Alora DeVeau

My dear, it ALWAYS comes to step four...

That thing, that thing, that thiiiing...

((Personal Quarters, Deck 5, USS Intrepid)) The quarters Avander had been assigned were private (a positive), but windowless (a negative). Looking out at the vastness of space never got old, and he liked to record his personal and duty logs while staring out a window. Instead, he found himself staring at a painting of geometric shapes, a circle and a triangle. He thought it might be something meaningful to Vulcans—what was it called—ID-eye-see? That sounded about right. He would have preferred a window. The crew had already received a briefing on how to file their official duty logs. There would be a copy for the ship’s records of their specific actions, but another, more detailed copy (with notes about the temporal shenanigans) forwarded to the Department of Temporal Investigations. Their protocols would keep certain details under wraps for at least the next 135 years. Still in discussions with the counseling staff, Avander realized that many of the staff were concerned about the stress their loved ones would have in the future when they suddenly blinked out of time in the year 2400. While they hoped to get back to the very time they left (or thereabouts), some of the crew were (justifiably) concerned that that was easier said than done. So the solution they had come up with was, in Avander’s humble opinion, quite clever. They would encode personal messages with a codex that would be indecipherable until 2400 and send personal messages to friends and family along nonrelativistic, old-fashioned radio transmissions. To most observers, they would look like background radiation, but if they had made accurate calculations, Starfleet would be able to intercept their signals, decode them, and pass along messages to those left behind in 2400. Avander pressed the record button on the old-timey data pad, stared at the painting, and began to dictate. Personal message Saturn Delphi Codex I don’t know when, or if, I will return to my own time. I want my family to know that I am well enough. I’ve taken a detour to the past and the crew and I have helped to save a planet’s population in the 2260’s. More alarmingly, there are transhumanistic beings aboard, including a Q. I’ve made contact with Auntie Elmond and have been reassured that things will all work out. Avander paused the recorder. He didn’t feel that this would end up being his “last message” home and it felt off to try and force any finality to the message. Still, in case something unexpected did happen to them, it might be better to add a few more words. The past isn’t as fun as I was led to believe—at least it’s a lot more inconvenient than Grandpa Endic always made it out to be. Our Starfleet delta’s aren’t even combages! He could go on about the technology limitations of this age, but didn’t want to come off whiny. Avander struggled to think of an appropriate topic for this awkward cross-time communication. Without technology and endless access to information libraries, I’m gaining a better appreciation of analog listening. I think I’m getting better at it, but there are always so many different ways to interpret the same data… Shoot—what had started as a good personal observation had turned into a philosophical reflection within two sentences. His mother would chide him for being too abstract in his messages. Perhaps it would be best to wrap this up and get ready for his shift. One way or another, I’m sure I’ll see you all again “soon.” I am grateful for the opportunity for a truly novel adventure—after all, that’s what I signed up for! I just didn’t expect my assignments to take me quite so far from home. All my love, Avander. That would have to do. Time to get back to work. -- Lt JG Avander Promontory Intelligence Officer USS Oumuamua O239910AP4

Well done. I find Denali a fascinating atmosphere and it's interesting to see her hopes for it. Plus the Danish. Must remember that for future interactions. 😉

Haha, it's still happening because Lukin is the best thing since sliced bread. 😉 Great exposition here.

Wes learns what it feels like to be a parent.

Welcome aboard!

Welcome! Glad to have you!

@Etan Iljor's hairdo through the eyes of an alien.

And just when I was starting to feel sorry for her...

Romulans. XD

Welcome! Glad to have you join us!

😈

((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

I've done that! 😄

I love it when we see more insight into Rue.

Cogratulations! All the entries were beautiful (and one funny!). I'm in awe of the talent that we have in our group!

(( 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

((Kel’s Quarters, Deck 5, USS Intrepid)) Seeing her image on a screen was a strange experience. It was so sterile and far away and yet the woman pictured, Millie seemed to be closer to him than even a friend as good as Nesre. Hundreds of memories had paraded back into his mind. Breakfasts, coffees, hikes, dancing. He remembered their long conversations in starboard nacelle control on the Exeter. The nacelle was temperamental and Millie was constantly trying to get it to work properly. He would sit and read to her or chat while she pounded away and ran diagnostics. Even now it seemed she was right behind him, looking over his shoulder. Nesre's arrival had been something of a relief, bringing him back to the present, even if the present was the past. Now they sat in Dr. Sevrik's quarters, which were both familiar and different. Kel: I shouldn’t even be here. The Trill have very specific rules about being involved with "previous lives". I think I've already broken a half dozen. Salo: You make it sound as if you’re at fault. It wasn't of course and V'Len knew that. Rox had blown some kind of fuse and tried to give V'Airu the "best birthday gift ever". Frankly, V'Len felt a simple chocolate sundae would have sufficed. V'Len followed her gaze and quickly jumped up to shut off the monitor where the image of Millie was still visible. With the flick of a switch her image disappeared from the screen. Getting it out of his mind was more difficult. Kel: That. ::gesturing toward the screen:: That's just a ghost. She hadn't asked for an explanation, but he had felt compelled to give one. Salo: Really? She was a lovely ghost Setting back down, V'Len wished Nesre had not said that. He let out a slow controlled breath. He tried to stay focused on the conversation. Kel: She was one of the crew of the Exeter. I guess I was checking up on the old gang. I'm throwing the whole rule book out today it seems. I should get a nice long lecture from the Symbiote Commission when we get back. oO If we get back. Oo Salo: I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you. Kel: It is hard. The more I need Xam Kel's knowledge, the more I pull out his personality. It's a balancing act being a joined Trill. Trying to keep yourself and still use the resources of past lives. Salo: Tell me about this. If we weren’t here, in this time, how would you keep that all straight? Kel considered for a moment and then gave the best analogy he could think of. Kel: Think of it like a faucet. If you want knowledge from the symbiote you open it to a tiny drip and you can pull out what you need. In our time I only ever open it a crack. Play the guitar, maybe fly, but those are things I learned myself and used the symbiote to give me more insight. So I just open and close the faucet as needed. Salo: And you’re finding that harder here? Kel: I…V'Len has never run a ship like this, so the faucet is open much wider because I need a lot of Xam Kel's help. And with it comes a lot of Xam Kel and his past. Her grey eyes glanced back over to the monitor ever so briefly before they flicked back to V’Len. Salo: And even harder when you know someone you are back in a time where someone you loved is still alive. V'Len was ever impressed with the woman's ability to piece together what was really going on. He'd not mentioned that he cared about the woman on the screen or that she was alive and even nearby. Nesre had pieced that together on her own. He wished they'd shared more holodeck mysteries. Salo: Would you share with me about her? It felt like the question itself somehow pierced him. Kel: ::firmly:: No. No I will not. Firstly, how could he express what Millie was to him? She was like a balm for his soul, effervescent and gentle and at the same time she was a force to be reckoned with, insightful, determined and resourceful. He was not sure he could summon the right words to his lips. Second, the more he thought about her, the more he thought about how to get back to her, to be with her again. Salo: Response V'Len stood up and walked to the other side of the room. He leaned against the wall and looked at the floor. Kel: The more I talk about Millie ::wincing:: oO why did I say her name? Oo the more I lose myself. No ::breathing deeply:: I can't tell you about her now. Salo: Response Kel: What else can I do? I have to keep the faucet open until the crew is safe. Even if it means losing V'Len, it's my duty as CMO to make sure the crew are safe. (beat) If it helps Xam is, by all accounts, a great guy. ::smiling:: Salo: Response Tags Lieutenant V’Len "Xam" Kel Chief Medical Officer/Helmsman USS Oumuamua NCC-81226/ USS Intrepid T239811VK2 He/Him (character and player)

Oh yes, that is very much a tired mother's dish!

*snickers*

(( 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

I find this a little concerning...