spot, but J'Lynn felt suddenly immobilised. Willow: Response s’Rehu: ? J'Lynn: ::clearing her throat:: No. My apologies. We should continue. s'Rehu: Response J'Lynn: He was just…so young. Perhaps our age. All his dreams, his promise…it will go unfulfilled. Suddenly, the tragedy had been reduced to a personal level. Reading a report on such an incident where hundreds or even thousands were killed, it seemed impossible to comprehend the individual tragedy of the loss of each life. But here they were, witnessing the suffering and death with their own eyes. Was this what lay ahead for their people? More of the same? J'Lynn hoped not. She hoped that this would be a watershed moment in Rihannsu history. A catalyst, not for war, but for peace. And as she turned to face Havran once more, for a split second, she thought she saw the beginnings of that peaceful future in him. In them both, perhaps. Sera/Willow/s’Rehu: Responses TAG/TBC =/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\=/\= J'Lynn Future Romulan Republic Politician As simmed by Marine Captain Gogigobo Fairhug The Lightning Aldabrans Denali Station E239411GF0

((Miranda VII - Time Index: Two weeks after Barlowe’s death, eight weeks into the assignment)) Nestira had always found the flow of time to be curious. For days, weeks, months, sometimes years it could feel like nothing was happening at all, and then suddenly everything happened all at once. The dizzying pace of those with shorter lifespans had often fascinated the Rodulan, but she had never quite found herself in a situation where she had to adjust her own pace entirely to what was happening around her. But Barlowe was gone. They had blamed his death on the injuries he had sustained, and simply left his body to rot where he had died. If there were other operatives on Miranda VII, Nestira didn't know of them, or had any way to get in contact with them. Alasafor too was gone and had not returned, and she was no longer sure that she would notice his presence if he did. Her telepathy was beyond strained, and one way or the other, things would only get worse from here - either in the form of neural decay, or in the form of overlooking crucial information and getting herself killed. She elected not to consider what Naystrim's guards would do if they found her out. Nestira was in dire need of a new support network, and by now she was desperate enough to take the risk of creating one. A few weeks ago, she and Alasafor had observed a group of rebellious teenagers who wished to leave Miranda VII and escape Terra Prime. All of them with their own motivations to do so, and for the past month, Nestira had paved their way as subtly as possible. Nestira had discovered that she wasn't bad at it, but she hadn't liked it. Instead of operating from the shadows, the Rodulan enjoyed the feelings of adulation and appreciation of those those she helped. Finding out more about Lauri, one of the two males, had been easy. His family, part of Naystrim’s inner circle, was familiar with the Moray’s and with Nyra. She had tracked his movements, and selected him to connect with him first. Aristren (Nyra): Hey. A very human way of greeting someone, and as unassuming as possible as she ‘coincidentally’ met him on his way back home before curfew. Lauri almost jumped when he heard the woman talking. He wasn’t sure if she had sneaked up on him, or if he was too distracted and let himself be surprised. When he faced her, he recognized her, but didn't remember her name. What was it again? Nara? Nira? Lauri: Hi. You look familiar, your… Nira? Aristren (Nyra): Yeah, Nyra. You’re Lauri, right? Lauri: You startled me, I am returning home… ::He eyed her suspiciously:: Anything I can help you with? Aristren (Nyra): Nothing much… ::she smiled carefully:: Just thought we could talk? He smiled, flattered that Nyra wanted to speak to him. She was attractive, and while Lauri had Kayla to think about, they had never truly discussed exclusivity. Lauri: What about? Aristren (Nyra): About how I can help you, and you can help me. He narrowed his eyes to her and slowed his steps. Perhaps that had been a little too direct, but it certainly got his attention. Lauri: I don’t understand what you're saying… Nestira would have loved to read his surface thoughts, it would definitely have made the matter easier. But right now, with the constant strain on her telepathy, she couldn't risk possibly pushing too much. Aristren (Nyra): I know Kayla talked about how she suddenly got additional rations assigned. Lauri stopped. Now, as worrying as this sounded, it might not be serious. Gossip, something seen or heard by others. One thing people loved, was to talk. And Kayla wasn’t exactly the most quiet one about... anything, really. But he didn’t feel right about Nyra. What was it to her? Why would she be interested? Lauri: So… Envy isn’t nice. She disregarded his statement. Aristren (Nyra): And Samuel mentioned how Naystrim’s men somehow missed adding the shuttle to their list? He clenched his fingers and formed a fist with his right hand. The woman was threading close to danger. Very close. He could take care of himself, his family would help, but he feared for the others, and they were on the knife's edge. Now a stranger knew about things she shouldn’t. Lauri: Why are you telling me this? Aristren (Nyra): Because I believe you should thank me. Lauri: Thank you. Are we done? Lauri looked around and stepped closer to her. Lauri: I don’t know what you're talking about. You must be mistaken. Doing this without her telepathy was frustratingly difficult, and Nestira realised how lucky she was that these were just kids. She wondered how non-telepathic species got what they wanted without wasting years of their life on little manipulations. Aristren (Nyra): I most certainly am not. And you would do good to listen to what I have to say. It might be what saves your friends life. Lauri grabbed her arm. Lauri: You better be careful with your words. Explain yourself. ::he hissed:: Aristren (Nyra): That night on the unused observation deck, a few weeks ago - I was there. I heard what you discussed, and I’ve been doing my best to help. Lauri let go of the women’s arm. He thought they were alone, there was nobody there with them, there couldn’t be. He knew that wasn’t true. There was plenty of room for someone to hide. But he never thought anyone would have done it. Lauri: Why are you saying this? Aristren (Nyra): Because I agree. I want to get out of here too. Even if you and me both have a place on Naystrim’s ship. Lauri through his family, Nestira through the Morays. Lauri: How do I know you're telling me the truth? You could be tricking me. Aristren (Nyra): Think back to all the moments where someone should have discovered you, and did not. I won’t claim credit for all of them, a few were simply good luck, but I did look out for the four of you. They have had a few close calls so far. To be honest Lauri wasn’t sure how they got that far. Lauri: Say I believe you. What do you want? Join us? Aristren (Nyra): To some extent, yes. Lauri frowned. Lauri: What do you mean by that? Aristren (Nyra): The shuttle you are working with has certain… amenities I need, but not all of them. I know you know your father’s replicator access code and… would be able to provide me with the parts I need. Lauri: I don’t know… I would get in trouble. Aristren (Nyra): Lauri. ::pause:: Your friend Liz is building a bomb, and your friend Samuel is planning to steal a shuttle. Do you really believe that it is me and my little endeavour you have to worry about? Lauri bit his lip. Aristren (Nyra): And believe me - without me, you are risking more than you already are. Even now I could simply go to Katalina, or to Naystrim herself, and tell her of your plans. But I am not. Lauri nodded, realising Nyra made a good argument Lauri: If I help you, what do you want? I don’t know if the others are OK with you being in the shuttle. Aristren (Nyra): I don’t need to be in the shuttle. ::she shook her head:: I have… bigger plans. Plans that will save more people. Lauri: Why are you telling me this, aren’t you afraid I expose you? She smiled. Aristren (Nyra): You could. But you won't. So I won't waste time worrying about it, and neither should you - Help your friends, and it’s the most important thing for you to focus on. But I don’t have friends here. All I need is to get a message out, and I will be able to do that if we repair to comms array in the shuttle. She handed him a PADD with different items that needed to be replicated. Lauri: Replicating this won’t raise suspicions? Is it worth the risk? Aristren (Nyra): I don’t know, Lauri. What I do know is… that Terra Prime turned people into living bombs. I know that they leave behind members who get injured during the raids. Your friends are not a priority to Terra Prime, they’d be discarded once they become inconvenient. And even your family is only as safe as Naystrim wants them to be. Lauri nodded. He knew that all too well. Lauri: I know… I know all that. Why me? Because of my father? Aristren (Nyra): You made the first step when you agreed to help your friends. And being… apprehensive about Liz plan is understandable. But that’s why I trust you, and I … hope my trust is not misplaced. Lauri looked back to the PADD and put it inside his jacket. Lauri: I will see what I can do. She inclined her head and offered him a smile before she turned and left. She wouldn't pretend that this had been easy, and it certainly hadn't been the most clever way to handle this, but Nestira was running out of time. One down, three to go. TBC.... Lauri Simmed By Lt. Vitor R.S.Tito Intelligence Officer Starbase 118 O238907VS0 Nyra Altman aka Lt. J.G. Nestira Aristren Starbase 118 Ops J239809TA4

OUTSIDE Mason’s Office SB 118 He was gone. As if he had other places to be… he was gone. And it felt great. The shooter was gone. Wendy: Oo I’m going to be all right. I think... oO And she had another thought. Oo I wonder if someone is going to get me to sickbay? I have some holes that need filling… oO And another thought. Oo This floor feels so nice. And quiet. I should really be going after him, but I just don’t feel up to the task right now. Besides, he’d just shoot me again. And what am I? I’m not the Black Knight. Bum arm, a bum leg, a bum foot, hole in my chest. oO She lifts the hand of her good arm and feels her chest. Oo Ha! He missed my heart! What a loser! But wow that is a lot of blood. No wonder I’m feeling a little light-headed. oO Wendy: :: musters as much strength as she can to try and speak.:: Ensign Mason? I need a medevac. When you get a second? She was tired, so tired. Oo I need…a nice little nap. Fifteen minutes and I’ll be fine…oO Moments later Ensign Théo Levesqeu rushed towards her, checking for her vital signs. Levesque: ::calling out:: I need help here! His voice did not wake her. But it was not like she could have helped him anyway. If she could have heard him and responded she might have said “Hey! I’m the one who needs help here!” But she was out of consciousness and could not tell him that or anything. She was out. There was nothing. No pain. No thought. But a drum. Beating. A slow steady beat. Sixty beats a minute. Oblivious to the world around her. Dreaming… Body surfing, off Newport, the California coast, coming into shore, the wave bowling her over… On the beach, sand between her toes, running to her spot, where her blanket and beach chair and umbrella and towels are… She grabs her towel and wraps it around her shoulders, which are wet form the ocean. She’s thirsty and looks for the chest with drinks, but doesn’t see it… She’s walking along the sidewalk between the beach and the condos that front the ocean. She has a limp. Her left leg feels weak, and her right foot hurts like she stubbed her big toe. She looks down, and her foot is looks mangled, and she looks away. She takes a breath and looks back, and her foot looks fine. Leg too. And she feels no pain. She thinks Oo That was weird. oO She hears some music playing and thinks it must be coming from one of the condos that face the ocean. Several have windows open, and some have people sitting in chairs on the patios, drinking bottles of their favorite beverages, or eating slices of pizza, all wearing shorts, and barefoot, guys bare-chested, girls wearing bikini tops, everyone happy and smiling between bites of pizza or drinks from their bottled beverages. She picks up some lyrics form a song; she mishears the name in the song. She’s always misheard the name in the song. Always heard it as her name… “Who's trippin' down the streets of the city smilin' at everybody she sees? Who's reachin' out to capture a moment? Everyone knows it's Wendy” She stops and looks around. She’s not at the beach now, the surroundings have changed. She’s at an arena. On the stage. People are cheering loudly, she thinks maybe for her? And then she is crowd surfing. Being carried off the stage, into the crowd… that leads her to...who knows where, who knows where? Mike PNPC Wendy SB 118 OPS Security O239911JM3

ch’Taer: We are locking down the embassy, immediately. Giellun looked up to his colleague and tilted his head to the side in silent inquiry. Surely this was some kind of jest, yes? The security measures that had been instituted were the strictest he had ever seen here…but this new order…something had changed, no doubt. What was he expecting, really? They were dealing with terrorists. That was what Giellun considered those who joined this traitorous Republic. Surely the Praetor would bring them back within the fold – to appeal to what sense of honor they had left. If they had any honor left. Giellun had his doubts. tr’Pardek: Sir? ::brows raising, standing up from his workstation:: What’s happened? ch’Taer: ::frowning:: I don’t know. No one in or out – do you understand me, Errein? It had to be serious if his closest associate, Liahn ch’Taer became a man of few words. Giellun dipped his chin once in crisp acknowledgement. Tr’Pardeck: Of course. ::engaging his personal comm to begin relaying the order to lock the embassy down to his security personnel:: He had been recently assigned here as a military attaché to assist with the coordination and daily operations of Embassy security. Thus far it had been uneventful work, but it had given him a unique opportunity to learn more about the lloann'mhrahel (Federation.) With these sudden orders, Giellun had oodles of questions – but he had neither the luxury (nor the political clout) to obtain any further information in this moment. Footsteps echoed on the polished stone floors and one of the guards he called arrived at the reception area. She looked at him, her expression a question, but he had no answer to give her. She too nodded silently and took her position by the entryway, a disruptor rifle at the ready. Within moments the Romulan Embassy had shuttered itself. It was most unfortunate that in doing so, this building would soon become the tomb of many within its walls. Giellun stood at the console, ensuring that ch’Taer’s orders were executed with upmost speed and efficiency, and his hand hovered over the screen to tap when he felt something wrong. A sudden vibration that set his teeth on edge, and he looked about in a futile attempt to find the source. tr’Pardek: Do you feel—? The embassy guard with him locked her eyes on his with confusion. The vibration suddenly escalated to a jarring lurch as a loud series of explosions rocked the both of them. He reached out and grabbed the stone counter to maintain his balance, drawing his disruptor unconsciously, and his coworker lost her balance and fell as the floor heaved. He scrambled around the counter and reached out to grab her outstretched arm, but a horrible groaning sound set his teeth on edge, and suddenly she was no longer there. Her scream was cut short as she dropped through the disintegrating floor. He scrambled backwards; barely escaping the same fate as she as the floor continued to crumble beneath him. Suddenly dust began to fall on to him and he looked up and watched—in a strangely detached manner—cracks snake up the walls and across the ceiling. tr’Pardek: Oh, Elements… The ceiling collapsed, and he threw his hands up in a futile attempt to protect himself. Something collided with his head, and he knew no more. ((Time Skip?)) Giellun awoke in a shapeless place. It had a strange, dreamlike quality to it, and he looked around, trying to make sense of what was going on. He had been at the Embassy…there had been an explosion… Suddenly there was a woman before him, holding out a rough-hewn clay goblet, her eyes beseeching his with a silent request. He cautiously took the goblet and peered in, but the inside of the vessel was dark, so he could not discern what it was filled with. Woman: ::gesturing to the goblet:: Mon. Mon heh ha-tor. Giellun: I don’t understand. What are you saying? What language are you speaking? The colors in his dream were quickly fading; everything was taking on a pale, lifeless tone…everything except her. Woman: ::intensely:: Mon! Kal-tor nash-veh svi'! Her hands reached out and situated themselves over his which held the goblet, and she gently tipped it up. Did she want him to drink? Woman: Ha! ::looking thoughtful – then in accented Rihannsu:: Daie! <<Yes>> Giellun considered this to be a most strange dream but figured it would do no harm to comply and tipped the clay container back the rest of the way to his mouth and drank deeply of whatever it held. A single swallow. A feeling of slight…disappointment. It was just water. oO Unfortunate…I would have much rathered naraht… Oo <<naraht – Rihannsu wine (more potent than ale>> Woman: Not water. Life. Drink! She stared at him, and he shuddered uncontrollably as her eyes bored into his, and he felt…compelled to do as she asked. Was this the hallucination of a dying brain? Why would he see a strange woman and not those who went before him if that were the case? Woman: You think to much…wasting time…drink. Please… He brought the goblet to his lips again and opened his mouth to swallow another mouthful but this time, once he started, he could not stop. The woman watched silently as he drank, her hands still on top of his – and part of him realized this strange vision was his brain’s way of trying to make sense of what he was experiencing. Just what by the Elements was he experiencing?! Woman: Enough. Stop. But Giellun did not stop. It was refreshing, vitally so! With every pull, the colors became more vibrant, he felt more…alive. Woman: ::her voice taking on an alarmed tone:: Please, you must stop— But he did not. He could not. He was just so…thirsty! He drank until the goblet was empty and it fell out of his grasp, suddenly no longer important. The sound of the earthenware vessel shattering on the stones beneath his feet broke the ‘spell’ of whatever this was. -- He groaned and opened his eyes, confused by his surroundings. Where was he? This wasn’t the Embassy…he struggled to sit up and found his movement was being curtailed. Medic: Hey there…let’s ahh…stay calm. Uh…He’s coming around, we’ve got to get him re-sedated! There was a flurry of movement, voices calling out with an earnest intensity – they were fighting him…stopping him… Giellun: ::in Rihannsu:: Vikra aihr susse? ::fighting arms that were pinning him:: VIKRA AIHR SUSSE?! <<Where is she?; WHERE IS SHE?!>> There was a hissing sound and pressure at his neck and suddenly a strange lassitude swept over him. He kept fighting but less was making sense—if anything made sense before the strange noise—and finally his eyes shut again as the cocktail of medication overrode everything else. TBC… -- NPC Errein Giellun i’Ki Baratan tr’Pardek Romulan Embassy Military Attaché (Free State)