Hutch

Huge congrats to all, especially to Quinn for the Great Bird Award!

((Jefferies Tube Junction 1, Deck 9, USS Gorkon)) ((Timestamp: Some days before the Cyrithra Forest Party)) Murphy called them crawlways—Doz called them tubes. Can you walk through them? He’d said. Well no you obviously can’t, she’d retorted, eyes rolling back with propeller-speed. Then it’s a crawlway, isn’t it, he’d laughed. You call it a crawlway, Murph–said Doz–and I’ll call it as I see it: a tube! The truth was that both of those words were correct and it really didn’t matter, but taunting each other was part of their routine. Part of the covenant of their friendship. Murphy had to prod her a few times, and she had to prod back, and through the exchange, miracles happened; relays found themselves repaired, pipes reconfigured, conduits realigned. Murphy was excellent with fiddly engineering. He had the eyes for it, which made up for his shoddy hearing. All it had taken for his eardrums to kick the bucket was ten minutes next to a warp core testing site at the Utopia Planitia Shipyards; like many young and arrogant men, in an attempt to seem indestructible, he thought he was too good for his ear plugs and soon found himself in a Martian Medical Centre, ears bleeding like two faulty taps. A docking of academy points later–as if that bothered him–and a redo of the standard operating procedures class, and both he and his hearing were as right as rain, or so he made out. But Doz begged to differ. She wasn’t sure if it was simply part of his act–a smallprint in their covenant–or if his ears genuinely were never the same. Either way his what? and say that again? was always expertly timed whenever he didn’t want to hear something, and often came laced with a cheeky grin. Finch shook herself out of reminiscing with a lilted chortle and finalised her work on a conduit replacement; a simple bit of maintenance that she could do in her sleep—or in her few and far between naps, anyway. Sleep was a foreign concept in her world that not even an electric shock could subdue her into, as her colleagues Gnaxac and Vylaa had already seen. Mundane work–like a conduit replacement–felt bittersweet. The right amount of it allowed her time to think of improvements, and to consider other tasks on her usually self-inflicted long list of things to do. But too much of the same encouraged complacency, eliciting a syndrome of flashbacks. Memories within which past versions of herself frolicked freely, without the knowledge of what was coming. Younger Doreen’s, all strong in their beliefs that their current selves had seen and heard it all—and how wrong they were. Finch: There we are. Nice and sturdy. ::she squeezed the cover holding the conduit relay firmly, and nodded knowingly:: That should do it for a good while. Her knobbly knees pressed awkwardly against the cold floor of the jefferies tube, and she reattached her patchy hyperspanner to her belt, propped her PADD into her mouth, then shuffled her way through it with tiny scritch-scratch movements. Her white speckled hair jittered in tow, along with her little breaths, as if she were a mole digging herself a finicky but fine new home. Few noises and smells tickled the pinprick hairs of her nose to begin with, other than that which was typical. The occasional scent of warm circuits, woollying the narrow space around her, and that all too familiar humming sound, creating its classical metallic hymn. Though eventually she began to smell the creamy musk of coffee, hearing the distant witter of voices along with it, which wasn’t impossible—It was deck nine, so the Brew Continuum lingered somewhere below. Or was it in front of her? Or to the side of her? And if so, what side? Her teeth unclamped the PADD, and within seconds, a schematic of the jefferies tubes was illuminated in front of her, her brown eyes squinted hard at it. Onward she wriggled till she eventually came to a junction, which was all she needed right now. At every angle stood entryways to different tubes; vertically, horizontally, north, east, west, south. Just her bloody luck. Her beady eyes honed in on her PADD, which started to resemble more of a parallelogram, than the neatly organised tubes that stood before her. Her face grimaced as she peered over the edge of the junction, trying to decipher the downwards direction and where it would lead. Knowing her luck, it would be straight into a depressurized airlock. Her lips thinned. It was a funny thought, but she wouldn't give in to it. Not right now. Not here. No; it wouldn't do, to laugh. Finch: Computer, love, where am I? Computer: You are on deck nine. Finch: Yes, yes, I know that, but where exactly am I? Computer: On the USS Gorkon that is currently in orbit of the planet Palanon. Finch: You think you’re funny, don’t you? Computer: Specify? Finch: I said, you think you’re fun-forget it! ::she inhaled sharply through her nose:: Computer. What jefferies tube is this precisely? Computer: This is tube junction one, deck nine. Finch: And how do I get out of it? You know, how do I leave it? Computer: Tube junction one serves as an interconnected point to tubes five, six and seven, with access routes to decks eight and ten. Finch: That’s all well and good, love, but it doesn’t really answer my question on how to actually get out of it, now, does it? Computer: Specify? Finch: I’ll specify you in a minute! Computer: That procedure is not recommended. Finch harrumphed loudly, then deflated like an exhausted balloon—a state few had the luxury of seeing her in. She took a moment to consider her options. Before her were five different jefferies tubes, six if she included the path behind her, which must have led back the way she came. But the fact that she had gotten lost in there at all was nothing short of ridiculous; it was obvious that she had somehow wound up inside a nightmarish holonovel in which entrances and exits criss-crossed. The Kobayashi Maru of jefferies tubes. The thanks she got for doing her job, and doing it well. Certain death in a hodgepodge maze; here lies Doz. Bones and all. She reached inside a small pocket and pulled out a tiny and shiny container within which a set of dainty ocular enhancers dwelled, almost translucent if not for the sliver of circular mechanics outlining the edges. She lifted each one precariously onto the surface of her eyes, causing them to ruffle over for a moment, before resting on the colour grey. And through them, things immediately in front of her appeared slightly bigger. A gift from him—from her Murph. Part of why he was such an expert at those finicky bits of engineering; a master of anything small and electric. She only wished that she had returned the favour, and built him something for his ears. Here you go, Murph, hearing aids. You know, on account of your ears being all mushy on the inside. He’d have said something about her not speaking loud enough, being as quiet as a mouse, as if that were even possible. Then he would have laughed out loud, and she would have too, and the both of them would have swigged their tea together, steeped in the raillery. One last look at the schematics and there it was, plain as day. A quick turn around, scooting ten minutes in a backwards direction, and she’d find the latch she had originally climbed through. And all it took was to see it through his eyes. oO God, you're a nuisance, Murph. Even now. Oo The corners of her lips turned upwards, and moments later, the latch was opened, Doz's body clambering gratefully through it. -- Ensign Doz Finch Engineering Officer USS Gorkon C239809SH3

A phenomenal, and emotional, plot twist; ((Caves in the Forests, Rogue World)) Taking the device out of the tree, one of the Seconds held it aloft, shaking the sample it had extracted around in the vial. Incandescent fluid moved, shone brightly, and without a second thought, the soldier replaced the cartridge on their ketracel unit with the vial. Bear watched, blue eyes growing wider, as the same fluid from the tree coursed through the intricate intravenous system. Kelley: They thought the beacons were still operational when someone came years ago and tried to, ::her voice quietened again as a Jem'Hadar stalked forward, walking right between her and Lena,:: dig them up. Alieth: It was around the time your father disappeared—::her eyes drifted to the diamond dust that still adorned the young woman's hands::—for the first time? An answer didn't come from the young woman, who only looked down at her hands as if they held the answer to it all, dusted as they were in the blue diamond scrapings. Bear felt the frown pull at his features; the forceful tug of muscles sensing a change in the wind without a breeze to accompany it. Gut feelings churn in the middle. Alieth: I suggest that the tree took in Kelley's father not just because it needed him, but because it was wounded to such a depth that it needed him, not just to survive, but to defend itself. It was not just a node in the system, but a defence mechanism of the system. ::She tilted her head over her shoulder, her eyes drifting towards the Jem’Hadar.:: What I wonder is why it has attacked us now and why it is showing us this? Bear glanced across to Lena as a frown accompanied her bronze eyes, the vacant hollow in the centre of the tree occupying their gaze. Josett: I’d bet my last bottle of rum that the missing Vorta was in there when they were harvesting. Stopping it from fighting back. Fortune: It would be fascinating if it wasn’t so…disturbing. Alieth: Is that... a Changeling? The disbelief colouring her voice struck like a torpedo against a shield wall, the red alert flashing mere seconds after. Slanted eyebrows climbed on her features, and Bear followed her eyes to the formless species striding to the forefront of the Jem'Hadar, those features melding and moulding until they became recognisable. A trusted voice in the unfamiliar terriority. Someone who had asked them to trust her and not cared whether or not they did. Had asked them to follow her, into the unknown. All eyes swung toward their young guide and companion, standing behind Lena, Bear's stomach painfully twisting in fear that the move had now been anything other than out of fear. Lena shoved Kelley aside and the young woman shied away from the inevitable blow she expected. Though it didn't come. Josett: What the f— Fortune:…::she slowly looked over at Ark’Va with wide eyes, letting out a sharp breath.:: You were with them. It wasn't a question; they were far too far gone for that now. In the hallowed halls of the tree, they knew exactly what they were dealing with. Remnants of a generation before. Old enemies given a fresh new look. Solidifying the notion that they were never gone, only from sight. Alieth: You misled us Meanwhile, Lena's entire body jolted, her hand flying towards her phaser, her body taut and stance embedded in well-founded suspicion. Josett: I can appreciate a good con. What was the point? No immediate response came from the young woman, who merely stood back as she watched the events unfold as if both memory and vision had taken her back in time. In the flurry of a moment, the scene continued in front of them, this time of the young woman in the form they knew her, grabbing the sides of a Second's neck and twisting it with a crunch, contorting at the perfect deadly angle. The soldier crumpled to the floor and the rest of the carnage began. Each Jem'Hadar slain one after the other in merciless succession until there she stood, alone and breathing hard, surrounded by the bodies of the party she had entered with. Josett: You... stopped them? Fortune: She got stuck here, too. ::she looked at Kelley, biting her lip.:: You got stuck here, in the middle of a war, didn’t you? Alieth: But you wanted to protect this place, above even your own people, and to live amongst those who were your enemies. You love this world. The statement was a question, a matter of fact still not completely understood by the intelligent Vulcan. As the reality of her situation drew like a knife over her throat, Kelley stood tall, her shoulders back, her spine straightened, but only by as much as her current form would allow her to. She retained the visage of the young Kelley and retained some of the inherent characteristics that made her who she was. Kelley: It has come to mean a great deal to me, over the years we've been here. They didn't listen to me when I said the sap would not be a suitable replacement for their ketracel. ::She looked at the bodies on the floor, as the apparition did. Not with the cold eyes of a Changeling, but with eyes brimming in emotion.:: This was the kindest end for them. Josett: Response Behind them, the apparition of memory slowed and faded in time, as the Changeling knelt by the trunk of the tree in the same manner Alieth had. Her head raised as she looked up into the branches and boughs, before the scene disappeared altogether, leaving a scattering of diamond dust on the floor and the vacant trunk. Fortune: If…you knew this tree was here, you had to know what it wanted, right? What you were leading us towards? Alieth: For their father. Or the one who was the father of the real Ark'Va if she ever existed. :: Alieth's gaze wandered over the dust that had been the man and her heart shrank a little:: Was he really a Starfleet officer or was he just another one like you? Kelley: Verne was a kind man, a gentle man, and that was how he would want to be remembered. ::She looked to Bear and then to the dust scattered, before continuing with solemnity clouding her voice.:: Starfleet is a calling for some but when he arrived here, he devoted his life to trying to find a way to get them home. I… took another form to remain among the people in the village. In time, we had a daughter together. O. Marshall: Ark'va. The single word was enough to lift the woman's gaze from the diamond scattering of Verne from the floor and she took in a small breath through her nose as if the fraught pace from the beginning of their arrival had jolted her out of memory and into fight or flight. Heartbreak he recognised, and in that expression on her features, heartbreak was remembered. Kelley: Complications of her hybrid biology became too much for her body to handle, and Verne, ::she swallowed and moved toward the tree, touching the inner trunk where he had been,:: I told him of this place, and gave himself to the tree. He had this vain hope to get back to a Federation world, close enough to get her the help she needed. It was, ::she smiled sadly and dropped her hand,:: too late. He never stopped searching. Josett: Response A scene unfolded in front of them, the memories of the tree mingling with that of the Changeling, discovering the body of Verne twinned in the trunk and the Changeling there at his feet. Around them, the bones of the Jem'Hadar glowed in the dark, the long-term effects of ketracel mingling with the bioluminescent sap, lending an eerie illumination. Alieth: Our objective remains the same: this planet is on a collision course with our home. We will do whatever is necessary to save it. :: She looked at her teammates before focusing again in Kelley:: Even assist you if it is necessary. As the small Vulcan spoke, the tree groaned gently, a sorrowful cry of a wounded and dying living creature. Kelley, as they knew her, bowed her head as her palm touched the bark of the tree once more. The cries abated into a gentle thrum, the illuminated lights and energy of the sap running through the tree sparkling with her touch, as if her partner recognised her and was still in there, drawing her home. O. Marshall: So many lives are at stake here, not just here on the planet, but the whole Tyrellian system. It won't survive the cataclysm that will come, ::he looked around at the bodies underfoot, buried in the grasses and roots over time, and gestured to them,:: this planet has seen enough suffering. Josett/Fortune: Response Alieth: Just something. The colony, those who came here and those who were born here. They should have the opportunity to return to their former homes if they wish to do so. Kelley: I'm afraid that will be your responsibility, Lieutenant. Not mine. I wish them a good life and, as you would say, prosperity. Josett/Fortune: Response Stepping up toward the tree, Kelley let her form change once more from the young features of the hybrid girl to the middle-aged features of a Klingon woman. The tired Starfleet jacket remained, however, underneath a thick braid of dark hair. Features Ark'va had partially adapted as her own, between those of her mother and those of her father. She stepped into the trunk, into the vacant space Verne had left, and paused momentarily. Kelley: Verne fought against the tree, against the planet, to bring it to a Federation world, to get the help he needed. With your memories, ::she glanced briefly to Alieth, then back to the tree,:: I shall be able to move us onward again. Somewhere else. Somewhere safer. Josett/Fortune/Alieth: Response The trunk began to wind around her, each movement of the bark fusing into her skin and pulsing with the same momentum of energy as the sap had through the boughs. Groans of pain ceased as a gentle hum overtook it, welcoming home the Changeling with a gentle enfolding into the being of the tree, rather than the harsh rejection Alieth had experienced. Bear took a step back as a large root lifted from the ground, pulling itself free from the earth with a resounding noise and generous rumble through the rocks under their feet. It began to snake around the middle of the tree, sealing the Changeling inside inch by inch as it moved. Kelley: You need to go. I will do what I can to hold the planet back and reverse what has already been done. Josett/Fortune/Alieth: Response – Lt. Commander Orson Marshall Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0

"So sharp.... You won't feel a thing."

((Outside the office of Lieutenant Fortune, Deck 7, USS Gorkon)) The day had been a disaster so far, pretty high on Shah's screw-o-meter scale, not so much on the scare-oh-by-my-grandmother's-beards-someone-amputated-some-of-my-limbs scale, but pretty high on the tired-and-abashed-enough-to-wish-that-a-mudwhale-would-devour-me-to-end-my-agony-pleasethankyouverymuch scale. An 8 out of 11, if you were a Vulcan and you asked him for figures, how those prick-eared green goblins use to fancy. Anyway, anyway, he was still sore, exhausted and had slept less than a cardassian vole trying to get to the bottom of a bottle of kanar, and on top of that he was sitting tight next to the guy he'd intended to stab the day before but, anyway, things seemed to be going... halfway right. Okay-ish. Tentatively. Who would have thought that apologising would do any good. But whatever it was, he had just been given the news that the brilliant but crazy engineer who had cut off his arm would not be able to be there to give him a new one (as she owed him). Something that slightly annoyed the hirsute chap, but which he somehow understood was due to force majeure. After all, a chief engineer doesn't leave the boat they're repairing in dry dock, with repairs half done, unless they have a fire up their arse or something similar. He just hoped that, wherever she went, that crazy Ferengi would do well. After all, she had shown more nerve and resolve than the overwhelming majority of engineers. Though, she had very shaky hands as a surgeon. A pity, certainly, but surely he needed an arm. And a GOOD one, if he wanted to keep rocking his career in an Admiral Ship. No matter how. Luckily, Starfleet Engineering School churned out a good handful of them every season, though there were VERY, VERY few in which Shah was willing to put himself in their hands. Even fewer than medics, by the way. So, after he scratched his shaggy chin for a moment with his right hand, Shah pointed to one he could actually trust. Tzim-Shah: How about dragging Commander Reynolds into this? Shah almost, almost, laughed when he saw Doctor Baby-Face's lost, blank look on his face. The bloody cub had only been on board for two and a half moons, of course. He stifled a chuckle with a sigh and proceeded to provide the quack with an explanation. Tzim-Shah: I mean Erin Reynolds, not Quinn Reynolds. The one of the plants, not the skipper. After all, she's an engineer too... like the Admiral, but we don't bother the Admiral with little things, do we? The comment made the kid smirk. Tagren-Quinn: No, but… The Tellarite just stared at the physician's pondering. By his grandmother's beard he could almost see the gears of his brain working,, shifting on one foot and then the other while looking at the floor plates as if they knew the answer to the question of the meaning of the universe, of life and of all things. A beat passed before he glanced back up to Shah, who waited expectantly. Tagren-Quinn: …I’ve not met the Commander yet but it’s definitely worth exploring, asking. The security guard on sick leave patted his knee with his good hand and let out a satisfied and undoubtedly porcine grunt. Tzim-Shah: Perfect, let's get to it:: He paused for a moment, not wanting to spoil the good prospects he had by skipping the doctor's insufferable eagerness to map out everything down to the last detail:: Oh well, we have a plan. The beginning of a plan. A planned detail. Tagren-Quinn: Yes, let’s plan on it. We’ll get the surgery checked off the list first and I’ll then see if I can track down Commander Reynolds. This time, he let out a resounding belly laugh. Tzim-Shah: That's the best answer I' ve gotten from you since the day we met, Baby-Face. A device onthe doctor’s wrist dinged and he raised his arm to check it. Tagren-Quinn: Ah, yes. Right, so I should get on to Sickbay and get things prepped. Tzim-Shah: It's all right, kid. See you in a bit. And hey...thanks. Tagren-Quinn: Response Tzim-Shah: I know, but it is important to me. I have my life here. Tagren-Quinn: Response Tzim-Shah: Yeah, yeah. See you later Doc. Tagren-Quinn: Response At that moment, as if he had invoked her, the Counselor's door opened, and a tall, stern-faced Vulcan (a standard Vulcan if ever there was one) stepped out. Behind him, Shah could see the cheerful face of the Counsellor paired with an extremely PINK hair. The Tellarite flashed a smile to himself briefly before he put on his best sulky face. Tzim-Shah: If that beak-eared goblin has eaten all the brittle, I will not be held accountable for my actions! Fortune's reply could not be heard, for the door hissed shut behind Shah. Ensign Tzim-Shah Security Officer on Sick Leave USS Gorkon NCC-82293 simmed by Alieth E239702A10

Huge congratulations to all award winner, everyone nominated for an award and, especially, to everyone who took the time to nominate their fellow writers!

Huge congratulations to everyone who took part, and even huger congratulations to the winners! And a big thanks to the judges, too!

Loxley is wearing exactly the same as last year. Because it was a lot of effort to get an actual suit made, so he has been (and will continue) to wear it for EVERY formal event until it falls apart. Weddings, funerals, awards ceremonies, fancy birthday meals - this suit. He has considered changing the tie, just to mix it up a little.

Not funny, but quite beautiful from Tahna Meru; "One by one, people began releasing their lamps. Soon, the evening sky was filled with artificial constellations, miniature red and gold and yellow and orange stars filled with hopes, dreams, blessings, fears, regrets. Purple fireflies still lurked around their feet, adding to the breathtaking scene painted from light."

The Fabric of Memory "There is, in truth, no past, only a memory of the past. Blink your eyes, and the world you see next did not exist when you closed them." – Terry Pratchett “Energise!” Blue, shimmering light filled the transporter room of the USS Wells as three figures slowly coalesced. The away team stepped off the transporter pad, their vintage clothing incongruous against the advanced technological surroundings. “That was close.” Larrimer sighed with relief as he joined the others by the door. “Too close.” Murphy agreed. “Another minute and I think the temporal Prime Directive would have been shredded!" Commander Shanwea tapped the device on her arm before replying, the holographic shroud which had been disguising her for the mission fading away until her familiar Saurian features returned. “And that is why we don’t mess around when time travelling, people. We all need to stick to the plan, no matter what happens. Actions have consequences after all.” She turned her large eyes to the officer behind the transporter console. “Speaking of which, what’s the damage, Lieutenant?” “History is back to how it should be, Ma’am. Everything looks fine.” “Any issues due to our little mishap back there?” “I’m not sure, maybe a couple of very minor alterations, but I don’t think it’s anything anyone would notice.” Shanwea sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s not our call to make, Lieutenant. Sounds like we’re going to have to wait on Temporal Investigations to take a look before we can all relax.” Unhappy grumbles greeted her comments as the officers filed out of the room and into the ship corridors, off to brief the Captain on their successful mission. *** Carice sat staring at the wall. It was an off-white colour. She wasn’t sure if it had been painted that shade or if it had once been pure white and had just changed over time. She planned to test that theory by staring at the wall every day for the rest of her life to see if it became any more discoloured. She had the time, after all, as it had been made clear to her that she wouldn’t be leaving here until she was ‘well’. But that wasn’t going to happen, because as far as Carice was concerned, she wasn’t ‘unwell’. Time was pretty abstract in this room. Hours, days, weeks, months had no meaning but they had come in and told her that it was her birthday a little while ago, which meant she’d been here almost a year. A year since she’d last seen him, last heard him talk, last felt his hand in hers. Her brother had been her best friend ever since she’d been born, someone she looked up to and respected and who protected her from so many hardships. He was also the reason she was here – because nobody except for Carice remembered him. Clement. That was his name. She had been with him when it had happened, walking in the park by the pond so they could feed the ducks like they did most weeks. He’d just told her a terrible joke and she’d laughed, raising an arm and shoving him away in reproach for his awful humour. Her hand had brushed against the soft, smooth silk fabric of his shirt as she closed her eyes for a second and grimaced in mock pain. And then, when she’d opened them again, Clem was gone. The ducks which had been clamouring around their feet for crusts of bread were all suddenly out on the surface of the pond and the crumbs Clem had been throwing to them had vanished, too. The change had been so sudden, so absolute, it had taken Carice a moment before she started calling out for him, assuming it was just another bad joke. A few minutes more and she started asking people nearby. The elderly couple on the bench looked at her confused when she asked if they’d seen where Clem had gone, telling her that she’d been alone since she’d come into the park, watching the ducks. Carice accused them of lying which is when they’d called the police. The officers had been more inclined to believe her at least. That was until they took her home and the real horror had begun. They’d taken her address from her ID card but house they drove her to wasn’t the house she’d left that morning with Clem. Instead, it was one street further down the hill and smaller. Her parents had been there but they’d looked confused when she’d told them Clem was missing. Confused, then concerned and then scared the more Carice talked and the more she refused to believe them when they said she didn’t have a brother, had never had one. They told her that this was the house Carice had grown up in, but how could that be? Her head was full of the memories of childhood – smells, textures, the pain of a grazed knee, the emotion of a rare fight with Clem, the vision of summer sunlight shining through the long lounge windows on one of those hot, empty afternoons that always seemed to stretch on forever. Carice had run out of that alien house, her parents calling after her in desperation, and up the hill to the home she knew, forcing her way inside past a startled young man when he’d opened the door to her furious knocking. But it was when she’d run upstairs to Clem’s bedroom only to find it was now a nursery that she finally lost control completely. The world had changed and had taken her brother with it and now it was taking her sanity, too. Someone, somewhere must know what had happened, where Clem was and how she could get him back, how she could make everything right again. How she could make everyone remember. It was, Carice considered, probably the uncontrollable screaming which had finally resulted in her being admitted to this room rather than to a police cell. Carice looked back to the wall. Was it perhaps a tiny shade more beige than it had been when she first came here? Unclear. The trouble was, Carice only had her memory to compare it to and she couldn’t reply on that anymore. Her memories of Clem were fading quickly, like someone was leeching them away. His voice, his smile, they were all being stolen from her. Carice closed her eyes tightly and tried to think of something she could hold onto, something tangible. And then she had it – when she’d pushed him, that last physical contact they’d shared, the feeling of the fabric of his shirt under her palm, that was something she could still remember, that was the one thing she swore she would never forget. Carice opened her eyes and looked down at her hand lying open on her knee, nodding to herself. “I will remember you Clem, even if no-one else does. And as long as I remember, then you still exist. You’re still real.” She closed her hand tight, clenching it into a fist, holding on to that one felling, that one tactile sensation. *** Temporal Investigator First Class Figgins placed the PADD carefully on his desktop. It contained a detailed analysis of all the alterations to the timeline following the actions of the USS Wells and her crew and was the last piece of information Figgins had been waiting on before they could write their report. “Computer, begin recording.” Figgins waited for the affirmative chirp before clearing their throat and dictating. “Our investigation concludes that there was, at most, two or three very minor discrepancies. One less birth here, two extra trees there and some unseasonal rain leading to a small mudslide that resulted in the premature death of a rodent. Please see appendix H for more details. The timeline will correct itself to compensate and nobody should recall anything different after a while. It is regrettable, of course, but maintaining our timeline is simply more important than any... collateral damage. Now, onto the details of the case…” *** Another birthday came around, the third one she’d had in this place, but this time it came with a visit to her consultant. That sat looking at each other across his wooden desk in the tidy, well-lit office. The walls, she noted, were bright white. “How are you feeling today, Carice?” “Good, thank you Doctor.” She smiled and nodded. “Have you given any more thought to what we spoke about last time? About going home?” “I have, Doctor, and I would like that very much. Honestly, I don’t really know why I’m here, I’m sure you have plenty of patients who are actually sick and need your help much more than I do.” “That’s good to hear. And you were sick, too, Carice, when you first came here. But you seem much better now. I think you just needed time to rest and let your mind sort itself out.” Carice merely nodded again. The exact reason for her arrival was still a little muddled in her head. The doctor continued. “Your parents are very much looking forward to having you back home. You’re their only child after all and they’ve been very worried about you.” Something in the way the doctor phrased the comment seemed odd to Carice. She frowned. “I know, doctor, and I’m excited to see them. Excited, but nervous, too. It’s been a while.” She paused. “Was there something else you were going to say?” The doctor smiled and made a note on the file in front of him before replying. “No, nothing important.” Carice absently rubbed her hand against her top. It was a habit she’d developed at some point during her time in the institution which helped to calm her nerves. The feeling of the smooth fabric against her open palm always felt comforting to her, reassuring somehow. It made her feel safe. But she couldn’t remember why.

Cardassians for me, as a species. I actually rate Saru highest but that's largely Doug Jones's doing. Other Kelpiens are impressive, but they're not Saru, so I have to put Cardassians over Kelpiens.

((Some minutes ago, Deck 8, USS Gorkon)) Red light bathed every nook and cranny of the corridors but, mercifully, the alarm horn no longer blared, thundering like a Tellaritian mudwhale that had been beached for two hours in Tellar Prime's worst fishing harbour. Of course, Shah knew exactly what that sounded like, having been there with his uncle, his father, and his three aunts as they all tried to use a poorly designed crane to return the stupid animal to its rightful place. That day, he had decided that he would never, ever work, not even if his right hand, his favourite fang (or some part of his anatomy that he loved to mention stressing each and every syllable of the name if he wanted to ruffle some feathers) were at the stake, that he would never, ever be an engineer. And if possible, he would never work around engineers either. What the hell, he wouldn't get within an arm's length of one if he has the chance. But that same day, when the giant, obese, mud-slinging critter had died partway through its terminal lack of common sense and partway through the inbred inability to come to agreements of engineers, Shah had also discovered something else. That if there was one thing that got on his nerves more than engineers, it was scientists. Of course, absolutely, because fate hated him and the bosswoman was out, and he'd got the short straw in the task breakdown of that particular crisis, he'd had to deal with exactly them today. And here he was, trotting inelegantly through the corridors of deck eight, going from one lab to another just to check that none of those eggheads were too deep in whatever it was they were doing, something stupid like, who knows, counting stars or polishing crystals or looking very thoroughly and very scowlingly at a handful of dirt, to remind them that if what they were doing wasn't vital they should get their pimply backsides off that deck and head for their quarters like the good little lambs they were. By her grandmother's beard, how many times had he had had to repeat the same thing? How had they got their heads so far up their own backsides that they hadn't heard they were in the middle of a frigging energy crisis? His booted hooves stopped in front of one of the labs, though the security ensign didn't stop to glance over to see just which one it was. Surely something ending in -gy, or -my, or, no doubt, -y, something super important and super complicated that would surely make his brain itch. Panting profusely, he pulled the padd out of his pocket and checked the manifest. Two brainiacs had been scheduled to use the lab for the last three hours, with prospects of using it for another couple of hours more. Swinish eyes flicked across the screen to check the status of the project they were involved in. Non-essential. Great, go in, check they weren't there, repeat the general orders, kick them out of the room if they didn't listen to the explanations by the third time and next lab. That would leave him with only two laboratories to wipe, one of them with the Asst. Chief Science Officer, which was going to be a different kind of battle for the Tellarite. Not because he disliked the woman, after all she was one of the few who was up to the task of debating with him in a way that made him proud, but quite by the opposite. In any case, two more, and he would be all done. Sah could go back to the security centre either to sit for a while and have a drink or, more likely, to be sent to another end of the ship to do something tremendously important that was going to make him sweat a lot more. Some days, he just hated his job. The stocky Tellarite pressed the door buzzer and waited a moment before he insisted again. That second time, a voice on the other side rang out. He let out a frustrated grunt, yeah yeah they were working in a very important stuff, something about not to contaminate the sample, yadda yadda yadda. He knew the drill. Likewise, he had listened to enough permutations of the same words to have them drilled in his brain. So, he proceeded to do the same as always, override the opening of the doors, put on his serious face, the one that made most of those who knew him just maginally know that that day, at that moment, he was not there to debate and he was, of course, there to shout very, very loudly and in that language that was so much his own, which consisted 90% of swear words. The door opened and, before his dark eyes even fell on the scientists .... Tzim-Shah was flying away. It was a strange sensation, as if his body was not his own, and, on top of that, in slow motion. What a cheap way to introduce drama, isn't it? But it gave time to see the pieces of shrapnel flying past him in a spectacular dance of glitter and shimmering sparks and black stuff and plasma smoke and something that was almost certainly scorched Tellarite hair and bits of a gold uniform. Slowly, in that sort of tremendously coruscating and coregraphiated ballet of a deliberate shockwave, Shah's body spun in the air, only to see a HUGE chunk of the deck break off and begin to whiz off the core or the ship, just to scatter into smaller and smaller bits into the space. Then, of course, he realized he was going the same damn way. Oh no, hell no. Oh, how he hated his job. He tried to stretch out a hand, but it didn't respond, because of course, there's nothing like being left-handed to have a sudden explosion decide that that's the hand that's going to screw you. Oh well, he' d use that useless right hand instead. Naturally, the slowed down time proved that it had just been gathering momentum and that this was the perfect time to speed up and start going at full throttle. Just perfect to recover the time lost, of course, and to ruin any chances the Tellarite might have of not venting himself out of the ship and meeting a mercifully quick death in that hopeless hole in space so that no one would ever find him, a Tellarite-shaped block of space ice spinning forever in the darkness among the stars. By his grandmother's beard, he really HATED HIS JOB that day. Then there was a flicker of lights, the blue-green force field sprang up to cover the gap in space, the artificial gravity returned in full force and Tzim-Shah found himself in freefall under a pile of floating debris in a race to kiss the floorplates. The good thing was that he was the winner. The bad thing was that all the debris fell on top of him. Worst of all, a piece of twisted duranium pierced a part of his anatomy that he didn't want to be pierced, not because he was particularly fond of it, but because it lodged a few bunch of vital organs. Organs that he was fond of and want to kept working, thankyouverymuch. Then came the pain. Luckily it didn't last too long because another piece of twisted metal hit him in the head, sending him to the painless realm of unconsciousness. He really hated his job that day. Ensign Tzim-Shah Security Officer USS Gorkon NCC-82293 simmed by Lt. Alieth Chief Science Officer randgri...@gmail.com USS Gorkon NCC-82293 E239702A10 Image Collective Facilitator /Art Director

Ah, Voyager. So much potential, so much waste... Caretaker was a great set up with Starfleet and Marquis at odds and forced to live and work together.

((Corliss and Loxley's Quarters, USS Gorkon, Before the Ceremony)) C. Fortune: And that is why I have Granny Josie's Cure and Tonic for Healthy Hair wrapped in foil around my head. She said this as solemnly as possible, said hair wet and clinging as it was wrapped up tight. It was then covered in a towel in a braid. Smog was laid out over her shoulders, curious over this new development considering the whole place was now, instead of smelling of garbage, was more of an uttaberry scent. Her brother took this in great stride. B. Fortune: This is fantastic, please tell me you haven't told anyone else so I can pass along photos. His grin took up the entirety of his face, a stark difference from the usual grumpy exterior he portrayed. His face was turning brighter and brighter the longer she stared back at him with a flat look, his shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles. C. Fortune: Don't. You. Dare. B. Fortune: Hey, only I am allowed to make your life misery and woe by tormenting you over your hair, 'Lissy. She felt like putting her head in her hands, but could not, as the tonic had turned her fingers bright red. This was payback for something she could not remember doing. C. Fortune: Look, I've already had a thing with mother- B. Fortune: Like a big thing? C. Fortune: Like she went off gallivanting with Loxley's mother and I've not heard hide nor hair of them! There was a hidden snort and 'hair' from the background behind her brother that they both ignored. She had flung her hands around as she spoke, returning them to her lap with a sigh before jerking them back up. She'd have to soak them. C. Fortune: Knowing them, they're trading childhood videos! B. Fortune: Oh dang, should've been more well-behaved. Oh well, too bad. Tell me more about this puppy though. She let out a slow sigh, a smile trying to pull at her lips. Her brother was the same as ever, thankfully. Still, she would put money on it; he'd torment Loxley somehow upon meeting the said doctor. Her scalp tingled and she reached up to start removing the towel. Smog chirped, before sliding around her shoulders and down into her lap as she talked. C. Fortune: Big ol' puppy. Very huge. Could eat your hand if you gave it. B. Fortune: If I gave it. I need my hands, 'Lissy. For, you know, hand...things. C. Fortune: ::she blinked.:: ...that was very convincing, I don't see how anyone could not believe that. He ignored her as she took off the foil slowly, dropping it in a bag to throw away. Her blonde hair was ragged, and scalp red and tingly, but she no longer smelled of garbage! She took up a comb to pull off most of the mixture, the wig next to her also tied up the same way. That would be her next victim. He kept looking down at one hand, eyebrows furrowing as cogs started turning before he held up his left hand. B. Fortune: This one. C. Fortune: Hm? B. Fortune: If I had a choice. I'd offer this hand. I think. That way I can give a 'mean right hook'. C. Fortune: Don't think it matters what hook you give them. B. Fortune: It matters! ::he turned, his current roommate relaxing on a nearby bed, reading a PADD.:: Hey, Lomski, it matters what hand for a mean right hook, right? Lomski: Only if you've got more than one right arm. B. Fortune: That's a disappointment, you know. I've only got the one since birth. Lomski: I don't make the rules, sir. She tuned them out for a moment, humming as she cleaned off the wig in front of her. The pink hair was darkened by the stain of the mixture, and she could see where it lightened up in places. Bother, she hoped that wouldn't happen to her real hair. For now she took up a spritz bottle and cranked on the hair dryer, startling Smog who squirmed around before peeking over the edge of the table, watching intently. Hmm. Could she make a dragon-sized wig? It wouldn't be impossible, they made doll hair all the time...yes...a dragon wig... She noticed her brother waving at her, so she turned off the hair dryer, waving it to cool off the end. C. Fortune: Did you figure out if you could gain another arm? B. Fortune: Too little too late, my skeleton wouldn't have it. ::he sighed sadly, shaking his head.:: Ah well, what can you do? C. Fortune: Purchase another? Here, Smog, ::she cooed, scooping the chirping dragon up from her lap and settling her on the now dry wig.:: You protect this one while I get dressed. B. Fortune: Oh yeah, shore leave gathering? C. Fortune: Mmhmm, and we were asked to wear our dress whites. So! Time to dig those out and make sure they too don't...smell. ::she made a face as he laughed, shaking his head.:: B. Fortune: Well, you go on and have fun. Don't die of hypothermia. I'd hate to have to interrupt Mom and her gallivanting about Earth. Corliss rolled her eyes, shaking her head in amusement as she stood up. Their mother could be as flighty as herself should something catch her eye, one of many traits they shared. All the same, she made a note to call their father. It had been a while since they last talked, but she remembered he'd been grumbling about the passing of the seasons and how the frost made everything less green and happy. She gave a small wave with a laugh. C. Fortune: We're headed to Luna this time, so no promises on not freezing! Hope to see you sometime. B. Fortune: You too, Liss. Hey, don't forget, the older folks are trying to get everyone together for the anniversary. She couldn't help the wince that happened. It had been nigh on 25 years, if a little less, since all of...that...happened. It was hard to do their normal funeral rites, not that Corliss or even Brommel would have remembered. They were barely school age at the time, the year feeling as watery as a painting. Still, the family had had a lot of deaths, none more so than the head of them all. Granny Josie. It was almost time for the gathering, and she and her brother had often been dragged along to it. It definitely wasn't the fact that she always felt judged by older aunts and uncles that she hated going. Not at all. Not one single bit. Well, it was only once every so often, right? Maybe she could duck out after an hour. She groaned, a hand slipping into her hair with a sigh. C. Fortune: I never did like going. B. Fortune: Could always plead out. Pattan does. C. Fortune: Pattan was born after she died. ::she pointed out, shaking her head.:: No, it's fine. If it happens during a mission, they'll understand. If it's during shore leave, I'll...just vid in, like usual. It's fine. Brommel merely shrugged. They had to be an 'example' of course, but the family understood their busy schedules at least. That wouldn't be for a little while longer, at least, so she had time. For now, she tutted, wagging a finger at him. C. Fortune: Anyway, I'm off! First a party, then a date, and then I'm back on shift! B. Fortune: You guys know what your mission is yet? C. Fortune: Yes, we're going to the planet made of nothing but uttaberries and rain water. I'm very excited. He let out a very put-upon sigh as she laughed, picking up Smog to let her wind around her neck again, chirping with her laugh. B. Fortune: I mean, I bet it would be delicious. C. Fortune: The residents would have you condemned for eating their prized berries. See you again, Boss man. B. Fortune: See you, weirdo. She had half a mind to throw something at the vid, but then that would knock off her wig so she just gave a 'harrumph' and flounced away, cooing at Smog who was absolutely thrilled with trying to bury herself in Corliss' hair. Now to get ready for tonight... Lieutenant Corliss Fortune Highest Quality Counsellor Brain USS Gorkon G239510CF0

Okay, less of a funny quote but, damn!, that's so evocative from Alieth: One more day stolen from death. One more life saved. A pile of misery and suffering and small miracles stored in a room that stretched as long as the night.