Alora DeVeau

((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

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

Just in case you needed an option.

Wrong sci-fi franchise!

((OOC: Remember Barlowe? If not, here you go: https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-ops/c/71AO6MJkT-4/m/guejBiH3BAAJ Big thank you to Solaris McLaren for being willing to write Barlowe! )) ((Almost forgotten detainment cells, Miranda VII)) It was dangerous, and if she were to ask Alasafor, he would likely call her endeavour unnecessarily risky. But even if the opportunity had been there, Nestira wouldn’t have asked him - as a matter of fact, she had kept her decision hidden once she had made it, and she was fully aware that she would have to deal with the consequences herself. But how could she not investigate? The Rodulan had learned that Terra Prime had been able to catch someone they believed to be Starfleet. That not only made them a colleague, but likely an integral part of the network that relayed the gathered intel on Terra Prime to Starbase 118. If this network was compromised, Nestira would have to know. There was no use in providing reports that never made it to their destination, and it would explain why Taybrim hadn’t taken action when an escalation of the situation was so… imminent. As she approached the cell, Nestira wondered why no guards stood ready. Not even the door was locked. Quietly, she stepped into the small room… Pain. That was the word that currently described Richard Barlowe's world. Mostly in his head, but the rest of his body wasn't without it either. He wasn't sure where it had all gone wrong. After he had met with their undercover, he himself had gone ahead to Miranda VII to set up a system for getting their reports back to 118, and it had worked for a bit, but on his way to retrieve a report, Terra Prime had descended upon him and whisked him off to a dank cell in some undisclosed part of the station. It was there that the longest couple of weeks of his life had begun. Of course he told them nothing, which had resulted in beatings, and eventually some more serious mutilations. Even though his head was bandaged and he couldn't see through them he was short at least one eye, and possibly both of them. That in addition to the bruised ribs and what he was sure was a broken arm. However just because he couldn't see, that didnt mean he couldn't hear. So when the door to his cell opened his head turned to face it. Someone had come to see him. Barlowe: Come back for some more have you? I've already told you I don't know anything. Before Nestira responded, she allowed herself a moment to look at what was left of the man in front of her. To briefly and rationally assess the injuries he had sustained. To make a first decision on what the best course of action was. Aristren: So you have said. That voice. He recognized it, and he knew it shouldn't have been anywhere near him. Barlowe: Oh someone else come to try and get information that doesn't exist? oO What are you doing here? Oo It took her a moment to connect the voice to a face and to a name - Richard Barlowe, one of the two Intel officers who had recruited her for this mission. Or rather, the man who had been sent to communicate orders that had come from someone else, perhaps the recently returned McLaren. Nestira hadn’t known that he was her contact while on Miranda VII - she had been kept in the dark as much as possible for the protection of the established network, but evidently it hadn’t served Barlowe well. Aristren: This is… going to be unpleasant. Which carried a double meaning. Alasafor was Rodulan, and communication between both of them was easy. It wasn’t without strain, but that slight exhaustion was nothing compared to what it was like to connect to someone who was entirely human and entirely non-telepathic. Over the decades she had, perhaps, learned to make her intrusions less painful, but she lacked the older Rodulan’s experience and skill to make it truly painless. Barlowe groaned as he shifted, cradling his arm tenderly. Barlowe: Or maybe you've just come to laugh, is that it? oO You shouldn't be here... Oo Aristren: I heard that they had caught a Starfleet Officer. I was interested to see if they were right. ~ I apologise for the discomfort. It has been a taxing set of weeks. ~ She approached, maintaining watch of her surroundings. It wouldn’t serve either of them for her to get caught because she was careless. Barlowe: Do I look like a Starfleet Officer? oO Probably not more taxing than mine… Oo Aristren: You do not look like a Starfleet spy to me. ::she paused, allowing his mind to switch between spoken and telepathic communication, then voiced the concern that had brought her here. ~ Since when are you here? ~ Had any of the information she had provided made it to Starbase 118? Was Taybrim informed of the impending execution of the plan that would cost the lives of thousands? Barlowe: That's what I've been telling them… oO I arrived shortly before you did. Oo Aristren: And you maintain that you do not know anything? ::pause:: ~ What information have you disclosed? I will not judge, but I need to know. ~ Barlowe: Nothing. oO You think I would look like this if I had disclosed anything? Oo She shook her head slowly, approaching further. Eventually she knelt down next to him. Proximity would make things easier. Hopefully. Barlowe shifted slightly again. The discomfort he was experiencing because of Nestira’s telepathy was nothing to what he had already been through, but that didn't make it less uncomfortable. Barlowe: This is what Terra Prime does to those they suspect. oO Your reports haven't been getting out to 118 for a while now. Oo Aristren: ~ I have feared this. ~ As they should. ::pause:: As we should. If you are truly with us, you would want the same treatment for those who would harm us. Barlowe: I don't know what I did to deserve this. oO I don't know who set up this operation… but it's been wrong since the beginning. Oo It was a thought that had crossed Nestira’s mind before. She had already switched to Counselling when she was assigned to Miranda VII, and even while being part of Intel she had never been sent into an undercover operation. Because she wasn’t a good choice for it. While a Bajoran with some cosmetic adjustments could easily pass as a Human, the Rodulan brain structure was distinctly different. A scan with a somewhat up-to-date medical tricorder would easily unmask her. Aristren: Neither do I. ~ What do we do? How do we solve this? ~ He fell silent, the telepathy taxing him more. Barlowe: oO Keep gathering information. Find a way to get it out if you can… but be careful who you trust. Stay low and you might survive… even if I don’t. Oo She gave a slow nod, and for a moment, she too fell silent. Aristren: ~ How much longer can you hold on? ~ Nestira did not know how to get Barlowe out of this cell, let alone the medical care he needed. And if Taybrim wasn’t informed of what was happening here, rescue could come in minutes, hours, days, weeks or months. Or not at all. He grimaced, slumping against the wall of the cell. Barlowe: oO Not much longer. Not long enough to wait for rescue… Oo She offered a sad smile, understanding what he meant. Aristren: ~ I understand. But death is final. Your story ends, and all that potential you have is lost. There will never again be someone that is you. You are not replaceable. But you have a right to… dignity. ~ Going out on his own terms, as much as it was possible. To regain some control. To not leave this realm scared, alone and in pain. But she did not want to make this decision for him. Richard turned his head to face her. He couldn't look at her, and yet he was looking right at her. Barlowe: oO I want this to end… I’m tired. Oo It was a request as much as it was a statement. Aristren: ~ I can help. ~ Barlowe: oO Then please… do so. Oo Nestira nodded, reaching for the hypospray Katalina had given her. It was an old model, reused beyond recommendation, and definitely not Starfleet issue. It lacked the safeties that were the norm by now. The medication was released into the air with a hiss, and opening the applicator filled it with air instead. Aristren: I have to inject this. Don’t worry, it … won’t hurt much. Barlowe inclined his head, and his hand reached for Nestira. They barely knew each other, but in their final moment, no one wanted to be alone. She sat down next to him, offering the physical contact that would give him comfort. Aristren: ::whispering:: Safe travels, Richard. She placed the hypospray against his neck, injecting the stream of air into the carotid artery. A few moments later, what was left of Richard Barlowe was an empty husk. TBC... Lt. J.G. Nestira Aristren Intelligence Officer Starbase 118 Ops J239809TA4 and Richard Barlowe Simmed by Lt. Commander Solaris McLaren Mission Specialist (Intel) Starbase 118 Ops C239210SM0

Loved this comparison!

That's his call sign.

Since we're doing a mission set in the 2260s, I would have been disappointed if someone at some point hadn't done something with this line. 😄

Krystal has her pegged at at least 100.

Really? Well now, I'm going to have to use this.

Welcome! Glad to have you with us!

That's all. No big deal.

((USS ‘Oumuamua - deck 8 - cargo bay 2)) Rows of round containers stacked upon one another. Several one meter flat boxes piled at least 4 meters high. The young lady, ivory skin a pleasant contrast with black hair piled into a loose bun was clad in the gold of her position. She pulled her tunic down over her rounded hips and grimaced. Losing weight was high on her to-do list but that hadn’t worked out well. She really liked those banana splits the mess hall made for her… every day. Low to no calorie, but she still kept the weight on. Jean stood in the doorway keeping the opening from closing. She silently and slowly slid her phaser from its holster. A simple glance down to check the setting was all she needed. Set at stun, she keyed the control to heavy stun. One never knew what would pop out from between those containers. Her only clue as to why she was here was the vague order to “search number 2, apprehend whoever was there and transport them (or it) to the brig”. According to the tricorder, what she was looking for was four containers away. Slipping along the orderly rows of essential goods, the ensign watched the little red blip. It wasn’t moving. Was that a good thing? Hearing the sliding doors moving when they shouldn’t be, Ensign Bratton’s hearing perked up. She spun around, phaser at the ready. Doors closed, no one visible. A whisper of cloth against cloth was her only warning. A hand came down on her wrist; the phaser clanked against the floor and skittered across the grey decking. Jean’s knee came up quickly, slamming into her opponent’s thigh. Not where she was hoping, but that was where she landed. It was enough to cause the intruder to grunt and lean to the left. The edge of Jean’s hand came up swift and hard against the exposed neck. Her opponent collapsed. Not bothering to ask questions - that would happen once they were in the brig and had more time. Ensign Bratton slapped her comm badge. Bratton: =/\= Two to beam directly to the brig =/\= Brig Officer: =/\= Energising. =/\= ((Deck 7 - Brig)) Jean stared at her adversary. Human, dishwater blond, and cute in a pixie way. Obviously a woman, she wasn’t wearing a uniform but that could be because she was off-duty. Or she shouldn’t be on the ‘Oumuamua in the first place. Bratton: Who are you? The brig attendant had beamed her into the cell behind the force field that would hold her until Jean’s superior arrived. The intruder stood still with no expression. To Bratton’s inexperienced eyes, it looked like she was waiting. She didn’t seem alarmed at her predicament. Nor did she appear nervous. And just as Jean was going to ask another question (that probably would never be answered anyway) the woman was gone. No shimmering beam, no warning. Placing a finger to her lips, the ensign wondered if she should contact the chief - Kessler? Or maybe the XO. This would be his purview. While pondering, the brig officer was making his own report. Brig officer Alton: ::to jean as his fingers sailed over his console:: She stole an engineering toolbox. ::pause:: That could explain why we’re missing one. Jean relaxed, leaning against the brig controls. Shore leave was almost over and they'd be starting a new mission. That was when she could return to her normal activities: relaxing. —————————— Ensign Jean Bratton Security officer Lt. (jg) Toz Medical Officer USS ‘Oumuamua T239811T14