Sal Taybrim
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((Corridor, USS Constitution))
Maxwell Traenor had both a professional and a personal interest in the subject matter of the social meeting he was currently walking towards. Chip Foley, an engineer that Maxwell had known since they had both graduated from the Academy (improbable as it was that a Commander and an Ensign shared an Academy graduation), had extended him an invitation for coffee. Now, Maxwell was always down for a good caffeine jolt, but Chip had described his process for extracting that dark brew with an exuberance that exceeded even his usual superhuman excitement, and it was infectious. The scientist in him wanted to know how exactly a brewing process, homogenous across many civilizations and stagnant for centuries, could possibly be enhanced.
In this day and age of post-scarcity, where a replicator in every room made every culinary whim available at the simplest voice command, a personal touch was rare. Therefore, a hand-drawn coffee deserved a similarly thoughtful accompaniment. Unlike others on the ship, Maxwell had zero culinary skills. He had dined at the tables of friends aboard the Conny and beyond who could be artistic in whipping up savory or sweet concoctions in their spare times, however those skills were forever beyond Maxwell’s capabilities. Therefore, he leaned on the skills of others to bridge his deficiency. When he had found out that the confectionaries at the Brew Continuum were handmade and baked in-house, Traenor made that his de facto source for a visitor’s gift to this social event - a box of caramel tarts that he felt would compliment any good brew of joe.
Rounding the corner, Traenor saw the door to Chip’s quarters, and was pleased to see that he was neither early nor fashionably late. Mr Foley struck him as the type who would appreciate punctuality, he mused with humor. Most engineers were a stickler for details, a professional trait surely, but Chip… well, Chip certainly took the engineer stereotypes to a whole other level. Chuckling, Maxwell rang the buzzer located next to the quarters door.
((Personal Quarters - USS Constitution))
Normally Chip's quarters were - well, not MESSY, certainly. Not chaotic. That was anathema to him. But they were very BUSY. Chip tended to utilize every inch of his living area, with his expansive modular workbench and his meticulously organized tools and his enclosed safety field for more energetic experimentation and his elaborate floating kal-toh set and his virtual computing rig and his microaeronautic drone combat sim table ...
... like unpressurized vapor, Chip tended to expand to fill available space. This tendency had quickly led to him being assigned a single occupancy dorm at the Academy. However, it did make socialization in his quarters difficult. Dr. Nygard, his Academy counselor, had worked with him extensively on this topic.
"Chip, people need more than the exact surface area required to sit in one place free if they're going to visit you. They'll feel ... constrained! Trapped! Remember when I tried to come visit you at your dorm and I couldn't get past that table with the little ships and one of them shot at me? That wasn't a good visit, Chip. We didn't have much fun, right? I understand you like things where they are, but you need a way to create more SPACE. You love solving problems like that - maybe find a way to pack things AWAY sometimes! Please, Chip. I don't want anyone else who might become friends with you in the future to bonk their forehead into that floating pile of metal bars like I did."
So Chip had spent the early hours carefully putting things away, packing away the more space-consuming items. He'd left out a few pieces - things of particular visual interest or "conversation pieces" (he made mental air quotes) - and left a carefully-calculated amount of space for free movement. Now that he'd set his space up in a presentable fashion, his primary focus was the hovercart with his hyperpercolator mounted on it.
The hyperpercolator represented years of effort. Experimentation, research, specialized permits, miniaturization of existing technology, security clearances, and the reconsideration of certain theories of phase change in organic matter. He made sure the power modulation was at the correct levels, and checked the stability on the internal forcefields, and then rechecked it just to be safe. One could never be too safe with the hyperpercolator.
He glanced up and to the left, a habit he had when restlessly checking the chronometer in his field of vision, sort of the way someone with less internal equipment might check a wrist-worn piece or a wall clock. It was almost exactly time for-
The buzzer rang. Well, buzzed.
Chip beamed sparklingly bright, and moved quickly to the door to tap it open.
Foley: Optimal timing, Commander! Almost to the quarter-second! Come in, come in!
He gestured grandly with his cybernetic hand at the neatly-appointed quarters, with two entire chairs set out around a small modular table composed of interlocking hexagons, and lots of carefully color-coded boxes stacked at the walls.
Foley: Welcome to my humble abode! Although I'm actually quite proud of it. Which still tracks, since I'd be proud, and not the aforementioned abode. Although an abode can't really be humble, either. Humbly appointed perhaps? But isn't humility subjective in that instance? That's outside the point! Which I had originally. Ah! Yes! You're here! Welcome!
Maxwell chuckled, by now expecting and eternally amused by the running commentary that Chip was wont to engage in. If exuberant conversation was a spectator sport, then Foley would be the Buck Bokai of that competition.
Traenor: Thanks for having me over, Chip. And it’s Maxwell, there’s no pips when coffee and treats are involved.
He proffered the box of confectionaries he had brought along to punctuate the sentiment, taking a surreptitious look around Foley’s quarters as the exchange took place. One could discern a fair bit about an officer by the quarters they kept; take Maxwell, for instance. The current scarcity of his own quarters was a telegraph of his emotional state at the moment, a slight feeling of impermanence among recent upheavals. Chip’s quarters? Well, to Maxwell, they were just like the man they belonged to. Fascinating, amusing, and just a bit confusing.
Foley: Optimal, Maxwell! ::Chip beamed, his silver eyes glowing with extra lumens as they tended to when reflecting their users’ satisfaction:: Oooh, treats? That’s one of my 71 favorite words! The order of the words’ prominence on the list changes over time but “treats” is frequently highly ranked!
He glanced with undisguised eagerness at the parcel Maxwell had, measuring it with his eyes. Measuring, evaluating surface temperature, getting a rough estimate of materials involved in its manufacture ...
Traenor: ::nodding at the box:: I’ve found that caramel enhances most coffees, so that’s what I went with this time as well. Hope I’m not proven wrong in this instance!
Foley: Ah! Extremely optimal choice! The maltols and alpha-enol adjacent carbonyls in caramel are indeed a chemically perfect pairing with the 2-Isopropyl-3-methoxypyrazine of coffee! Organic chemistry is not one of my PRIMARY interests but I did make a fairly intense - albeit highly specialized and specific - study
of it in the course of engineering my coffee making system! And also a broader study of sugar in general! Mmm, caramel.
Traenor took a more in-depth look around the room this time as he made his way towards the seats. In particular, he was trying to eye the by-now much vaunted hyperpercolator. A recent conversation with the ship’s premiere bartender about stills and home brewing - of a different sort from today’s brew, but no less interesting - had whet his appetite about learning the hows, whats, and whys of these particular talents. Any journeyman scientist worth their salt would be engaged in such subjects, he felt.
Traenor: ::unsure if he was even pointing at the right contraption:: And is that… is that the coffee maker?
Chip grinned brightly, which was really the only way he could grin with the titanium teeth. He moved to the hovercart with the air of an artist preparing to unveil his magnum opus, or a composer tossing back his coat tails and sitting at the bench to play his finest étude.
Foley: Behold - the HYPERPERCOLATOR! I took some time considering the name and ultimately decided that since percolation is key to the delivery of the final product then it suited the device. Also I like the duplication of the “per” phoneme! But yes! The HYPERPERCOLATOR! Patent not pending! Totally open-sourced, but only a handful have been bold enough to attempt its final construction! I like to think of that as a compliment to my dedication and engineering skills and not a commentary on my lack of regard for the risk of annihilation! Never fear - I have STRONG anti-annihilation protocols in place!
On the hovercart before the two men sat a cylindrical device, about a meter long, perhaps a third of a meter at its widest with clearly distinguished chambers, much wider at one end and narrowing at the end to a somewhat fanciful chromed tap. It pulsed with energy, and there was the sensation of repressed power not entirely unlike being in close proximity to a warp engine. Chip waggled his hairless brows, crinkling his vast forehead, and his eyes glowed with both good humor and a literal output of energy as a side effect of their extensive modifications.
Foley: May I offer you The Hyperpercolator Grand Tour, trademark pending?
Traenor: ::eyeing the contraption with the measured respect it deserved:: Trademark pending? I thought you had mentioned it was open-source - or did I mis-hear?
Foley: Yes, the hyperpercolator itself is open-sourced but my particular style of dissemination of information on its structure and function is FIRMLY protected by relevant galactic trade law! Hypothetically! I haven’t tried to sell it yet. Although one never knows! Now, allow me to demonstrate!
Chip raised his metallic left hand and extended his forefinger - and then kept extending it, an additional 10 centimeters, to act as a pointer. He’d initially developed the extensible digit function to allow better access behind heavy fixtures and into narrow spaces, but it was very helpful for scientific demonstrations! Eye catching! Quite literally, the one time someone had drawn too close during an enthusiastic exhibition of a theoretical design for a plasma-edged rotary saw.
Traenor: Let the show begin!
Maxwell was no engineer, but he appreciated equipment that led to chemical processes. And make no mistake, the preparation of coffee from beginning to end was a chemical process, which was squarely in his wheelhouse. The selection, propagation and cultivation of coffee trees was the rival of the most pristine of viticulture; precise maturation and maillardizing of the beans were essential; and of course, the solvency of the volatile organics into steeped water with the emulsification of the extracted oils… it was a chemistry slash horticulture lab supplanted onto a kitchen counter. He rubbed his hands together with a wicked grin in anticipation.
Foley: So the essence of the hyperpercolator began with my consideration of how to best CONDENSE the essence of coffee. I’d had all the various forms of the beverage - my father is a coffee enthusiast, if not an addict - as well as exoterran varietals like raktajino. I’d researched and reviewed the science on French presses and espresso machines and vacuum coffeemakers, on cold brews and nitrous brews and flame roast and barrel roast. But I felt there was further opportunity. I wanted a way to concentrate the inherent ESSENCE of coffee, to enhance and intensify it. And so I looked to phase change! Specifically to SUBLIMATION.
He tapped the wide end of the unit with a little tink, and the hyperpercolator thrummed, the lights within the device pulsing.
Traenor: Sublimation! Of course! What an elegant source for distillation!
Foley: Precisely! A sufficient application of energy to be able to entirely convert the coffee beans into vapor! Hence the plasma generator that acts as the heart of the hyperpercolator and certainly one of its more entertainingly dangerous components! It took at least a year to be able to determine the exact level of energy output in megajoules and the appropriate duration for the plasma pulse into the bean chamber! There was then the matter of incineration to consider - coffee beans, like most other organic material, are subject to radical carbonization and compressed ash makes a highly unsuitable drink in most cases!
Traenor: My first thought is, ‘how do you preserve the volatile organic compounds’? We all know how fragile they are to heat of any degree. Especially purines, which would mean bye-bye caffeine jolt...
Foley: Ah-HA! Just so! And so I needed something that would allow the phase state change to take place while maintaining the volatile organic flavor compounds and, naturally, the trimethylxanthine! My eventual solution after extended research was a specified medical stasis field established in the bean depository, miniaturized of course, to sustain the more delicate organic compounds! Combined with a vaporous nitrogenic fixative, this allows for essentially instantaneous conversion of the coffee beans into a pure coffee bean vapor with the relevant stimulants and flavonols intact - and even intensified!
Traenor: By the fates… you’ve basically aerosolized the organic compounds in a forcefield-stabilized molecular stream. It took the heat of a tiny singularity to do so, but what a feat! You know, you could revolutionize food replication technology with this...
That was just so. In order to maintain the complex flavorant compounds in food when setting replicator recipes, transporter technology to break down products to their constituent molecules was used. However, it had its limitations, as anyone who compared replicated food to its naturally prepared version could attest. Transporters were highly efficient at breaking down matter to the atomic level, converting it to an energy stream, and recompiling it into an exact replica of matter at the other end. However, your average replicator didn’t dematerialize a peanut butter and chocolate ice cream sundae behind your quarters wall and reconstruct it in the alcove you reach into. It had a gross approximation of the matter reconstruction protocol, and used inert matter stores as the base to make a degraded facsimile of your request. Ergo, not quite “right’. The same concept was in play when one tried to reinvent the wheel with coffee brewing. The extraction of the myriad chemical compounds that produced a fine cup of coffee was borne of a specific method - mainly, the dissolution of those compounds from coffee beans into hot water. You try to change that too radically, is it even coffee anymore? With enough advanced applied theoretical engineering and chemical sciences, the answer was apparently yes.
Foley: Ideally! The technology for this application was quite exact, but once the guidelines of securing volatile organic cellular chains within specified miniaturized stasis fields utilized in micronic pulses and powered by a plasma chamber are understood generally, particularly by the Operations oversight committee of Starfleet … it would certainly make using a replicator more energy consumptive, and the process may not be suitable for every application, but I suspect it would make certain delicate flavors much more accessible! Imagine how shipboard dinner conversations could be improved without people either lamenting or defending replicated food or discussing the limited resource-heavy workarounds to replicated food and drink they’d come to, generally with varying degrees of smugness!
Chip was at maximum eagerness, gesturing broadly with both the organic and inorganic hand, moving his beryllium-titanium fingers in delicate patterns as if to demonstrate the enclosure of delicate imidazoles, swishing the extended pointer finger with its glowing green tip, from the base of the device where the fusion cell and plasma chamber were built, to the secured and shielded coffee depository, through the narrow glowing chamber through which everything was theoretically forced, and to the wider slightly belled end with a tap on the very tip and a neatly installed blue-glowing cube that was recognizable to the science officer as a small hydrox generator.
Foley: From here the coffee vapor is pressurized, slowly forced down into a liquid state, pushed along this condenser and into the distillator where it’s combined with pure extractive water created from absolutely pure hydrogen and oxygen, on demand! I once tried drinking the condensed coffee vapor as a pure liquid - and I did not sleep for 5 days, nor could I taste anything adequately for another 22! The INTENSITY, you see. It exceeds the normal capacities of the gustatory cells! Thus, the condensed distillate requires a VERY specific temperature of water at an absolute purity and a specified vacuum-bound micro-aeration in order to become remotely palatable but still maintain its character! And that character, I must reiterate - is INTENSE.
It had been a very long while since he had researched the subject (for a prank on a much younger and much more haughty instructor at the Academy) but Maxwell was brought to mind of the effects of caffeine overdose, or caffeine intoxication as it was sometimes known. Restlessness, excitement, periods of inexhaustibility, rambling flow of thought and speech… nah. He was sure it was just a coincidence. He smiled at Chip, urging him to continue.
Traenor: Well, the proof is in the edible non-newtonian fluid, as they say! Brew me up a jolt and let’s see what you’ve got here.
Foley: As you wish, my good sir! Make yourself comfortable! Stand at ease! Be of good cheer! Oh - ah, yes! Ha ha, nearly forgot! In addition to all the comfort and good cheer, there is some required … precaution to be taken!
The hyperpercolator was mounted on its hovercart in the center of the room, of course. Just beside it, with a chair on either side, was a pedestal table made of interlocking hexagons. In front of each chair was a small ceramic cup, big enough for just 0.5 ounces each, and sat neatly between them was a toolkit with a few essentials that might come up in standard operation of the hyperpercolator: a heavy-duty shielded tricorder of the sort used in evaluating high energy discharges, a spare krellide power cell, an EJ7 interlock, a plasma torch, what appeared to be a field tissue regenerator, and a pair of heavily tinted polarized goggles, which Chip handed cheerfully to Maxwell.
Foley: The plasma pulse combined with the photonic output of the multiple field interactions can be slightly retina-scorching to the unprotected eye! Another challenging aspect of bleeding-edge coffee generation! Make use of those - unless of course you’d like a fetching pair of prosthetic eyes like mine! Always a viable alternative!
Traenor: ::fumbling quickly with the goggles, speaking in a tone not unlike a squeak before clearing his throat:: Yes, hmm, I think the Conny crew can do just fine with one set of enhanced eyeballs. Let’s just slip these bad boys on.
Chip chuckled, and began to set about the delicate processes of setting the device up. Most adjustments were made virtually - Chip did not fully trust analogue controls since they were subject to alteration from exterior forces, so most of the controls were adjusted purely digitally, through a PADD interface built into the hovercart. The percolator thrummed, almost crackling with energy that slowly increased. Delicate adjustments were made. The exterior lights began to pulse.
Foley: The beans are the strongest and most robust I can find - although the hyperpercolator extracts the most essential properties of almost any breed of Coffea Canaphora, the amount of energy expended in its use means that I want to get the best possible return on investment, as it were! And it were, in this case, optimal to use the most intense beans I could find! These were bred by a clinically insane botanist on an asylum station near Exo III - an interesting fellow! We played tri-D chess by subspace for a while. He always led with his bishops! But he grows EXCELLENT coffee. And apparently talks to the plants! Evidently they occasionally talk back, according to some of our idle chatter between chess moves. I assume that was mostly metaphorical, but it’s difficult to confirm!
Chip opened a small magnetically sealed box full of exactly 3.75 ounces of unroasted stones from the coffee berries provided by the mad botanist, ideally not from talking plants. At a tap of Chip’s control pad, a port at the wide base of the hyperpercolator irised open, and he tipped the stones in. There was no point in an external roasting process, Chip had determined, since the pulse of hyperpercolator’s sublimation chamber was 277760 degrees Celsius. He secured the bean depository, and there the slowly rising harmonic of a sweep by the scanner of the adjusted stasis system, miniaturized and built into the strange device. It pulsed louder.
Foley: Payload secured …. And now we initiate MAXIMALLY OPTIMAL COFFEE!
He said it in the tone that another hypothetically intense scientist may have once shouted “GIVE MY CREATION LIFE!” in a lightning storm, and instead of a large knife switch he tapped the console on the hovercart. The plasma generator thrummed, the cart shook slightly - and Chip’s eyes automatically shifted from glowing silver to a dulled polarized gray as there was a massive corona of light, a huge FLARE of energy. Everywhere there was suddenly the intense smell of roasted coffee - so intense that it went beyond what mankind previously imagined as that smell, transcending it. It was the scent of PLATONIC coffee, roasted in the heart of a star, secured by forcefields at the cellular level and made sublime.
Foley: Compression initiated! THIS PART IS ALWAYS SOMEWHAT INTERESTING FROM A RISK-ASSESSMENT PERSPECTIVE!
Traenor: ::cupping his ears:: WHAT! ::determining it was futile:: NEVER MIND! I’LL JUST WATCH!
The two had to begin shouting here as the hyperpercolator pulsed and began to cool the superheated vapor, releasing the stasis fields, the fixed nitrogen flooding the chamber and a level 6 forcefield just 10 centimeters across began to compress everything into the central body of the hyperpercolator. Now it became clear why Chip had mounted the device on a hovercart - it would have shaken apart any moored surface. The vibrations were intense, even with the hovercart’s antigravitic stablizers, like a ship passing into the higher warp factors.
Traenor had never seen a steam engine in real life. The archaic and highly inefficient motive device preceded the scientist by a good 5 or 6 centuries on his forebear’s home planet. However, it was still a romanticized device among humans, so he was familiar with it. Maxwell surmised that in an alternate reality, where steam technology progressed through an algorithm like Moore’s Law to supplant internal combustion, nuclear energy, and eventually M/A reaction to become the dominant energy force of the 25th century, then such an engine would look like this. He found himself shrinking back into his chair involuntarily.
Traenor: ::still speaking quite loudly as his ears were ringing fiercely:: Was it supposed to do ::waving vaguely at the overwhelming sensory overload provided by the device:: that?!
Foley: Everything is OPTIMAL! We are approaching MAXIMUM COFFEE ENGAGEMENT, MAXWELL! Sorry, I don’t actually need to shout since the vibrations have ceased but I’m always very excited by this point in the percolation process! It's so SPARKLING!
Traenor: ::with an uncertain grin:: I’ll risk life and limb on a good cup of coffee. Er, I mean that metaphorically, of course.
Foley: Yes! Metaphorically! There’s only a 7.25% chance of significant device failure leading to possible catastrophic injury and-slash-or maiming! If that! Frankly I was a bit generous with those probabilities, erring on the side of caution! Which I find is frequently the best side to err on when considering possible disastrous outcomes! It’s always better to plan for those in advance, particularly when you’ve lost 25% of your limbs. But behold!
The process had indeed quieted. After reaching nearly 1800 Hz in vibrations, and pulsing with energies that lit the entire room and likely would have triggered alarms in Main Engineering AND the Security Complex had Chip not carefully registered his device with the relevant authorities … the hyperpercolator now just quietly bubbled. The sublimated coffee vapor had been condensed and had mixed with pure di-hydrox, pure H20 condensed at the atomic level. The dispensation chamber burbled cheerfully as the two liquids were aerated together and adjusted to an optimal temperature by way of a heat transference panel.
At last the bubbling stopped, the glows all faded - and there was a cheerful DING!
Foley: Optimal coffee achieved! :: he grinned brightly :: At least based on prior experimentation! Now for PEER REVIEW!
Chip carefully brought each little ceramic cup over to the shiny chrome tap of the hyperpercolator - its only really analogue component - and twisted the tap, dispensing steaming near-black liquid (approximately 19-1111 TX on the Pantone scale). The bald man set a cup formally down in front of Maxwell, moving with that curiously liquid way he had and delicately holding the cup between two metallic fingers, and then sat eagerly in the chair facing the commander, cradling his own cup in one hand.
Foley: Cheers! No, that’s more appropriately alcoholic. To your health! Well, no, that’s not entirely accurate with the effect this has on your metabolism. Oh! No, wait! A cadet at the Academy informed me of an appropriate toast - 'IwlIj jachjaj! ::it was pronounced with the sort of awkward care only made possible by a rigorously obsessive student repeating after someone over and over while not understanding the language, each syllable chiseled and isolated::
Maxwell brought the goggles up off of his eyes and rested them on his forehead, completely cementing the pulp fiction image of two mad scientists cackling over their doomsday device. The actual scientist narrowed his eyes in consternation at Chip’s use of Klingon, which Maxwell had never fully learned and was extremely rusty on. It SOUNDED like something to do with parentage and the scent of elderberries, but that certainly couldn’t be right.
Traenor: I, er, don’t think I know what that means. Or at least not what I think I heard.
Foley: I was advised that it means “May your blood scream!”, although it’s used proverbially as a toast! Although hyperpercolated coffee has been known to occasionally cause pulse rates to increase to the point that blood forced at that impelled velocity over a sufficiently acoustic surface COULD likely produce a certain scream-adjacent sound effect!
Traenor: ::a confused expression belying his words:: Ah. That makes more sense.
Though hardly any more reassuring. Before Chip could query him about what he thought he heard initially, since how could he possibly explain that, Maxwell interjected right away with a segue back to the topic at hand. He took up his own espresso cup and wondered why his eyes were starting to water.
Traenor: This will likely be a revelatory experience for me, won’t it?
Chip paused a moment in consideration of the various meanings of the term “revelation”, and decided that there were a sufficient number of religious traditions that utilized mental or physical challenges in the pursuit of enlightenment - and thus revelation - that it qualified.
Foley: Indeed! It very likely shall! Let us leap!
They both tipped the cups back.
Imagine if you will the difference between powdered milk and real, fresh organic cream. The difference between the recirculated oxygen of a pressurized aircraft and a rushing mountain breeze. The difference between Beethoven played through a small portable speaker sat on a particle board desk and the same piece in a symphony hall played by a 100-piece orchestra. To Chip, at least, that was the difference between standard coffee and the hyperpercolator’s brew - they were the same thing, but one was magnified. Intensified. Everything one considers in a cup of coffee - the acidity, the bitter notes, the complex roasted elements, the strong body thanks to the scientifically-suspended oils - it was all present, but AMPLIFIED. It activated every relevant taste bud at once, coating the whole mouth. And the sensation of caffeine uptake was almost immediate - it was like a hit of a Medical stimulant, like the hyposprays used to bring people out of sedation. Chip’s eyelids lifted and he smiled in contentment, his whole face animating.
Foley: Ahhhhhhhhh.
It was a sound of radiant satisfaction, like a steam release valve being slowly opened. Chip’s energy output was so constantly high that this was like refueling. He immediately seemed more ACTIVATED. His hairless brows rose in curiosity.
Foley: So! How do you find the brew?
Maxwell was gingerly trying to pick himself up off the floor where he had fallen out of his chair. His pupils were dilated at different rates, and the room was buzzing… buzzing? Yep, definitely buzzing. A few minutes from now, when he could feel his tongue again, Traenor would start to wonder why he chose to chug instead of sip. When he spoke, it was with a ragged breathlessness.
Traenor: ...smooth…
Foley: Oooh! You’ve achieved supinity! Sparkling! Ah, I remember those heady days of early experimentation, frequently finding myself awakening in strange postures in the culinary lab after caffeine-related syncope. You’ll find the second cup is much less traumatic, although I recommend considering a waiting period before you indulge! That can vary, of course, based on your particular neurochemistry and your willingness to embrace danger!
Chip rested his elbow on the table and leaned over, peering curiously at Maxwell, his cheerfully glowing cybernetic eyes roving and evaluating the man’s skin temperature and heart rate for display in Foley’s optical HUD - both elevated, but not to any immediately lethal point. The commander was also returning to his chair at a reasonably careful speed, so Chip opted against getting up to come around and drag him up. After all, hyperpercolator brew sometimes lent an intense dermal sensitivity that could make being touched challenging for a few moments after ingestion.
Foley: So! Maximum veracity! On a scale of 0.1 to 28.7 how would you rate your satisfaction with the overall flavor, complexity, and neurostimulation? Don’t pad your evaluation on my behalf! Objective experiential data is the KEY to improvement!
Back in his chair, finally, and trying to re-establish at least the air of respectability, Maxwell regarded the question. Well, regarded might not be the best word. Devoured? Assimilated? His brain felt supercharged, turbocharged. The caffeine rush was exquisite, even if the tremors weren’t.
Traenor: Ooh, flavor! Complex, fine acidity, bitter notes of cacao and vegetals and definite undernotes of terpenes! Sweet toasted sugar notes! Atomic crunch tooth rattles! Wait, that’s not a flavor but a sensation. Hmm, I’d give it a 𝞹 times 9!
Wait. Maxwell didn’t know pi past the first few decimal points off the top of his head, let alone how well enough for off-the cuff equations. He looked at Chip with awe. This was damned fine coffee in so many ways - if you could ride out the side effects, of course.
Foley: Good, good! Optimal! SPARKLINGLY optimal! We are approaching scale maximum AND in an appealingly precise fashion! Explicate! Have you noticed any curious distortions in perception? Any indication of dissociation? Alteration of primary sensory capacity? Also, and this is crucial, should we eat those caramel tarts NOW or would you rather wait until some of the aftereffects fade?
Traenor: ::settling in with a grin:: Man, we have a lot of coffee talk to get through! Grab them tarts.
END
--
Commander Maxwell Traenor
Science Officer, USS Constitution
A239111MT0
and
Ensign Chip Foley
Engineering
USS Constitution-B
C239704CF0
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1
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((Main Engineering, USS Narendra))After informal debriefings with Galven, Taelon, and other members of the science team, Kudon went to Main Engineering to record his report for the mission, as Galven had requested. He sat down at a station, further away from technicians currently on duty, so that he could have a bit of privacy.Kudon: Computer, record Engineer Officer Ensign Kudon's mission log, Stardate 239706.22In the mission recently completed, I was assigned with Commander Galven, Lieutenant Bailey, and Ensign Taelon as a team to be responsible for neutralizing Death Fog, which was stored on Vanokth II. We were further charged with rendering the Death Fog's production facility nonoperational, in order to make the production of additional deadly gas impossible. Prior to deployment to the planet, here on the Narendra, Ensign Taelon had developed unique Death Fog neutralizers known as Breathers. I had programmed the Breathers with an algorithm that in pre-deployment testing showed remarkable success at using statistical analysis to detect the Death Fog, using a modified Kalman Filter, specifically an Autoencoder. When we beamed down to Vankoth II, the algorithm was successful in detecting the presence of Death Fog in two locations, one at the southeast end of the compound and one at the north end.Kudon paused here, feeling the disappointment of the words he had to utter...Unfortunately, while the area of the Death Fog's dispersion was likely accurate, the algorithm failed to be able to fully determine the Death Fog's density and therefore it was impossible to tell which location was the storage facility and the production facility. Based on pre-deployment testing, this should not have happened. I will analyze the data later, hopefully with the help of Ensign Taelon, to determine why it failed and if it could be improved for future chemical detection.Kudon paused to breathe again, as his mind shifted to the fighting that took place. The fear that had gripped him during battle had proved overwhelming, but he would have to save that for his personal log.After we had detected where the gas was at least, we were discovered by several cult members and a major battle ensued. Commander Galven had ordered that only non-lethal force should be used. While this was respected by all of us under his command, it was not respected by a non-cult member Klingon named Asoq, who killed a significant number of Molorians, using both a rifle and a dagger. Little is known about this Klingon, but he claimed to have broken free from cultists who had interrogated him under torture. His severely disfigured face certainly lent credence to his claim of torture. He helped lead all of us into the compound, although Ensign Taelon and myself initially, followed by Commander Galven and Lieutenant Bailey.He wondered if he was remembering all of this correctly. So many events had happened so face and the fear he had felt certainly may have interfered with his memory. To the best of his knowledge, the report was correct so far in the events, but was it correct in order?Ensign Taelon, Asoq, and I sent a Breather into the production facility's pipe system with the goal of using it to trigger an explosion that would melt the release valves of the Death Fog. The idea of melting the valves was Ensign Taelon's. It was my idea to use a Breather, based on the possibility that connecting the algorithm to the Breather's gas scrubbing mechanism would allow it to separate out the silicon and platinum chloride of the Death Fog, ideally triggering explosive chemical reactions from unchained silicon and organic compounds in the air of the vents.When Commander Galven and Ensign Bailey rejoined us, our plans had to shift because of a countdown breach in the reactor core at the compound. Commander Galven, having been severely injured, ordered Ensign Bailey and myself to reach the outside of the compound in the hope of finding our fellow officers in the team rescuing Lofsha, the kidnapped Klingon Commander. Once we were outside, an explosion was triggered, but it is very unlikely that it was caused by the Breather. Before the explosion, Bailey and I were transported aboard the Klingon ship qulCha’par...The success of this last Breather in isolating silicon or triggering detonation is unknown...I hope to study this further...He had to stop there, not just because it was the end of the story...surely more details could be added, but he felt further disappointment not knowing whether his algorithm had worked in the chemical reactions. Kudon was in a variety of ways disappointed in his performance. His algorithm had worked at detecting the Death Fog initially, but it underperformed expectations. And he had no idea if the second use of the algorithm in triggering an explosion had worked at all. Then it crept into his mind again how his fear in battle had rattled him so much, leading him to overestimate the chances of success and not think through all the consequences of his decisions. This had come out in a sudden burst of a sort of confession to Galven down on the planet. He wanted to process of all his feelings about this in his personal log, but right now it was all too much. Kudon closed his eyes and took two minutes to do Vulcan meditation. He opened his eyes and left engineering to find some distraction.NT
Ensign Kudon
Starbase 118 Ops
Engineering Officer
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((IKS qulCha’par, Shuttlebay))
Korv had made it to the qulCha'par's shuttlebay unnoticed and he was just outside in the corridor looking at a bundle of wires spilling out of the door lock panel that he had pried off using his trusty dagger.
Korv: ::irritatedly under his breath:: Argh, more locks to open. What did the old bat say again? ::scratches his chin:: Red and blue...
Brainpower was not Korv’s strong suit and now his right arm was broken he was not being delicate with the wires either. He punched the wall with his good hand and proceeded to simply rip all the wiring out.
To his surprise the shuttle bay doors opened and he rushed inside, glancing around to quickly find cover. There shouldn’t be any opposition there yet, but just in case. You never knew-- he had heard those Starfleet officers were like nasty rodents... they are everywhere and hard to get rid of.
Luckily there was no-one. The shuttle bay was deserted. At the far side of the room stood a small craft.
Korv: ::huffs:: Just my luck. A flying tin!
It didn’t really matter that the shuttle was the tiniest he’d ever seen, barely room for two people, it would serve his purpose, to escape and limp back to the Cult’s main hideout. There he could warn them of the events, and after that, hopefully let him live to fight in the name of Molor once more.
Leaning against the outside of the tiny shuttle, he took a minute to examine his broken arm. He had left a messy trail of pink blood, dripping from a wound that - he only noticed now - had a piece of bone sticking out of it. Back in the test facility, the rush of battle had numbed all pain but now, even though he would never admit it out loud, he felt pain.
He made a rip in his uniform shirt and tucked his hand inside to support it like a makeshift sling.
Then he felt a tremor starting to build up. It resonated in the floor and the walls. He knew exactly what it was - the qulCha’par’s engines were ramping up.
Korv: oO Hopefully this flying tin is too insignificant to have any extra security on it. Oo
Resolutely he got back to his feet. He had to move quickly now to be ready if his escape was going to be successful. The shields could only be raised if the large vessel was high enough up from the ground and when they did, he would smash to pieces on the inside of the invisible containment field. Korv wasn’t smart, but this he knew.
Korv: ::plonks himself down on the pilot seat and taps the console:: Let’s see. Good. Not long now. Hopefully I will be gone before anyone realises.
A flick of a switch initiated the opening of the shuttle bay door. The screech of an alert sounded throughout the bay and to Korv it seemed as if the door was opening in the slowest way ever, as if it was taunting him on purpose.
Korv: ::yells frustratedly and smashes his fist down:: Aaargh! Open, you stupid door, or I will blast my way out!
There were no weapons on the tiny flying tin and he knew it. Still, he was angry and screaming felt good. He held his hand over the power controls, ready to speed off.
When the tiny shuttle finally did shoot away, like a cork out of a bottle of fermented bloodwine, he realized he wasn’t all that far away from the ground at all yet. He was speeding towards the test facility, that was crumbling and nearly falling apart.
Computer: Pull up. Terrain. Pull up.
Korv: I can see that. Shut up! ::punches the controls frantically with one hand in an attempt to raise the little craft’s altitude::
It was working, he was on course to just skim over the top and have a clear getaway. He allowed himself to sit back more comfortably in the pilot seat and let out a loud relieved laugh.
Korv: Ha ha ha! Honor is useless. Survival of the fit-- ::eyes wide with horror and mouth breathlessly open::
As it was passing low over the top of the building’s large dome, a wall of flame and debris shot up from the production compound. There was no time to react and the tiny shuttle flew right into it, completely being engulfed by the explosion. It didn’t come out of the other side, not even a trace.
Bullying only works when you know your target is not capable of fighting back. Ironically, being bullied in his past had made Korv a bitter and cowardly bully himself and drove him to join the Cult of Molor, a group of Klingons who ruthlessly terrorized their own kind to gain support for their twisted ideals.
He had helped kill and torture countless people in the name of the Cult in the misguided hope that someone, someday would be proud of his achievements. It was all he really wanted. But who could be proud of a broken honorless lost soul like Korv.(END)--KorvKlingon follower of the Cult of Molor
simmed by
Ens. Romyana Casparian
Engineering OfficerStarbase 118 Ops - USS Narendra
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Congratulations and welcome (and welcome back!) it’s fantastic to have you with us!
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Welcome everyone!! I’m thrilled to have you all joining the fleet!
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The Bajoran wasn’t exactly having the time of his life. Day one out of the Academy and onto a starship, he was being fired upon by Klingons, outnumbered, amongst confusing circumstances, among new people he’d barely gotten the chance to get to know (boo) before having to work with them. Not exactly a first day other officers might’ve asked for. Maybe they’d ask for a little tour, meet a few people, make contacts and friedns. He’d had time to do absolutely none of those things…
But surprisingly, he found that he was fine with that. The Prophets willed everything to happen – tests were everywhere if one bothered to look. This one was ending, just barely it seemed, and it seemed that he and his shipmates were a proverbial inch away from passing. And that made him smile.Welcome to Ops! You'll fit right in! 😄
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Slight warning - Klingon justice is pretty dramatically dark, but this was a fantastic read to the end of a very nasty villain!
((IKS qulCha’par – Interior))
Luthas picked the cult leader up by his feet and unceremoniously dragged the man behind him as he followed Lofsha to the bridge which wasn’t the best action to take because now his gag had come off as it untied itself when it scraped against the floor.
Gach’ah: Such imbeciles! ::head bumps on the ground:: Oof! You cowards! ::head bump:: Oof!
They entered the bridge to find Lofsha’s crew powering up the ship and beginning the processes for take off.
Lofsha: G’maj, find Asoq, beam him to the bridge.
G’Maj: Yes, Commander!
Lofsha: How long until the Death fog is expelled?
Luthas: :: Luthas shrugged :: I lost track when the fighting started so anytime between right now and 7 minutes. :: Probably should have had a timer running. Oh well. ::
Gach’ah: ::chuckles maniacally:: Any moment now and every single one of you will be choking to death on the gas!
Lofsha: No worries, Gach’ah. You will see your plan in its glory up close and personal.
Luthas: You’re going to kick him out the airlock? :: That didn’t seem very Klingony but what did he know. ::
Gach’ah: Oh, so dishonorable of you, Commander. Maybe you should join the Cult of Molor. ::winks with a nasty smirk::
Lofsha gave a single nod and one of her crew punished the cultist with a blow to the chest to keep him still. He laughed as a few coughs expelled from being hit in the ribs.
Golden light filled the area as the battered but honorable form of another Klingon appeared. No doubt the one she had asked to be beamed aboard.
Lofsha: Asoq. ::A curt greeting:: Friend of my family. I trust you have made the cultists blood run freely?
Asoq knelt down and put his fist to his chest.
Asoq: Commander, it is an honor to be in your presence. I took the lives of many traitors today, but far too few for what they all deserved.
Lofsha: This is Gach’ah, dishonorable leader of this despicable place. ::She waved towards the cultist.:: Do you think he should see his handiwork up close and personal?
Asoq rose to his feet and as he glanced Gach’ah’s way, the cultist snarled and then spat at the Klingon, but it missed by a long shot.
Asoq: Yes! Only the beginning of a fitting punishment!
Luthas: If you’re gonna leave him there alive, might I suggest a cement shoes approach. Prevent him from leaving wherever you drop him off.
Gach’ah: ::confused:: What is cement?
Lofsha: Get one of the cargo weights. The one that weighs 800 kilograms. Chain it to him.
Asoq: Commander, let me have the honor of chaining him down.
What in the world? Gach’ah had never heard of these tactics before. He wasn’t sure if they were still messing with him with their own mind games or if they were actually serious. For the first time ever, words escaped him as Lofsha stepped forward, getting right up close and personal to Gach’ah.
Lofsha: I’m going to beam you into your compound, right by the tanks so you can have an up close, front and center personal view of the chaos you have created. You know, Molor would want it this way.
Both of his thick eyebrows arched clear up his forehead, then when Lofsha stepped away, Asoq took his turn to look into Gach'ah's eyes with his face no more than 6 inches away.
Asoq: I want you to remember that for every honorable Klingon that you had tortured or killed, for every dishonorable act you did, for all of your supposed shrewdness, I was there for the Empire, passing along your every deed. Doesn't it bother you that you never knew until today that you let a spy into your inner ring?
What would bother him about that? He had done the same thing when he fooled everyone in the Empire. The previous cult leader came up to him during his earlier years and spoke off Molor and what their purpose was. Gach’ah was already sold on the idea essentially just before the leader ended his speech. What was even better had been the fact that the man was someone he would have never guessed to be against the Empire.
Gach’ah hissed at them both. More so at Lofsha which caused his action caused him to cough up some blood which he spat at them which landed perfectly between their feet. He was about to stand up when all of a sudden, a colored hue of the transporter whisked him away and mere seconds later, he was now back in his compound
((Inside Compound, Vankoth II))
He didn’t have much mobility since he was still tied up. He pushed himself up as he rested his shoulders and collarbone on the wall, then with some leg strength still available, Gach’ah finally managed to stand. Although how he did that only caused more severe pain from the beating he took from Lofsha’s crew.
Galven: =/\= Just a few more seconds, sir. =/\= Mr. Taelon, come on! Let’s hurry!
Taelon: I need to shut down the full release or this is pointless. Just - give me a moment -
The cultist heard a couple voices that echoed down the corridor which was pretty far away. They sounded like Starfleet officers which tickled Gach’ah because he knew that he would’ve been able to kill at least two people. He started off with a limped half jog, but wasn’t that much successful at really going anywhere, but there were maybe a few inches he had managed to get out of his efforts.
Nijil: =/\= Is everyone in your team with you? =/\=
Galven: =/\= Negative, sir. I told them to head outside towards your location. =/\=
Nijil: =/\= Understood, ::he had to pause to catch his breath.:: Prepare for transport - =/\=
Gach’ah: Transport? What?! You filthy miscreants will not hear the last of me!
A loud rumble which caused a thunderous cracking sounded which caused Gach’ah to turn around since he was actually curious as to what was happening. Not a nanosecond later, an enormous fireball lit up the corridor, then as if sound itself left him behind, a shock wave threw him backwards and he landed with a thud on his back.
He weakly sat up, but there wasn’t even much of a moment for him to digest as the billowing explosion reached Gach’ah which caused him to start screaming at the top of his lungs as he was engulfed in flame.
((OOC-The End of Gach’ah!))
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Gach’ah
Former Cult of Molor Leader
V239507GG0
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((Bridge – USS Narendra - Azure Nebula))After having received a knife in her right shoulder from a foul move of their own helm officer, who beamed away before being able to get caught, Romyana had been quickly patched up by doctor Foster and continued to work. The erratic flight moves in the exceptionally rough ship battle caused her to topple over and brought the pain back.Casparian: ::flinches as the doctor deftly adjusts the bandage on her shoulder:: I’m sorry for being snappy, Sir, it’s just that there is a lot going on right now. ::taps a few more buttons on the beeping console and huffs::
The hypospray hissed against her neck, taking effect almost immediately. The throbbing pain in her shoulder began to ebb and her snappy behaviour faded away with it. She always reacted cold and defensive, sometimes up to the point of aggressive, when hurt or wronged. It was the quarter Vulcan in her that heightened her emotions without ever having been trained to subdue them.
Foster: Don’t feel bad. I’ve been in the fleet for seven years and this is a new one on me.
Casparian: ::gives him a quick appreciative smile:: Really? I wish I could say that makes me feel better, but truthfully… it scares me a bit to know that this is a highly exceptional situation even for the senior staff. How can they stay so calm?
The blue skinned Andorian doctor cast a glance at Taybrim and Maxwell.
Foster: Experience. ::he stated simply. He just knew it in his bones. There were things that didn’t cause him to flinch anymore either because of experience.:: They’re done this before… and lived to tell the tale about it.
Casparian: ::nods:: This is my first time as a bridge officer on a starship and-- ::beeps on her console briefly took her attention and she entered some commands using both hands:: Anyway, I joined Starfleet to meet and learn about new things and meet different people, but I know this is part of the job too, to defend.
There was determination in her eyes when she said that last remark and subconsciously she stood a bit taller. She was proud of what the federation stood for and she was going to do her best to defend it against rogue organisations such as the Cult of Molor who tried to undermine it.
Foster: This is true.
He finished up the better bandaging to ease the majority of the pain and gave her arm a gentle pat in the uninjured area, both for support and to let her know that everything was done.
Casparian: What about you, Sir? ::gives the bright blue eyed Doctor an inquisitive look and a friendly smile:: What appealed to you to become a doctor on a starship, if I may ask?
Foster: Grew up on a Starship, Dad was a Starfleet Doctor. I followed in his footsteps.
Casparian: ::nods thoughtfully::
Foster: What about you?
Casparian: Why I joined Starfleet? Because...::drops her head briefly:: because of many reasons, ::looks back up at the doctor:: but mostly to see all the wonderful things that the universe has to offer, to explore, ::her eyes brightened more and more with every word:: explore places, explore cultures and meet people--really get to know them.
She stopped there, though she could go on and on. She felt at ease talking to the outgoing and talkative Andorian doctor. If he had lived on a starship he must have seen a lot! So many questions popped into her head. Though, maybe the ship’s bridge in the middle of a death defying ship battle, it wasn’t the place to talk like this.
Foster: You know what? If we live… ::he paused, looked at her, realized he had three pips on and corrected himself:: When we live through this, let’s sit down and just chat over coffee or something. Something normal, quiet, not-shooty.
Casparian: Yes, it’d like that very much, Sir. ::smiles joyfully:: Someplace where there are no knives!
Foster: It’s a deal. ::He looked up as the Captain raised his voice again to address the whole bridge:: Oh boy, I think it’s brace for impact time again…
Casparian: It is. Hold on tight, Sir. ::grasps the edge of her console firmly with one hand and slightly bends her knees to brace herself.::
With the pain gone, her normal positive attitude was back completely. And the little chat with the Andorian, who was rather more expressive than usual for his kind, made her anxiousness fade, now replaced with renewed confidence and determination.
Taybrim: After this is done, we have to prepare for the final stand. The loq’Noom should be in place. We’ll take any opportunity we can get. ::He sat in the command seat again.:: Prepare the slingshot, on Lt Blackwell’s mark.
Maxwell: ::To Blackwell:: How far up their noses can you get us?
Blackwell/Taybrim: ?
Casparian: The repair teams are still working on the shields, Sir. We need...more time.
She wished she could give them an exact number, but she knew the time her colleagues were trying to buy them was measured in mere minutes. None of the repairs would be fully complete, emergency patch-ups perhaps. She could only signal Chief Engineer Hael who was orchestrating everything down in engineering to hurry, and be ready for some more heavy duty flying.
Drevas: We could give them a couple of shots across their hull, draw attention to us as we move, sir. Get them angry so that they become reckless.
Maxwell: Ever heard the old earth term, “kamikaze”?
Casparian: ::flicks her head around to Maxwell:: Surely you don’t want us to actually... ::swallows:: collide?
Her eyes were wide with disbelief and terror. She could already imagine the structural damage such a move would make, if they would survive the move at all, they would be dead in the water and easy pickings.
Blackwell/ Taybrim: ?
Maxwell: So we give it clogs tae make some space between us and them and boost what repairs we can. Then the fun begins. ::He leaned back in his seat slightly.:: We drop impulse and pull a one-eighty via thrusters. ::He grinned again as he thought of it like a handbrake turn.:: Then we give her all she's got and go at them.
Blackwell/Taybrim: ?
Casparian: The engines and thrusters are fine, Sir. They can support that kind of move, yes.
Before she could warn them about the need for the shields and integrity fields to keep the ship from ripping itself apart, the tactical officer already continued to explain the rest of his daredevil plan.
Maxwell: We'll be down their throats before they know it. We give them volley ae everything as we pass by and it'll take them fair time tae turn about and chase us. By that point we can scoop the away team and be halfway home before they have chance tae scratch their heads.
Blackwell/Taybrim: ?
Casparian: Aye, Sir.
She was definitely not happy with the plan, but she had learnt in the academy that it was not her place to question orders, out loud at least, and when a plan was decided upon, to work as a team to make the best of it. She began dancing her fingers across her console to get everything ready for their, hopefully, final stand.((Short Timeskip between part 1 & 2))(END of PART 1)--
Ensign Romyana CasparianEngineering Officer
Starbase 118 Ops - USS Narendra
O239703RC0-
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((Bridge -IKS Deshk-Var.))
In light of the Chang-Vorch's departure, the Deshk-Var and Vr'Chok had moved alongside each other for a full frontal assault on the Narendra. Janul gripped the arms of his command throne as the vessels powered onwards.
This was going to be a day to remember. His House and the Empire would be rid of a great enemy.
The sensors bleated as the USS Narendra hammered over the planets horizon at what seemed to be full speed. There had been no warning of a course change, and Janul was quietly taken by surprise at the sheer aggression shown.
He knew the Narendra's crew were far from cowards, but this was completely unexpected.
Janul: Helm, maintain postion with the Vr'Chok. Allow Starfleet to pass between us.
Helm: Aye, commander.
He glanced over at the Warrioress at the tactical/weapons station, the two sharing a slight nod.
It had taken heartbeats for the Narendra to be right on top of them. Almost close enough to reach out and punch.
Janul: Get me the Narendra.
The viewscreen changed to show the Narendra's bridge, with Captain Sal Taybrim sat at its centre.
Janul didn't even rise from his seat.
Janul: =/\= Friends are the family we build for ourselves, captain. =/\=
And with that, he jabbed a button on the seat arm, killing the link without ceremony.
Glaring about the bridge, he allowed his control to slip a little, the anger that forever boiled within him beginning to leak forth.
Janul: Helm, roll to port. ::He raised a gloved hand, signalling the moment had arrived.:: Fire!
And his vessel fired everything it had into the Vr'Chok's weakend starboard shields as seconds later the Narendra followed suit. The comm sounded almost immediately.
Comms: Vr'Chok is hailing us, Commander.
Janul: Ignore it.
Comms: It's General Krala!
Janul rose from his seat, hauling the officer from his seat by the collar and right up to his face. His voice was like the roaring of the gods themselves.
Janul: I said, IGNORE IT!!!!
Great gouges were torn from the massive Vr'Chok as the Narendra's weapons struck home, and the Deshk-Var continued firing until the very last second, sending explosions rippling along the length of the cult flagship.
Mere seconds away from hitting the battered Starfleet vessel, Janul ordered the weapon to fall silent as the Narendra squeezed between them. Colliding shields shrieked all around as the vessels all passed each other by. As the Narendra broke clear, Janul dropped his dangling comms officer and turned towards his weapons officer.
Janul: Fire everything. Helm, bring us about. Line us up for torpedoes.
Explosions from massive disruptor blasts tore out great pieces of the Vr'Chok, even as the dying cruiser continued to hail it's former ally. As the huge Negh'Var-class began to spew plasma and gasses, the hull too began to break apart from the punishing volleys.
Janul turned and pointed at the comms officer, and the hail was answered.
Krala: =/\= Janul! My son! What are yo- =/\=
Janul: =/\= You are no kin of mine, General. =/\=
The link was cut just as dismissively as before, and Janul took his command throne once more. He began to drum his fingers upon its arm. The dying Vr'Chok came fully onto the viewscreen as the Deshk'Var repositioned.
His weapons officer turned to face him.
Janul: Target the Vr'Chok with everything we have. ::He leaned forwards.:: Rid the Empire of this stain upon her honour.
The wepons officer – his cousin Tahl – nodded and turned back to her screen.
tbc
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Commander Janul
Klingon Defence Force.
Simmed by;
Lieutenant-Commander Arturo Maxwell.
Chief Tactical Officer.
Starbase 118 Operations.
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Diplomatize, diplomatize, diplomatize!
And hope my crew doesn’t do anything too insane...
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Great work Ensigns! Welcome (and welcome back!) to the fleet!!
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Fantastic work 2nd Lt!! So happy to have you back writing with us!
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Gach’ah: You are not going anywhere, you filthy targ-headed ninney poos! ::hears the voices again, then turns and shoots::
You tell him you evil nasty doo-doo-head!
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Luthas resisted the urge to sigh. Why did so many people miss his sarcasm? It was because he was a Vulcan wasn’t it.
Why yes, That is exactly why! 😄
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Tiyra: You won’t need this ::she tried to take the phaser from the woman.::
Stendhal: Hey hey my friend, is better if we keep a good and reasonable social distance for now, ok?
Phasers: enforcing social distancing since 2397... 😂
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QuoteFoley: Oh, optimal! In that case, welcome back to Starfleet! Now, and be honest on the topic - how would you feel about SUPERHEATED TALONS?
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Ambassador Class 4-eva! ::Holds on to that classic starship design to the last!::
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None of the above.
Wrath of Khan soundtrack <3
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Welcome back, Ensign! Thrilled to have you back with us again!!
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Thnak you @Dassa Alexander-Dalton! Avenue 5 has been good to me
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- Popular Post
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Sal is going for serious this year, while Cade is just surprised he was invited...
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Welcome to the fleet Ensigns! It's wonderful to have you with us!
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Sal's father is a politician, Sal is a diplomat and somehow he keeps getting promoted... it's certainly not his goal but sure, he'd run if he felt it was something that needed to be done.
The Foster boys? Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. No. Hahahahahahahahahaha.
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That was a very fascinating way to describe something. For a moment she wondered if Yoga made him that flexible and marvelled at a possibility to maybe shrink his head or grow said butt, but then Akeelah realized it was a figure of speech
Oh communication mishaps!
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SB118 Ops: Quotations of the Week!
in Appreciations
Posted
This cannot end well...