Alora DeVeau

*snort*

I'm just going to leave this here without context.

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

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

From Avander Promontory, an MSNPC for our latest mission. ((Papasta’s Rooms, Maudit Hall, Gelf City, Gelf)) Grand Papasta Schtroumpf sighed. It could be the end of the world and there would still be paperwork. As evidence—his current predicament. The planet was a week off from complete devastation and he was being made to sign approval documents on an expansion of a waterworks facility for Eastern Gelftopia. Well, he was the one who had been appointed to wear the Big Red Hat, this was his duty, regardless of the monotony. And it wasn’t just plumbing permits. Oh, no! On his desk before him were a barrel’s worth of forms, documents, and decrees—all which needed his official seal. Of course, the Gelf’s had technology that could automatically sign such mundanities, but the originators of their laws had seen fit to specify that the Grand Papasta Gelfling had to sign each official edict with his own Gelfing hand! So here he sat, scribbling his signature, all the while a growing nagging in the back of his head pressing him that he should be doing more. In reality, there really wasn’t much more to do. Residents were building bunkers and relocating to remote areas of the planet in hopes of riding out the pulsar. But it was all in vain. There would be nowhere on the planet that would be safe and few, if any, shelters could prevent the radiation from seeing in and poisoning the residences. Of course, Grand Papasta Schtroumpf didn’t tell the populace any of that. No, that wouldn’t be helpful or wise. Sheer panic was already setting in, but if the people didn’t believe they had a chance at survival, well, then there’d be… unrest. But Schtroumpf knew. And the very ministers of government who were promoting the “relocate or shelter” scheme knew. Their last real hope lay in the mysterious “Federation of Planets.” Creatures from another planet with advanced technology and large, fast ships. The Gelflings had encountered these strange creatures before Schtroumpf’s tenure began. In fact, as he recalled it, it was members of the green-skinned minority who had made a first encounter—out there, beyond the solar system. Schtroumpf wasn’t prejudiced, of course, but he did think it strange that hatless green-skins became the face of the Gelf to outsiders when the majority (like himself) had beautiful sky blue skin and at least white caps. All of this was immaterial now—almost all Gelfs (95% by the latest [secret] government calculations) would be wiped out within the week—blue-skinned, gray-skinned, and green-skinned; male, female, and kahale; hatless, white-hatted, and red-hatted. All but perhaps a few Gelfanauts on their too few interplanetary ships would go to the great Gelf beyond. And no one wanted that—well, no one besides Gargamel and his doomsday death cult. They were quite excited about the oncoming disaster and claimed vindication. Their numbers were swelling by the day. In any other circumstances, that would be disconcerting. But now there were bigger issues to deal with. And still, Schtroumpf was stuck inside this room with this Gelfing paperwork, instead of out there, doing something meaningful. Perhaps he would go down to the communications center. The satellite relays had been quite expensive and they had not, in Schtroumpf’s opinion, been worth it. Hardly any messages had come through. Schtroumpf had already been down checking for any news six times this morning and all every time the technicians’ reply was the same: nothing, silence. Still, it beat signing (Schtroumpf checked the next form in his pile) the Proclamation of Gelf Ingenuity and Spirit. ((Overpriced and Underused Communication Centre, Maudit Hall, Gelf City, Gelf)) When Papasta Schtroumpf entered the room the attendant took notice and stood up, at attention. Schtroumpf: Calm your Gelf down. This isn’t an inspection. The attendant was a good lad, a white-hat, but a little stuck on protocol. Schtroumpf: Anything new to report? Attendant Gelf: Response Schtroumpf: No, I suppose it was too optimistic that something would have happened in the last 15 minutes… Still, you’ll alert me at once if we get any news? Attendant Gelf: Response Schtroumpf: Just so. Well… carry on! Schtroumpf clicked his red-covered heels and turned to exit the room. He stopped at the door when a loud klaxon sounded. oO Could it be? Oo Running back to the attendant’s console, he leaned over. Attendant Gelf: Response Schtroumpf: Well, don’t just sit there, play the Gelfing thing! A crackly voice sounded over the speakers. oO I really did pay too much for this equipment! Oo Kel: =/\= This is Federation Starship USS Intrepid to the planet Gelf. We are on a heading for your world to assist with the incoming pulsar. Please respond and give us your status. =/\= Schtroumpf felt the hearts in his feet flutter—hope at last! Schtroumpf: Can we answer them? Attendant Gelf: Response Schtroumpf: Well do that then! =/\= Are we recording? (beat) Oh! ::sound of a voice clearing:: This is Grand Papasta Schtroumpf, ruler of the Gelflings, and you are most welcome Federation! Out status is… well…=/\= Schtroumpf looked at the young white-hatted, blue-skinned Gelf at the comms station, but couldn’t place him or remember his name. oO Is he read into the situation? Oo Ultimately, the Papasta decided it didn’t matter, this was too crucial a contact to worry about messaging optics. Schtroumpf: =/\= The situation, I’m afraid, is quite dire. We have days until the end and nothing we can do will change that. It’s a disaster of Gelfic proportions! Help us Federation Starship, you’re our only hope! =/\= Schtroumpf hoped that would speed them on their way. While the communication had been straight-forward enough, the Papasta thought he ought to remain down in the expense communications suite—just in case the Federation called again. Hopefully, with their advanced technology, they might be able to magic away the effects of the pulsar and Schtroumpf could go back to… paperwork? He let out another sigh. Perhaps the end of the world wasn’t such a bad alternative. [OOC: Tag, if anyone wants to be a Gelfling Attendant and END SCENE (probably) for Schtroumpf] Schtroumpf Grand Papasta Gelf O239910AP4

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

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

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Welcome aboard!

((Transporter Room, Deck 7, USS Intrepid)) Petty Officer 3rd Class Connor Aiden Sedgewick was not perturbed by much. He was in Starfleet to do a job, not to go on adventures or make new friends and thus far, he had succeeded in avoiding both. Some jobs required a level of meticulousness and lack of imagination and Connor had that in spades. He reported every morning to his duty shift at 0900 sharp and ran the standard diagnostics on the transporter controls. Yesterday, the crewman he had relieved had tried telling him that there was no need—the Gamma Shift operator had just run one—but that wasn’t protocol and Connor would not skip protocol. There were reasons things were done a certain way. Especially with a dangerous piece of equipment like a transporter pad. He had heard stories. Oh, there were stories. Transporter clones, transporting to a mirror dimension, transporting two individuals into the same body. Well, not on Connor’s watch. He would do things by the book. So, he ran his diagnostics. Every morning. It was a solitary job—most days passed without anyone calling down, let alone coming in to be transported—and Connor preferred it that way. He wasn’t good at “human interaction” and did not care to get better. He was perfectly contented doing his job, then retiring to his quarters for a single malt and a nice historical holodoc. If he was lucky, his roommates wouldn’t interrupt him and try to get him to socialize with them in 7-Forward. What a waste. Recently, most of the crew had gone down to a shore leave planet for a ceremony and dinner and Connor had had the cabin to himself. That was a good night. Today had begun like most other days, but then, despite his efforts to avoid it, adventure found Connor. He, along with the crew of the ‘Oumuamua, had seemingly been transported in time and space to the 23rd century and a Constitution-class starship. However, there had been no swirling lights or energizing sounds of a transporter effect, Connor was sure of that. And his uniform had been changed. It irked him, a little, to be pulled out of his normal time and place and redressed, but in the mind of Connor Aiden Sedgwick, Petty Officer 3rd class, it changed nothing. He still had a duty to do. So while some crewman had run around the ship, looking for someone to tell them what was going on, Connor had reported to the transporter room. There was no one to relieve. Sedgewick: *Hrumpf* Someone had obviously lost their cool and abandoned their post. Well, Connor wouldn’t. That’s how accidents happened. He ran his diagnostics, as was protocol, and settled into his duty station. Transporters hadn’t changed much in the last 150 years and, besides, he was well acquainted with every model of transporter that Starfleet had ever used. It was, in his mind, simply part of the job. The first part of his shift passed in relative peace. No one came in, no messages from the bridge. Whatever the larger situation, it did not call for transporters. But if it did, Connor would be ready. And if it didn’t. Well, that was fine too. He would hold the line. The second half of his shift had a little excitement. The wall intercom sprang to life and projected a voice from engineering. Arlill: =/\= Engineering, Lieutenant Arlill to main transporter room =/\= Sedgewick: =/\= Transport control, Petty Officer, 3rd Class Sedgwick on duty. =/\= Arlill: =/\= please transfer controls to engineering (beat) :: looking at the console number a few feet away :: console 18402. =/\= Connor made the adjustment and transferred control to console 18402. Sedgewick: =/\= Control transfer Lieutenant =/\= Whatever was going on or needed, must have been sufficient, because there was no additional follow-up communication. Connor Sedgewick moved back to the main console—now without control of the transporter function—and continued to man his post. [[End scene for Connor Sedgewick]] Petty Officer, 3rd Class Connor Sedgewick Transporter Operator USS Oumuamua O239910AP4

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

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

((Starbase 118, Commercial Sector))] CRACK… CRACK… CRACK… Three rounds zipped at him in rapid succession, exploding against stone rubble only inches from Isaac’s position. He had gotten as small as possible for his 6’5” frame, hunkering down behind a pile of debris caused by the bomb blast. The third round hit the stone, and he stretched himself around the side of the pile and unleashed a volley of phaser bolts into the window. Three glowing orbs of hot plasma sped through the orifice, likely impacting on the ceiling of the sniper’s nest. Another sonic crack answered him, making it painfully obvious his rounds were only superficially effective. They were keeping the sniper’s attention, which was the best Isaac could expect. The skiff was almost at the base of the tower, and within a few seconds Wes and Sera would be making their entry. It was up to them to stop the rain of terror, and it was Isaac’s job to keep the shooter occupied until they were able to silence him. Leaning around the pile, Isaac fired two more shots, both zipping into the window and impacting somewhere inside the room. Another reply from the shooter came again, coming dangerously close to him. Ducking behind the pile, Isaac checked his rifle. The power meter was in the red. He had three shots left before the rifle would be useless for anything but a club. He knew his pistol would be woefully ineffective at the range he was at, so he didn’t even consider it. It truly would be up to Wes and Sera to finish the mission. Peeking around the pile, Isaac saw the skiff was parked at the entryway and he thought he saw a flash of a green and a gold uniform inside the doorway before disappearing into the darkness. They were in. Taking quick aim, Isaac pressed the trigger once, sending a single bolt to the target area. A crack came in reply, followed almost immediately by an impact on the stone nearby. He counted to five, giving Wes and Sera time to get deeper inside the bell tower, then leaned out and fired another round. The immediate reply came, and another hot projectile zipped past the edge of the pile, impacting behind his position. The sniper was zeroing in on him, and one error on Isaac’s part would mean his certain death. Changing positions, Isaac took a new vantage point for his final shot and as soon as he was there, he knelt up and shouldered the rifle. The sights leveled on the window, dark as night, and Isaac pressed his trigger. The glowing orb sped through the air and slammed against the window opening in a bright shower of sparky plasma. He ducked back into the protection of the rubble as a reply came almost immediately. This time, the round hit just over his head, blowing a hole in the corner of the stone he was hiding against. A chunk of the rubble flew against his cheek and he felt the sting. Thankfully it was the collateral effects of the impact from the projectile, and not the projectile that hit him. Looking down, the power meter on his rifle was dark. He was done… It was all on Sera and Wes to finish it. Another round came from above, but this one zipped past him and hit something beyond his position. Taking a second, Isaac found a spot he could peer through without exposing too much of himself. He could see the window through the small gap, and from inside he saw a green flash and then the window was dark again. Nothing… There was nothing from the window; no more sonic cracks came, and no more hot missiles split the air. After the consistency the sniper had been firing at, the lack of gunfire was almost eerily silent. It was done. Moments later, Wes and Sera emerged from the door. Wes was carrying the strange rifle in his off hand. They had taken the sniper’s weapon into custody, which solidified Isaac’s belief they had eliminated the threat. Standing, he walked toward them and as soon as he was close enough to see they were uninjured, he allowed himself a sigh of relief. Green: You ‘right? Sera/Greaves: ? Green: Well played. We aren’t done yet. There’s still one. Sera/Greaves: ? Tag/TBC 1Lt. Isaac Green Marine Officer 292 SFMC Starbase 118 Ops R238801IG0

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

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

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

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

Tastes like chicken?

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

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

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

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