.jpg.2a5d5b4e5ac21aada170dec62d354f26.jpg)
Saveron
-
Posts
1,397 -
Joined
-
Last visited
-
Days Won
67
Content Type
Profiles
Forums
Events
Posts posted by Saveron
-
-
Congratulations! Both very enjoyable reads.
-
Congratulations Ensigns and welcome to the Fleet!
-
1
-
-
Roshanara Rahman, on waking up after being chewed up and spat out by a volcano:
::When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Del's big dumb face, which could only mean that she had died and gone to Jahannam... or she was back on the Mercury.::::Turning her head slightly, she saw Dr. Hawkeye's face as well. That made the latter more likely.::-
1
-
-
“Ambassador?”
It was a deceptively simple formation, yet it encompassed not only a physical enigma but a slew of philosophical questions, both personal and existential, that any sentient might ponder at some point in their life. The majority of them boiled down to: What if? The angular slab of stone before him might well hold the answers, but it wasn’t talking. It had not spoken since Captain James T. Kirk had discovered it, over four hundred years ago, and the view through its portal showed nothing more than the desert plain beyond. Perhaps it would never speak again.
“Ambassador?”
What if? Such a simple question, but the answer was rarely so. The multiplicity of the universe was established fact, but it was the nature of it that one never saw what happened to those selves who made the other decision; well, rarely. So there were never firm answers, only suppositions, and Terrans had a wonderfully relevant expression; “The grass is always greener on the other side”. One might imagine what would have happened, but one could never be certain. And there was some comfort in known that, for those other selves out there, you were the What if?
He had thought that, at the end of his life, he might ask just that. There were so many questions yet unanswered. But now that he was here he knew that he had as much right to ask as any other, and no more. In truth it was not the stone that he should ask but himself, and the Guardian served merely as a foil for his thoughts. No, he had no regrets, not any more. He had done always what he felt he should, and he was content.
“Ambassador Saveron?”
Allowing his meditative observance of the Guardian of Forever to be interrupted, the tall Vulcan turned slowly to regard the earnest young scientist who had approached down the durasteel ramp constructed to keep them from damaging the fragile soil. That same sandy soil was instead scouring away at the steel, already burnished matte where once it had gleamed. Perhaps in time the entire research outpost would be gone, worn away by the wind, and nothing but the Guardian would remain.
He was aware that he was wool gathering.
“Yes?” He said at length.
She gave him an odd look and he saw himself reflected in her eyes. Impossibly old, deep lines on his lean face, hair that was once black was now silver-white, still worn long. Grey eyes that had seen the breadth of the galaxy, peace and war and politics in between, half-hidden in a sea of wrinkles.
“Sorry to bother you sir, but the Nimitz is now in orbit.” She said, a faint frown creasing her brow.
The Nimitz. No doubt they were all keen to see that infamous ship gone from their orbit, and it would not leave without its passenger.
“I see. Please inform them that I shall be there presently.” He said, nodding politely in acknowledgement of her words, of her making the effort to tell him personally rather than using a communicator.
The scientist nodded and [...]ed her head slightly, her vision becoming unfocused for a moment as she used her implanted communications chip to send the message back to the research base. It was a fascinating piece of technology, and an example in his mind of how nothing was ever black and white, everything was a continuum and even the influence of those things one initially abhors can eventually, subconsciously get under one’s skin. The Federation had never been a stranger to cybernetics.
Her dark gaze focused on him again before flicking past him to the Guardian, proud amongst the myriad sensors that now crowded it’s previously barren plain, just in case it should once again demonstrate some sign of activity. Thus far, to the wonders of Federation science it remained an inanimate piece of stone.
“Will you not speak to it, Ambassador?” She asked at last. Saveron glanced over his shoulder for a moment before turning back.
“Would you have me do so?” He asked mildly. The Federation’s finest had begged, pleaded and hurled imprecations at it, and it had remained mute.
“Please.” She replied.
And who could refuse such a request? He turned slowly back on old, aching bones and regarded the monument once more. What, now that he was here across the vast distance of space, would he say to it? If he had any suspicion that it might answer, what words would he have answered? He had stood there for many minutes, and it had served best as a mirror for his own thoughts.
At last he inclined his head politely in the Guardian’s direction. “Thank you,” he said, and turned away.
It was not far to the research station itself and the raised transport pad used to receive shipments and personnel from above. There was no rain here, only the ever present wind, and the platform was open to the elements. There were several of the station’s personnel nearby, but they were keeping a respectful distance, and it was easy to see why. The Nimitz had sent a crewmember to collect him.
Ironically he thought that he recognised her, from before she joined that ship. The triangular jaw, bobbed blonde hair and distinctive arch of her nose-ridge were very familiar; he recalled their meeting on Deep Space Nine, over two hundred years ago now, when she had sought to ask him about the Subjective. What are they like? She had asked. But the real question was what is it like? And it was a question that he could only answer from the outside. What if? It was a pervasive thought that worked away at one’s consciousness, begging resolution. And in this branch of the multiverse she had taken the plunge.
Her skin was far paler now and the metal of the small visible implant at her temple gleamed in the evening light. She wore a close-fitting black suit on which here and there more understated metal gleamed and occaisionally a light blinked, no doubt connected to deeper cybernetics. But her hands were bare and unaltered, clasped casually before her. She looked up at him as he approached, and he noted a faint gleam of circuitry in one iris.
“Sochya, Taril Emiri.” He greeted her by name, making the ta’al with fingers grown knobbly and wrinkled with age. She smiled at him.
“Sochya Ambassador Saveron. I’m pleased you remember me.” She replied, warmth in her hazel eyes.
Behind her Saveron could see a technician’s expression of mild horror as he eavesdropped and realisation dawned. The Vulcan ignored him.
“Of course I remember you.” He had an eidetic memory but he didn’t doubt she would have remained fixed in his recall. “You were one of the first.” He regarded her for a long moment. “Is it what you thought?” He asked.
“No.” She said, and her smile broadened. She didn’t try to explain and he didn’t ask; assimilation into the Subjective was something that had to be experienced. “We are ready for you, Ambassador.” She said, and in using the plural he knew she spoke for the Subjective as a whole.
Saveron nodded before turning to his escort from the Guardian. “Thank you for your indulgence.”
“Of course Ambassador, any time.” She replied with brittle brightness. Yet he didn’t doubt she realised that he would not be back. He was already pushing the boundaries of the Vulcan life span, his body failing him. No, he had given his all to the Federation, and this was one of the few things he had asked. But he would not be back; it was time to go home.
Turning to Emiri he nodded and stepped slowly up onto the transporter platform. “Let us go.”
She gave only a nod for his benefit, and the green light of the Borg transporters took hold. No doubt the research center would be glad to see them gone; no one liked have a Borg ship in orbit, not even a Subjective ship. They were only slightly more enthusiastic about the presence of the man who caught lifts with the Borg.
As the two figures disappeared from the platform a man rushed out of the research station in the direction of the Ambassador’s escourt, PADD in hand.
“What did he say to it?!?”
They materialised aboard the Nimitz and Saveron was struck by the way that Federation technology had been meshed with Borg technology, rather than overrun by it. Even back when the USS Mercury had first encountered the assimilated USS Nimitz they had recognised that these Borg were different. They innovated, used weapons rather than brute force and moved as individuals rather than a hoard. But it wasn’t until their attempt at assimilating the Mercury herself had led to her crew capturing a fledgling Queen that they had realised what they had.
Even then many were more than prepared to tar all Borg with the one brush, but Saveron had isolated this Queen and spoken with her on several occaisions, fathoming the nature of this Borg splinter group and their prisoner, sounding out the reasons for their difference. And it was then that he did the unthinkable; he infected the Borg Queen with a weapon designed to neutralise her Collective. Not a virus or a bacterium but something far more insidious; an idea. The idea that for a whole to be greater than the sum of its parts, those parts had to be free to be different, to explore and conjecture and think on their own, to have individual will and ideas, which then contributed to the Collective.
There was a certain irony that it was something the Nimitz’s splinter Collective had already begun to realise. His act, in returning the Queen to them with that idea, merely hastened the change that had already begun.
And so the Nimitz Borg had begun to change. No longer focused solely on expansion and acquisition, they developed or rediscovered their own impulse for scientific exploration, for philosophy and aesthetics, for invention and intelligent debate. Their physical expansion had slowed and at last become negotiable, he himself had managed many of those negotiations. This had been replaced by an intellectual and creative expansion that no other species could match. The Quadrant’s greatest philosophers and scientists were all part of the Subjective. With the flowering of its composite minds there were suddenly horizons to chase and boundaries to push which had nothing to do with space and time.
Not that they were no longer a threat. Several times in recent history the original Collective had made attempts to assimilate the Alpha and Beta quadrants, however they had found the Subjective as protective of their independence as the native sentient species, and far more adept at driving them back. Indeed they often ‘liberated’ Collective drones in the process. It had been forty-seven years since the last encounter. But people still viewed the Subjective with suspicion; racial memories took far longer to fade.
There was an attractive, flowing and familiar architecture to the internal corridors as Saveron walked them at his own slow pace; he had done so many times before, no one barred his progress. He passed members of the Subjective, some undiscernible from their original appearances, some unrecognisable; each to their own preference. Subtle sounds might have been communication, song or the ship’s workings. The air was temperate and easy to breath. A capsule that no Starfleet member would recognise as a turbolift brought him at last to what had once been the bridge of the USS Nimitz. It too had been modified far beyond its original construction, yet for some reason the viewscreen still showed a view of the stars, and the Captain’s chair occupied the traditional place. Nostalgia perhaps? Seated in that chair was a figure that no Starfleet member would ever have thought to see there, but she rose with a smile to greet him.
“You have returned to us.” The Borg Queen said warmly. And whether it was the same one that he had spoken with centuries ago he could not know. They were many, created not assimilated, coordinating the Subjective. He had spoken to others on other vessels, but he spoke to each as though they were the same; in all senses they were. Physical manifestations of the heart of the Subjective. She had not changed in all the time that he had known her; had presumably seen no reason to.
“Affirmative.” He replied evenly, making his slow way across the now gently sloping floor, coming to stand before the viewscreen that he might look down on the planet below.
“Did you find that which you sought?” The Queen enquired, and he heard her approach, felt her presence just behind and beside him. He considered the question.
“In order to find one must know what one seeks.” He admitted, not bothering to hide what many would consider the maunderings of old age. She knew him far too well for it to matter, better than any other being yet living. She had watched him grow old. “Sometimes one must face an option, have it within one’s grasp, to realise that one has no desire to take it.”
“Sometimes wanting is more satisfying than having.” She returned; a phrase that she had learned from him.
“Illogical, but true.” He agreed, looking down at the dusty planet below.
“If the Guardian had opened for you, what would you have changed?” She asked gently, too familiar with the workings of sentient minds not to anticipate what he had been thinking.
“Nothing.” He replied simply, and knew it for the truth. “But I might have watched it all over again.” He admitted. She gave him an oddly gentle look.
“You face your mortality.” She surmised, easy conclusion to come to. He only nodded. “Look not back on the past, but around you at the future.” She counselled. “Look at what you have wrought.” And there was a warmth, a humour in her voice. He knew what she meant; the change that created the Subjective came about because of his interference, all those years ago.
“I still wonder that you ever tolerated my input.” He admitted. He had been Ambassador to the Subjective, understood it’s members as well as anyone could who was not amongst them; but the Queen herself still fascinated him.
“You were right.” She said simply. “Growth by assimilation only was a very limited route. Now we are virtually unlimited.” She said, and he caught her wide-sweeping gesture out of the corner of his eye. “Not even by warfare with your kind; it is no longer necessary.” She said, knowing that had been one of his primary goals; that he had done what he had not for the Borg’s benefit but for the benefit of those species yet free of them. “Now we do not need to actively assimilate; beings come to us.” And there was a distinct satisfaction in her tone.
“Those who have free will always value it.”
“Those who are a part of us value that more.” She said, and with the minds of thousands who joined of their own free will, he supposed that she could make such a judgement.
“A decision made freely is always more valued.” Saveron agreed. It had been an unforseen side-effect of his efforts.
“They are your children Saveron, as much as those of your failing body.” He hadn’t heard her move, but she was suddenly close beside him, touching his face, his silver hair, her fingers cool against his wrinkled skin. “It was always your mind that I valued.” She whispered. “You saw so much potential in us, where others saw only threat. Whatever your reasons, you changed us for the better.”
“Only because you permitted it.” He acknowledged, grey eyes turned to watch that strange, familiar face.
“Change had become necessary. I had looked for others to guide it, perhaps incorrectly. Locutus never gave himself to us. Representatives of other species looked to their own people’s interests unless they became drones, then they contributed nothing new. Only you sought to change us without destroying us. Only you had the courage to walk the difficult path.”
“All life should be preserved, in harmony where possible. I never wished your people harm, only that they should do us no harm in turn.”
“And you achieved it, where others failed or dared not even try.” She acknowledged in turn. “Will you give up on us now?” She asked.
“I have no more to give; my work is complete.” He said quietly. “You do not age, but I am old, and tired.” He admitted.
“Your body is; your mind is not.” She knew the restlessness that was in him even yet. “And I hold the answer.” A hand to his cheek, she pulled him gently around to face her. “Are we not everything that you have striven for? Have I not given you all that you asked?” And she smiled. “Will you not know the perfection that you have wrought?” She asked, her face mere inches from his own. “I have waited these long years for you.”
Grey eyes scanned her face, the one constant in his life, when others came and went, to other pursuits or to the great beyond. Always she had offered, and always he had resisted, had needed his separation to do his work. Yet he had known that he would never return to Vulcan.
After a long moment he dipped his chin in the faintest of nods. “I am ready.”
She welcomed him with open arms and he learned at last what it was to be a part of a greater whole; his questions finally answered.
-
Welcome to the fleet!
-
Welcome to the fleet!
-
"The responsibility for destiny rests squarely on our own shoulders."
—Ra-ghoratreii, President of the United Federation of Planets, 2293
(( USS Pollux, 2404 ))
:: Aron Kells was a fleet captain, in general command of Starfleet Science's 17th fleet of research vessels heading coreward from the frontier of explored space in the Beta Quadrant, expanding upon his work with the Mercury in years previous -- and as a fleet captain, he was not used to traveling in vessels as small as the Pollux, even though it was an advanced argonaut, successor to the earlier runabouts.
He cruised at full impulse toward the sixth moon of the third gas giant around Epsilon Camelopardalis after having warped in a fair distance away; he preferred a slower approach so that he could think a bit as he got closer. He wasn't really sure what he was about to say, but he was certain that, even though he'd easily commanded captains and ships for a few years, confronting an old crewmate was not the easiest thing he'd ever done...
...and it was made even more difficult by the sudden ringing of the proximity alert. He scrambled toward the controls -- all he needed was to be blown apart by a Gorn Interceptor -- but as soon as he saw the ship's profile, he relaxed half a dozen hairs. What was a Cavell-class hospital ship doing out doing this far without an escort? His communication system began to ring at once, which at least meant that he was about to get some answers. He triggered the system and the holosystem displayed the face of an old friend. ::
KELLS: Commander del Vedova, it's been a while.
DEL VEDOVA: It has indeed. May I ask what you're doing so far from the 17th fleet, sir?
KELLS: You may not. My leave time is my own. Although I may ask what you and the Chebotaryova are doing so far from sector 775?
DEL VEDOVA: You know it all, sir, as always.
KELLS: Not at all; I merely pay attention to the comings and going of old friends. (beat) This situation is no different.
DEL VEDOVA: It is. She would not want you here. That time has passed.
KELLS: Maybe. Maybe not. I'm still going down there.
DEL VEDOVA: I can only ask you not to.
KELLS: And you've done so. Pollux, out.
:: He cut the channel and the hologram disappeared. The Chebotaryova cruised after him and Aron, who knew Del better than the commander thought -- or remembered -- knew he had just a moment before the hospital ship engaged its tractor beam. He triggered the Pollux's warp engines and, for several seconds, jumped to warp. He brought the Pollux out of warp just outside of the moon's atmosphere and began his descent immediately; even if the Chebotaryova followed him, which he didn't think Del would do, it wasn't rated for atmospheric flight and Del would not beam down after him.
He brought down the argonaut toward the sole transponder on the planet, though he realized as he descended that if she really didn't want to be found, it was unlikely that she would be there. As he skimmed low over the world ocean, he realized that the signal was not leading him toward one of the seamounts, but was bringing him to an area of ocean above a deep abyss. Was the community underwater?
No. He saw it as he crested the next horizon, and he slowed quickly from mach one down to a more appropriate speed. The island was not the technological marvel or flotilla that he'd first assumed it was, it was a collection of old oceangoing vessels welded and, in some cases, wedged and roped together. It was still a puzzling act of engineering genius, and this observation made Aron realize that he had been correct.
He brought the Pollux down at the landing pad beside the transponder, but before he could open the outer door, his comm unit began to ring again. He tabbed it on, expecting Del to give him another try; but it wasn't him, it was a being, humanoid probably but not entirely certain, with its face covered with a mask. Some sort of mask etiquette? Well, he couldn't have known, and now he could only hope that this individual would say what he or she had to say anyway. The computer relayed that the call was coming from on the floating conglomeration, and Aron felt his heart leap. What if this was her? ::
OVERSEER: You are unwelcome here.
:: No, unlikely: Even with the passage time, he couldn't see how her voice would sound like that. ::
KELLS: Excuse me. I am Fleet Captain Aron Kells of the Federation Starfleet's 17th fleet, and I am accustomed to an explanation before I receive a complete rebuff.
OVERSEER: You have no jurisdiction here. These are not your stars or your planets. Leave, now.
KELLS: No. (beat) I'm here to meet with someone. An old -- acquaintance. Roshanara Rahman.
:: The mask prevented his easy determination if the individual had recognized the name, but the brief pause before the being's reply suggested to him that either he was completely wrong, or she was here and this person didn't want him to know. ::
OVERSEER: Not here. Not here. You, leave, now.
KELLS: If necessary, I can scan this complex easily, find her, and beam to her location. I'm respecting your autonomy by not doing so, but--
OVERSEER: You cannot.
:: It was said too quickly, too easily to be a full lie, so Aron ran a quick and surreptitious scan. The speaker was correct: Aron's sensors couldn't penetrate the floating island; there was some sort of powerful dampener in effect. Again, he took this as confirmation that she was there. Who else could have done it? ::
KELLS: Then I'll search by foot.
OVERSEER: You will not. We will not let you.
:: But Aron was losing his patience. ::
KELLS: A phaser on its maximum setting could blow a hole straight through one of these rusting barges and founder this whole [...] scumtrap. Understood?
:: There was a slight growl from the other party before he or she switched off the monitor temporarily before turning it back on again. ::
OVERSEER: You may stay for one hour. We do not guarantee she will see you. Regardless, you will leave in one hour, or we will call for the Gorn. They are not such gracious hosts as we.
KELLS: One hour will be more than sufficient. Out.
:: Aron snapped off the projector, and the masked man was gone. He pulled the weapon he'd promised from the storage locker and, even though the interference was still going strong, pulled out a tricorder and a couple of other sensing devices. Better to be prepared either way.
The stink of this overly salinated sea, the rusting barges, and the excrement of the indigenous animal life (one bird of which kept circling his head, making a sound like a wildebeest during childbirth) kept him from forming even the slightest desire to be there more than a second more than he had to -- but he also knew that he wasn't about to back off now. He just tried not to breathe too deeply as he searched around.
Thankfully, he began to run into a few individuals, all of whom wore masks, but also, now that they were more than just holograms, he could identify positively as Dopterians. What they were doing out here, and with some kind of bizarre mask etiquette, though, he couldn't say. Religious? Cultural? Sect-social? Studying the cultural practices of sentients was not at all his field, and so he had very little to offer them -- as they did him, as all his requests for information fell on deaf ears. Maybe literally? Was it possible that the Dopterians were all deaf? He shrugged to himself.
The few "buildings" he saw were rough and constructed of metal sheets, not engineering marvels at all, but after he saw one Dopterian emerge from a hidden section of the hull, his heart sank. He could count the buildings he saw on two hands, but if he had to enter some kind of sub-labyrinth and search, there was no way he'd do that in an hour.
Thankfully, he at last ran into a Dopterian who indulged his request for information about a Kriosian female by pointing to the very last building on the floating mistake, so close to the bow's edge that it continually caught the spray and, maybe, he thought, sounded like it was raining inside. Not such a bad place to live. However, when he knocked, he found nothing inside except a device he didn't recognize about the size of his head.
It was humming slightly and lit up in shades of green-blue every few seconds -- and, according to his suddenly completely useless tricorder, was the source of the jamming. He took aim with his phaser and blew it up, one fluid motion, almost without thinking. With the signal gone, the tricorder found her in less than five seconds.
He exited the small building and headed aft, toward a large cargo container grafted onto its similar neighbors. Unlike the other buildings, all of which tended to face inward towards some sort of mockery of "town," this one, like its fellow on the bow, faced out toward the sea. Aron took the stairs two at a time and met there three masked Dopterians, one of whom he recognized (he thought) as the one he'd spoken to in the argonaut.
The overseer beckoned to him and then continued climbing, up toward the building's very top. As they climbed (more slowly now that Aron wasn't charging ahead), Aron realized that this building was built very much like a lighthouse: And perched there at the top was a small dwelling. *This*, he thought, this would be it.
Correct! But they didn't have to knock or go looking or anything, because there she was, standing outside, waiting. The overseer stepped toward her and Aron, despite every act of bravado up through that point, shrunk back. ::
OVERSEER: Excuse me, Roshanara. You have a visitor.
:: He looked over at Aron. ::
OVERSEER: He was most insistent.
:: Now Rahman's eyes found him, but he couldn't meet them. From what he could see, though, there was no emotion there. A big … nothing. ::
RAHMAN: I know.
KELLS: Rah-- Lieu-- (beat) Roshanara. I've come a long way. Will you talk with me?
:: But she ignored him, didn't answer, and turned to the Dopterians. ::
RAHMAN: It's all right. You may leave us.
:: His three companions turned almost at once to go, leaving the two alone much more quickly than Aron had expected. He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. She was still quite expressionless. ::
RAHMAN: I'm not leaving with you. If that's why you're here or if Del sent you.
KELLS: It isn't. At least, not exactly. If you wanted to go, I *would* take you. (beat) But, no. What I really want to do is talk.
RAHMAN: Your determination was evident from the moment you landed.
KELLS: You knew-- Never mind. Of course you knew.
:: She nodded and beckoned him into her little dwelling. Inside, he found that he'd been right, or at least partially: The walls were rounded and mostly transparent, though he doubted there was a light. She'd have an excellent view. Except for the smell, the company, and the likelihood that the whole thing would sink at any moment, it was almost nice. ::
RAHMAN: Fine, then. You can tell me why you're here over a cup of coffee. The Dopterians don't share my fondness for caffeine.
KELLS: I can't say I do much, either, these days, but all right.
:: Inside, "decorating" the place were various strange contraptions and monitoring devices for the structural integrity of the community. There were half-assembled pumps and other pieces of equipment laid out on a workbench and on the floor. Clearly, the little studio served both as her quarters and her workshop.
She had him sit down on a chair between the curving window and a bookshelf paired with another chair. Strange, really, since it was clear she didn't receive visitors often. The chair Aron sat in felt barely used at all compared to the worn out seat across from him. She poured him a cup of coffee and sat down herself. ::
RAHMAN: Forgive Mister Hahtal. He is rather paternal over his people.
KELLS: Oh, I can understand that. (beat) But are *you* one of his people?
:: It was meant as a rhetorical question, but there was a hint of a true question to it, as well. Was she? If she'd already decided that she was, then maybe there wasn't much he could do or say. ::
RAHMAN: I suppose. Is that why you're here?
KELLS: I'm not here to call you back to Starfleet or assemble the old gang for one last hurrah or anything like that, if that's what you think. (beat) Nor am I here to otherwise engage you in some kind of outdated power relationship.
RAHMAN: I didn't think so. It's all right. I already have a father.
:: She smiled, though not at him, as she stirred cinnamon into her coffee. ::
RAHMAN: And a Dopterian who'd like to think of himself that way.
KELLS: I-- what? No, that's not what I mean, not at all! I'm here to *apologize*.
:: Well, there it was, spoken plainly. He didn't even need to say what for, because her knowing look was a little too knowledgeable, her stirring a little too mechanical, her face a little too devoid of any care to prove that she didn't *really* care. ::
RAHMAN: It's all right, captain. You did what you needed to do. For your ship. For our ship.
KELLS: Maybe. But that doesn't make your dismissal right. It's always been my goal to work *with* my crew, not against them. Maybe the books do say that you should have been discharged. I should have said to hell with them! I shouldn't have -- you know, listened.
:: If she agreed with him, she didn't reassure him with a nod or other sign of approval. Instead, she looked off into the distance, out to the rolling waters that lay beyond the windows. ::
RAHMAN: It was a difficult time after I left the Mercury. Frustrating, disheartening... and frightening above all else. At least during my first rehabilitation after the Tempest, I still felt... like myself. But after you discharged me... it was as if a piece of me disappeared every day, until I didn't recognize myself at all.
:: She then turned back to him, her green eyes reflecting his. ::
RAHMAN: That is... until I realized I just needed to get away.
KELLS: But that's what I'm telling you: You didn't have to. You still don't, not if you want to leave this place and come back. I know I said I wasn't here to bring you back, but I'm here and *if* you want to come back....
:: But he could see her frown already forming. ::
KELLS: You don't have to answer immediately. Think about it. There are alternatives--
:: She put her cup down to interject, although her voice remained calm. ::
RAHMAN: No, there's no other way. At least not for me...
:: She held her breath for a moment, obviously expecting him to fill something in. He looked at her quizzically. ::
RAHMAN: Or didn't he tell you?
KELLS: Tell me-- tell me what?
:: And who was "he"? The Dopterian overseer? ::
RAHMAN: Hmmph... I had just assumed...
:: Another grin formed, teasing him. ::
RAHMAN: ...since I figured he told you everything else eventually.
:: Not at all, or at least that didn't make sense with her response. Then it clicked, the only person she could be talking about. Indeed, the only person for whom that particular, almost joking smile made sense. ::
RAHMAN: "Recommended for medical isolation." That was Del's final report. Not quite a quarantine since I don't have a disease per se... but basically, I've been diagnosed as incapable of living as a functional member of society.
KELLS: And you, you saw that as some sort of betrayal, because you-- you're--
RAHMAN: No, captain. I agree completely with that assessment.
:: She laughed then. ::
RAHMAN: Yet ironically, I can't even check into an actual asylum for such isolation. Too much stimulus... and so, I decided to do what an engineer would do if she had a faulty component in a system: take it out.
KELLS: And replace it with what? You aren't a power converter to be produced by a replicator en masse when you burn out, all right? You -- you're a person. With a-- a problem, maybe. But not *faulty*, not *broken*. All right?
:: It was important to him that she understood this, and when she failed to do anything but maintain her benign expression, he rose from the chair, his anger overwhelming. He stared out at the sea. ::
RAHMAN: It was supposed to be temporary. Del tried to be a saint-- no, he *was* a saint. He worked tirelessly for several more years on his own, long after the rest of the medical teams had shifted onto other newer, more interesting, and more promising cases. In fact, before you, he was the only other person who sat in that chair to join me for a cup of tea.
:: She picked up her cup again. ::
RAHMAN: Hmmph, he doesn't really like my coffee, either.
KELLS: (softly) So that's why he left. Where he went.
RAHMAN: But eventually, I told him he needed to stop coming here. He needed to move on with his own career.
:: Oh, Aron remembered that well: How Del had been so devoted to his career after the end of his engagement back in 2389, how he'd made it through lieutenant commander and chief medical officer and had then plateaued. No, worse than: He'd given up. Sunk back down in the department, had been in danger of demotion, and had taken leaves that often went a few days past when they were supposed to end. He'd told Aron once, in the darkest corner of a moment, that he was considering leaving Starfleet, and when Aron had asked why, Del had told him it was for an old friend. Not that he'd thought much of that then, but now-- ::
KELLS: It worked. He did. He moved on with a lot of things. (beat) He's a commanding officer now, of a small hospital ship. He had to be talked into the commission, but Command was insistent, what with the war and whatnot.
:: With his back turned to her, he didn't see how the news caused her face to light up with joy. It was her first genuine reaction of their conversation. ::
RAHMAN: I'm glad to hear that. He was rather argumentative about the whole thing when he was last here -- I'm sure that's hard to believe.
:: Aron allowed his smile to flicker back as he turned around. ::
KELLS: I think I can trust that it's true.
RAHMAN: ::shaking her head:: And he had promised he would keep where he hid me a secret... for real this time.
KELLS: He did.
:: He shook his head at her polite incredulity. ::
KELLS: He didn't tell me anything. I found you all on my own. (beat) He did try to stop me, once he knew what I was doing. I mean, once he sort of knew what I was doing. I don't know that he was at all certain what I would do when I got here. (beat) Nor was I. (beat) But you-- you, here and now. I sort of understand, or I think I do, that what you really need is to be left alone. (beat) Yes.
:: She smiled again before taking a sip of her coffee. ::
RAHMAN: Well, good. Better late than never.
:: What more was there to say? Oh, there were the usual polite goodbyes, but the end of the conversation had come and they both knew it. Aron's trip back to the argonaut was quick -- the Dopterians were polite now, but it was clear that they wanted him to leave. He wanted to, as well; he found that in that moment he had never wanted anything more. But, again, once he was above the water moon, he found that he didn't jump immediately to warp. To be at warp was to admit the momentum of the situation, and that he wouldn't do. He stayed at impulse as he passed two outer planets, and only was shaken out of his reverie by the ringing of the comms system. He activated it, and there was Del's head waiting for him. ::
DEL VEDOVA: She's gone.
:: His voice was almost and carefully devoid of feeling, but Aron knew him better than that: Del was seething. ::
DEL VEDOVA: The colony is in an uproar! They think "her visitor" kidnapped her somehow. She's left no trace, nothing even for me to follow. It really does look like-- (beat) I can only assume that wasn't you.
KELLS: Oh, no. I did visit her. But she isn't with me. She must've....
:: He didn't finish the thought. Instead, he smiled. ::
DEL VEDOVA: What?
KELLS: Nothing. Nothing at all.
Fleet Captain Aron Kells
Commander, 17th Fleet, Starfleet Science
&
Roshanara Rahman
Patient Reference Number 912-804-117
-
Honey. It's anti-bacterial.
Clearly Hawkeye was able to neutralise the toxins however, given that he fed it to his wife!Captain Kells:
:: She gave him her own version of a pained smile (toothache, he thought), while he tried to widen his own and upgraded from a stomachache to some sort of debilitating mental condition. Maybe it would be easier to try making a frown friendly. ::-
1
-
-
Like Mr Richards, Saveron would not violate the treaty and risk inter-stellar war. The safety of billions of Federation citizens outweighs the needs of the crew of one freighter. This would be why Saveron is a career medical officer, not a command trainee.
-
1
-
-
HAWKEYE: You are dismissed to your quarters, Lieutenant. ::He nodded to the Vulcan.:: And as you seem to have taken care of our primary patient. I have some bacterial cultures to attend to. A line of bacteria that, it would seem, can allegedly be traced back to nineteenth century Earth.
HAWKEYE: I believe it is called 'sourdough'.
Made me laugh. I was fully expecting some strange disease.
-
Thank you everyone, it's good to be back.
I was most enjoying simming with you, Skyfire and Vincent. All the best for your new posting!
-
The stars sparkled brilliantly overhead, their cold light crystal clear in the thin atmosphere of the world on which they stood. A sharp, cold wind blew, ruffling hair and heavy fabric meant to ward off the chill. Two figures stood upon a hill overlooking a plain, sillouhetted against the glowing horizon that heralded the coming of the sun.
"I admit it, I never thought I’d see it happen.” One of the figures said. Her dark hair flowed down to the sharply squared shoulders of a heavy jacket that narrowed to a trim waist, padded trousers and high boots with gleaming buckles.
"May I enquire as to the reason for your doubt?” The other asked. Tall and spare, clad in heavy, flowing robes embroidered with geometric patterns. He turned to look at his companion, the growing light outlining sharp features.
She met his gaze for a moment, her frown stark against the light of promised dawn, before she looked once more out over the valley below. “Because it faced so much opposition; from both sides.” She said plainly. So much so that it was a miracle it had come to pass; perhaps it said something about those determined few who had argued for it.
"Yet it was the most logical and expedient solution.” He pointed out, followed her gaze. Below them on the dry plain squatted an orderly collection of pre-fab buildings arranged around a central space which was currently occupied by a large variety of crates containing all those things the new colony would need to get established. The buildings were furnished and ready for habitation, and beyond them fields had been mapped out for farming.
"Not everyone’s as fething obsessed with logic as you people.” The woman grumbled.
“Indeed, yet logic has the advantage of being undeniable.” Her companion pointed out, a dry tone in his voice.
“’You can agree with me, or you can be wrong’ eh?” She paraphrased. “You have no idea how annoying that gets.”
He didn’t deign to respond. They watched the sun crest the distant hills in silence until her communicator sprang to life.
*\/* “Subcommander Tayel to Commandant Loran.” *\/*She activated her communicator. *\/* “Loran here, are we on schedule?” *\/*
*\/* “Yes ma’am. The first transport shuttles are dropping out of orbit now. ETA on Outpost One is 08:75 local time.” *\/*
*\/*”Understood. I will meet the shuttles.” *\/*
*\/* “Yes ma’am. Tayel out.” *\/*
As the communication ended a small dot became visible above the horizon, against the light of the morning sun. It was shortly followed by several more. “Well, this is it, there’s no turning back. No second thoughts, Ambassador Saveron?” She asked her taller companion. The growing light from the rising sun cast shadows off the V-shaped ridge above her upturned brows, highlighted a pointed ear and warmed her sallow skin.
“None, Commandant.” Her pale faced companion confirmed. They spoke an ancient language his people called Traditional Golic Vulcan. Now primarily a ritual language it was never the less the only tongue they truly had in common, and had become a lingua franca in the negotiations. He considered her question before raising one upswung brow. “Should there be?” He asked, curious. The freezing wind picked up, stirring his dark hair and nipping at his pointed ears until he raised the cowl of his robes.
“There are plenty of people who would baulk at having their ancient enemies as their neighbours.” She pointed out, a dark amusement in her tone. Beneath her boots the dry rock crunched and crumbled as she shifted her weight; the cold air didn't bother her as much.
“You were never our enemies. The Star Empire made war with the Federation at times certainly, but Romulans and Vulcans are ‘two sides of the same coin’,” that was an expression he’d picked up from spending too much time around aliens, “we are kin.”
The Commandant of the new Romulan colony snorted. “There are plenty of people on both sides who would hate to hear you say that.”
Saveron shrugged. “There is no logical reason to perpetuate disagreement for it’s own sake. Your people were in need of a new homeworld; t’Khut was already being terraformed.” The course of action had been logical, at least to some. Alas that even amongst a people who prided themselves on their adherance to reason, there were those who could not let go of old wounds.
She snorted and stalked off down the slope of the hill towards the settlement. “It was being terraformed by Vulcans for Vulcans; there were plenty in the Vulcan High Council who didn’t want to give it up, didn't want us living in the same system.” She pointed out. It was all working too well, surely there had to be a catch somewhere. She had an instinct for upcoming trouble and it was telling her it would be there in spades.
Both of them were breathing noticeably in the very thin air, although given the greater oxygen affinity of cuproglobin they could both compensate acceptably. Any red-blooded visitor to t’Khut would require tri-ox injections or an oxygen mask until the atmosphere thickened. It was enough that the first hardly Romulan souls could make planetfall.
“The alternative would have been accepting you as refugees onto t’Khasi, and other Federation worlds.” He pointed out, using his people’s name for their own planet. “Would you have found that preferable?” He enquired.
“Scattering the remaining Romulans across Federation space until we lose our cultural identity? We could never have condoned that.” Loran shook her head. “There are plenty who say that we should not condone this.” She said, gesturing around them.
"Indeed. You could, of course, settle on a planet outside of the Federation.” Saveron pointed out evenly as they walked, their footfalls waking little puffs of dust from the dry ground.
“And be picked off slowly by the Klingons, the Breen and whoever else sought to take advantage of the catastrophe?” Loran retorted. “That’s not much of a choice.” And that was what those of her people who did not desire to go down in a blaze of glory had needed to face.
“Yet it is a choice, one which you have been free to make.” The Vulcan responded placidly. “Freedom to choose includes taking responsibility for the consequences of your choices.” It was an aspect of freedom that some preferred to forget. “Here you are safe, you may gather as many refugees as you will, and providing that you adhere to the laws of the Federation you may construct your society as you see fit.”
“There are many who will not want to have anything to do with the Federation; who blame your people for not stopping the destruction of Romulus.” She said darkly.
“I cannot comment on the issue.” And he would not. He hadn’t been on Vulcan when he decision to send the red matter ship had been made. The Romulans claimed the Vulcans could have sent the ship sooner; the Vulcan High Council maintained that it was a miracle that they had the appropriate technology at all and if the Romulans hadn’t been so busy expanding their Empire they might have turned their attention to defusing the stellar bomb sitting on their doorstep. All couched in appropriately logical and diplomatic terms, of course. It was an argument that Saveron, well aware of Loran’s penchant for playing Devil’s Advocate, did not care to get into.
There were still remnants of the Romulan Star Empire causing trouble beyond Federation space, determined to live in remembered glory and make their mark out there somewhere. But there were just as many who preferred not to go down fighting, who chose a chance to live and raise their children in peace.
For all her internal conflict and the conflict of her people, Loran was one of them. “It’s going to be strange, seeing Yel and t’Khasi in the sky.” She commented idly. Yel rising was a sight her people hadn’t seen for two thousand years. “The ice asteroids will continue to be brought, won’t they?” She asked suddenly. If the mining droids stopped bringing the life-giving water, the colonists would be doomed.
“All terraforming efforts will continue as per the accelerated schedule.” Saveron assured her.
T’Khut was the smaller, cooler twin of t’Khasi or Ti'Valka'ain to use the ancestral term; the planet that aliens called Vulcan. It had been a Class G world with a thin, carbon-dioxide atmosphere that the massive algal tanks fed with asteroid ice water were converting rapidly into oxygen and sugars that could be used as a food source. Hardy plants from a variety of sources were beginning to be established by the environmental engineers, and a precious few Romulan plant specimens were housed in a large glass-house laboratory until such time as they could be introduced into the environment. Over time the water would keep arriving, the atmosphere would thicken and the world would warm. It would be a temperate world, much like Romulus had been, one day.
He wondered whether it would be possible to ever fully satisfy Loran’s suspicious nature. “The water reservoir for Settlement One has been completed and tested. The asteroid processing and water tanker station is in orbit and will be turned over to Romulan control once sufficient staff have been trained in it’s usage. Survival supplies have been provided, and industrial replicators are inbound on the next equipment shipment, along with further agricultural and building supplies.” Saveron ticked off the most recent developments. “You may do with them what you will.”
“What we will.” Loran echoed as they reached the level ground at the foot of the hill. “Will we really be left to our own devices? To live as we have lived?” She asked him. “We left for a reason; we will not become Vulcans!” She insisted! There were many who maintained this was a front by the Vulcans for a staged cultural assimilation.
“Affirmative. Romulan culture is now endangered and must be preserved. You may control who does and does not enter your world. As a people you have as much right to freedom, peace and prosperity as any other.” He replied.
“There are many who wouldn’t agree.” She pointed out. Plenty of people and indeed whole species had reason to hate the Romulans.
Again Saveron shrugged. “This is not their system.” He said in turn. The decision had not been one made by the Federation as a whole – though they had condoned it. Since the planet with within Vulcan space, the act of gifting it had belonged to the High Council. Reparation for past wrongs perhaps? Or one step towards cultural assimilation, as Loran feared?
“There are plenty of Vulcans who wouldn’t agree either.” She insisted. “Why did you champion our cause?” She asked suddenly, curious, turning to look at him.
He gave her a long, thoughtful look from grey eyes. “Because I believe that all sentient life has the right to exist, to live and to grow, in accordance with it’s own mores and free from fear or persecution. Because one cannot hold an entire race accountable for the actions of a few of it’s members. Because, if the tables were turned, I would want the same to be done for us.” He told her honestly.
It still didn’t make sense to Loran, raised in a militaristic society. “Don’t you worry that we could become a threat to you?” She asked as, in the near distance, the first refugee transport touched down on t’Khut soil at the edge of the settlement.
Saveron stopped where they stood, not intending to enter the new settlement at this time. He wondered for a moment whether Loran's people would ever trust his, and whether they would ever be trusted in turn. However he refused to be drawn on any personal concerns. “We are protected by Federation treaty.” The Vulcan replied simply. “This world will prove challenging enough for you that you will not need to seek challenge beyond. It is not a kind world, but it is livable.” Much like t’Kashi itself.
Lorna snorted and shook her head, took a few steps further then paused and looked around her, taking in the dusty hills, the pre-fabbed settlement and the first settlers disembarking. “I still don’t understand why you did it.” She called back. “There’s two thousand years of bad blood between our peoples. If the tables had been turned we would not have done the same!”
Saveron regarded her solemnly for a moment, looked over at the new settlers and back again to Loran. “That is, perhaps, the greatest reason why we did.”
-
Congratulations and welcome to the fleet.
-
I've just noticed that a lot of thje Top Sims previous entries seem to have been moved to the Writing Challenges Hall of Fame by mistake. Perhaps one of our omnipotent overlords could move them to the correct Hall of Fame?
-
Congratulations and welcome to the fleet Ensign Fleming.
-
Congratulations Ensign Atwood and welcome to the fleet. I hope you enjoy simming with us.
-
Congratulations and welcome to the fleet.
-
Congratulations Ensigns! It was an excellent class.
-
I personally fail to see how marriage is the organisation's business, save in that hopefully they would post married couples together. Now if they were Federation Marriage Regulations, that might be different, and they would be a lot more open and allow for cultural variation, I think.
-
I'd be more than happy to see alien species that were previously touched upon developed to a much greater degree. It adds depth to the Star Trek universe.
-
I would definately like to see more aliens that are alien, not humans with funny ridges stuck on their faces. Different cultures, different ways of living.
-
I like the idea of continuity in the future uniforms, but one problem with adopting a uniform that is not seen much in canon is that it will make the making of avatars much more difficult, as it will be difficult to find sufficient screen-shots of the uniforms to paste onto people.
For that reason I prefer to stay with the First Contact uniforms.
-
((Zell’s Quarters - Deck 6))
Zell: Just a moment!
:: Another deep breath and a gaze out of the window later, he walked over and pushed the button to allow entry. The doors slid open… ::
::To reveal the only Brekkian Betazoid hybrid on the ship. She was wearing her gold tank-top and her black slacks and boots, her arms were crossed, and she was practically glaring at the Trill. But she smiled that angelic smile that told you “You’re in trouble”.::
Blake: Well Mister “I’m going to suddenly disappear off the face of the universe and then return without so much as saying “Hi” to his girlfriend”, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.
:: Once again, Deven was aghast at the situation. He'd barely thought about the incident on the Bridge and remembered he'd planned to sleep on it before asking to talk with her... but that plan was now shot. He was scrambling in his head to find something to respond will... ::
Zell: I guess I do...
::She practically pushed past the Trill, and stood in the middle of the room, staring out the window, until she finally turned around to face him, the glare gone. Her arms seemed to be crossed uncomfortably as she stood there, looking at him.::
Blake: Look, if you didn’t want to be with me, you could have just . . . *told* me! I’ve been rejected for almost all my relationships, and another one isn’t likely to hurt anymore. Just tell me to my *face* that you don’t like being with me instead of disappearing and leaving me in a complete and utter *mess*!
:: The lashing out was expected. Thankfully the medication had worn off a bit more which allowed Deven to think a bit more, but he was now very scared... he had no idea how to explain the situation. ::
Zell: That's not what happened at all...
Blake: Then where the hell did you go?! Why didn’t you tell me you left the ship!? The *least* you could have done was leave a note somewhere on the system where I could have found it!
:: If he'd been the man he was once, there wouldn't have been a hesitation. This time, though, he second-guessed every word he wanted to say. It showed in his eyes as they darted around the room. The uncomfortable shifts in weight and the heavy breathing kicked in next. He tried to look her in the eyes but kept trying to focus elsewhere. ::
::The fact that he hesitated and tried not to think was proof that he didn’t want to talk about it. She sighed, and wrapped her arms around his neck, her nose lightly rubbing against his.::
Blake: Just . . . tell me that I am *not* dreaming that you’re here, and that you are actually here? Please?
:: Deven felt the same way... it wasn't until that moment that he felt he was really back and in Sky's presence. He relaxed and instinctively wrapped his arms around her, and then remembered she was in a fragile state. His touch was tender but also caring. ::
Zell: I'm here... but...
:: He closed his eyes to think of the words, but before he could say anything else a cool burst of air hit his left side. Deven jerked his eyes to the origin of the coldness and saw him... again. ::
Fitzpatrick: ~~You left us Lieutenant...~~
:: The green-collared terran was pale with dark, sunken eyes. His uniform was in torn in several places and an obvious burn left the man's right side badly disfigured. Deven's heart began beating and the heavy breathing started again. His hands clenched into fists as the terror took hold. ::
Fitzpatrick: ~~You left your post!~~
:: The Trill shut his eyes and let go of Sky. He dropped to his knees and started to hyperventilate as he tried to silence the Marine. ::
Zell: NO! NOT AGAIN! WHY WON'T YOU LEAVE ME ALONE!?!?
:: A sudden contraction from his stomach signaled he needed to get out, and Deven ran to the bathroom. The sounds of regurgitation were deafening. After it was over, the Trill fell back with his back against the bulkhead and sobbed with head in hands. Then he remembered Sky was still there. He looked over and there she was. ::
Blake: Deven? Deven look at-
Zell: ::crying:: I don't want to see them any more...
::The fact that he had flipped out back in the lounge was proof that something was wrong on its own, as was the sudden vomiting for no apparent reason. Now it was hitting far too close to home. Once upon a time, it was Deven in Sky’s position, trying to help the party that was hurt. Now it was the other way around, and this was no dream at all. This happened when they were both wide awake. She knelt down to his position.::
Blake: Deven, *look at me*. Don’t look at anything else, just look at *me*
:: He hesitated but finally complied,
Blake: Who’d you see?
Zell: I... ::sniffle:: I can't talk about it. They said I couldn't talk about it... classified by Intelligence.
Blake: oO [...]ed SFI. They’re ruining my life! Oo Look, if you can’t tell me who he is, describe him for me. Was he angry with you, was he trying to kill you, was he trying to touch you? Hell, picture him in your mind so *I* can see him if you want to.
Zell: ::still breathing heavily:: No, I can't Sky. It's too much...
Blake: Deven, I’m right here. He can’t hurt you, not when I’m right here.
:: The memories were beginning to emerge again... and it took everything he had to stop thinking about it. Random images of consoles spattered with blood, a small room flooded with red light, klaxons blaring at different tones and intervals... it was all so horrible that it seemed more surreal than real. ::
Zell: He didn't... I mean, I couldn't... it was just so...
:: Deven just trailed off and continued breathing fast. ::
Blake: He wants your attention. He wants to feel your fear when you look at him. You *can’t* give it to him, otherwise it will just worse. Now you need to slow down you’re breathing, you need to relax, and just focus on me.
Zell: I'll try...
::And at that, she practically dove into his mind to face a complete mess of a Trill. Through his eyes, everything seemed that little bit scarier, and his thinking process was marginally worse than what it had been when he’d last been with her. Most things were still blocked for some reason or another, but the ideas were more clear.::
Zell: Did you see?
Blake::She sighed.:: I think I’ve got a pretty good idea. StarFleet Intelligence or Security knock on your door when we’re on that diplomacy mission, you leave in perfect condition, told not to tell anyone or contact them – and I know you, you would have left a note at *least*. Something bad happens while you’re with them, something to do with the person you’re seeing, scaring and scarring you. You start seeing things, dreaming things that you don’t want to dream that turn into nightmares, and the only support that you got was from counselors that you didn’t know, and doctors giving you medication that you know nothing about or still don’t understand, more or less making the situation worse. You come back to the Mercury, for whatever reason I don’t know, still in bad shape mentally. ::There was a pause.:: Did I get it right?
Zell: ::finally calming down:: I think you have the basics...
Blake: Good. I’ll make your explanation for leaving. ::She grinned.:: Come on, let’s get you up. I think you’ve had a long trip – might be time to sleep.
Zell: You're probably right.
:: Before she could help him up, an automated message came through the Brekkian/Betazoid's comm badge. ::
Computer: =/\= Emergency, Chief of Security report to Strategic Operations Office. =/\=
Blake: Response
:: Deven forced a smile. He was a mess now on both the outside and in his head, but at least he knew he had some help. ::
Zell: It's ok. I'll clean myself up and go to sleep.
Blake: Response
:: She leaned in a kissed him on the cheek before rushing out the door. Deven, now alone again, took a few more deep breaths. He sighed aloud before once again talking to himself. ::
Zell: Threw up in front of a beautiful woman... classy as ever Deven. Classy as ever...
TBC
Lt. Sky Blake
Chief of Security
USS Mercury
and
Ltjg. Deven Zell
Chief Operations Officer
USS Mercury
-
((Menthar Anchorage, A Seedy No Name Bar))
Harrigan: And what brings you to the Menthar Anchorage, Tobias Walker?
Walker: Oh, just taking in the sights...
::If 'the sights' meant the bottom of his glass then he was certainly speaking the truth. Karen was looking for some of those sights herself.::
Harrigan: Did you see Starfleet are aboard? I get the feeling they're here to ruin our day...
Walker: Yeah, I saw them come aboard, not one much for worrying about them, though.
::It was out of the corner of her eye that Karen saw movement on the floor. With a suspicious expression, she tried to get a clearer look, craning her neck to see over one of the intervening tables. She could see a tail disappearing out of sight.::
Harrigan: Ugh. Just what I need. This place is infested. You see that?
Walker: Yeah, I saw that too... Any idea what is was?
::The barman put her burger and a drink down on the table in front of her, and she immediately seized the beer bottle, downing half of it.::
Harrigan: It looked like a mouse or a rat. I don't know, whatever it was, it better not come near me. ::She looked at her fork, which looked sharp enough to drive into a rodent's skull.::
Walker: Yeah, I think I will go check it out...
::Walker stood, a strange chirp emanating from him, followed by a session of him fiddling with something that looked like it could be in the top pocket of his overcoat. Again, Karen found herself craning her neck to see what was going on.::
Walker: =/\= This is Walker, say again... =/\= ::No response:: =/\= Walker to the Mercury =/\= ::Still more silence:: =/\= Walker to the away team =/\=
::Away Team? Wait, he wasn't getting something from his pocket, he had a badge attached to his chest!::
Harrigan: ::Disbelieving:: You're Starfleet...
Walker: Yeah, did the com badge give it away?
Harrigan: You might as well have had that triangle thing you use as a symbol painted on your face. Away team? You got people sweeping the station?
Walker: I'm not here to ruin anyone's day, but rather just get on with mine and get in touch with my ship... Any idea what the hell is going on right now?
::Maybe it was her newly heightened suspicions about Walker, or just the fact that she'd had time for her natural thought process to work through the alcohol-induced fog, but the first things that flashed into her mind at that question was that tail, disappearing out of sight. It looked awfully familiar. Could it have been...?::
::No. Surely the Ferengi couldn't have been that stupid...::
Harrigan: I hope I don't, but I'm starting to thing we should go see the owners.
Walker: Something must be playing willy nilly with the power grid to keep a signal from coming through... Can you get a hold of your ship?
::She tapped at a button on her cuff.::
Harrigan: =/\= Harrigan to the Hornet, come in please. =/\=
::A quick answer came in the form of some sparks shooting from one of the bulkheads as the lights quickly dimmed. Karen leapt about a mile off her seat, partly through shock and partly through anger, as she saw another rat scurry frantically from one side of the bar to the other in plain sight.::
Harrigan: FRACK! Frack that stupid, witless, tangerine beach ball of a tube grub!!!
Walker: Response
::She locked eyes with Walker... sort of. She managed to hold his gaze for about a couple of seconds before having to blink herself back from dizziness.::
Harrigan: Oh no, no, no... you keep your Starfleet ears out of this. This ain't my fault. I just... ::she paused covering her mouth for a barely concealed burp.::
Walker: Response
::Turning towards the bar, Karen grabbed her half-empty beer bottle and yanked the burger off her plate, sending scratty pieces of salad flying in several directions. As one of the blackened onion rings toppled off the plate, a little furry visitor poked his face out from a gap between two of the panels on the bar and dragged it back inside, leaving only a greasy smear as evidence that it was ever there.::
Harrigan: Don't worry, Starfleet. I'm going to fix this. Fix it real good.
::She stormed a few paces towards the door before realising she was still ravenous, and so stopped to take a large bite from the burger.::
Walker: Response
Harrigan: I'm going to go and visit the fat slug who got me into all this, and I'm going to insert some of his merchandise where even the rains of Ferenginar won't be able to reach. ::She downed the rest of the beer and threw the bottle at the wall, hoping it would break. Instead, it just clattered to the floor with a loud chime, leaving her feeling distinctly disappointed.:: GOLT!
Walker: Response
Harrigan: Oh, you are more than welcome to tag along. Just do me a favour and make sure I don't kill him!
::Again, she was in motion, purposefully headed towards the exit. When she found herself instead bumping into one of the couches a few feet to the left of the door, she stopped, confused, and turned to plant a hand on Walker's shoulder.::
Harrigan: Maybe you could help me get to the top of the promenade?
Walker: Response
TAG/TBC
PNPC Karen Harrigan
Freighter Captain
SS Hornet
as SIMmed by
Captain Tallis Rhul
Commanding Officer
USS Mercury
NCC-99812
Clearly Hawkeye was able to neutralise the toxins however, given that he fed it to his wife!
USS Invicta: Notable Quotables
in Appreciations
Posted
..... Bwahahaha! *gigglesnort*