Genkos Adea

2021-10-15T09:54:10Z

It's been absolutely amazing to have @Jo Marshall on board for this mission, and she has knocked it out of the park with such a fabulously memorable character who pulled the rugs from under our feet. This is a superb ending for a superb character, and I'm very sad to see him (and Em) go.

((Transporter Room, Deck 3, USS Resolution))

There’s a quiet at the end of a life that no one really expects. It’s hardly ever spoken about; just the snuff of a candle, the light winking out in the darkness, or the star once in the blackwater space ceases to twinkle.

A beeping warning began from the device, running the length of it like a signal light wrapping around the outside. The countdown had started. There was no way to stop it once it began. He knew this; he knew this intrinsically. It was what he hadn’t counted on, what he hadn’t prepared for, and in the end, what he feared happening the most.

Liam swallowed as he slumped against the device and tapped a series of commands into the control panel. His eyes didn’t look up from the Genesis unit as he spoke.

Rackham: I'll buy you as much time as I can. You need to go now. Evacuate the ship. ::He looked at Genkos with a nod, if a breathless one.:: Save your crew, Captain. Time to be a hero.

Adea didn’t hesitate to issue the order, the gossamer sheen of tears in his eyes. It could’ve been the light in the transporter rooms, or the life ebbing out of Liam’s eye.

Adea: You heard the man.

Silveira: Yes Captain, let’s go, Commander.

The beautiful redhead spared a regretful look his way, and it smacked Liam in the chest like a breaking wave over the barriers. If only he wasn’t about to get his ticket stamped and be scattered into the ether. Maybe in another life. Maybe there wasn’t another life. Either way, he was about to find out what was at the end of the adventure.

Captain Genkos Adea, in all his heroic finery, turned back to Liam, to Wyke, and gave him a nod and a smile.

Adea: Thank you for your service, Commander.

Wyke: Best of luck, sir.

As the crew vacated the small transporter room, Liam steadied the breath in his chest, his hands tremored as they reached for the controls of the Genesis Device. All the work he had poured into the years of planning and consideration, of ensuring plans were adhered to. How many had sacrificed themselves for this device? How many more would die that day in the ensuing eruption?

His fingers danced along the panel, starting diagnostic routines and variable checks, rerouting the complex system of algorithms ensuring the timely detonation, and delaying the various scans it tried to perform on the location destined for change. Sweat trickled down the side of his face as his blood ran cold, as his limbs ached in a fresh painful way; the tips of his fingers like ice. Extremities losing their touch, slipping on the instruments, the edges of his vision darkening.

The stimulant wearing off in waves.

Adea: =/\= This is Captain Adea to all personnel. Drop what you’re doing and head to the nearest escape pod. This is not a drill. We are evacuating the ship. =/\=

A breath exhaled from his lungs in a long stream, and Liam thought back to being a child again, running through the meadows of his homeworld, grinning with handfuls of figs, swimming in the rivers, the beautiful crystalline sunsets spilling over the water, and the dark skies creeping above, filled with stars and hopes and dreams. Thunderbolts and lightning christening the heavens. Rains leaving their petrichor-scent for days, lingering in the long grasses.

Sleepy words breathed into the curve of his ear in a tangle of exhausted limbs and ruffled sheets by his first love.

Stories of his Starfleet father, dying a hero onboard the USS Kyushu at Wolf 359, told by his father as he tried to fall asleep with gentle kisses to his hairline as he read through the stories his dad used to.

Leaving it all behind for a career among the stars, following in those valiant footsteps left long ago.

He slumped against the device, the last vestiges of the world fading in slower breaths, the countdown rapidly decreasing. The Resolution would be evacuated soon. Escape pods detaching from the primary hull and jettisoning into the distance carried on the thrust of the engines.

As he slid down to the floor, he noticed the small, blinking lights beneath the casing, and a frown pulled at the middle of his eyebrows.

A remote detonation module.

Suddenly, it all made a little more sense.

Liam let his head rest against the device as he exhaled a breath, a small sliver of a smile encapsulating his lips as his eyes closed, listening to the beep of the countdown as the timer ran out.

Light poured out like a torrent, like a hundred ampullae drenching from a dying star, bearing the rich and nectarous smell... a little like jasmine.

There’s a quiet at the end of a life that no one really expects, even as it roars.

[ End Scene for Wyke/Rackham ]

--
Commander Liam Wyke, aka. Ben Rackham
Chief Scientist, Rinascita Station

As simmed by

Lt. Commander Jo Marshall
First Officer
USS Gorkon, NCC-82293
G239304JM0

Tuesday at 09:00 PM

See this is why we love @Yalu; a throwaway line from me, and he gets some truly beautiful mileage out of it. Thank you for being such an amazing collaborative writer.

(( Sickbay, Deck 2, USS Resolution ))

Dwich’s training prepared him well for most things. Despite having worked in such diverse settings as large city hospitals, starbase infirmaries, and on the frontiers of Federation space, his EMT duties remained remarkably consistent no matter where in the galaxy he executed them: assess a patient’s condition, keep them breathing, stop them from bleeding, and generally keep them from coming apart until a real doctor can get a look at them. Then, fill out the PADDwork and it’s back out onto the floor to await the next emergency.

When Resolution went to red alert and he felt the first rumbles and shakes of an incipient space battle, Dwich kept his head down and remembered his training. Anytime the ship came under attack, casualties were to be expected. Resolution’s sickbay, though small, was well equipped to handle them, even severe ones, provided they came through the doors one or two at a time. As the attack grew in intensity, and he had to brace himself against the biobed to avoid being thrown over it, the young Bajoran worried that they’d quickly become overwhelmed.

And they were.

Within minutes, the biobeds were occupied, and the room was filling quickly with everything from broken wrists to plasma burns, and worse. With Dr. Adea in command, Dr. Morgan on the station, and every one of Resolution’s 249 other qualified medical practitioners–Nicholotti, MacKenzie, and Yalu, among them–off the ship, there was little Dwich could do but press into service anyone who walked through the doors capable of holding a tricorder and waving the doohickey back and forth at the same time.

Adea: =/\= This is Captain Adea to all personnel. Drop what you’re doing and head to the nearest escape pod. This is not a drill. We are evacuating the ship. =/\=

Speaking of doohickey. The doctor who coined the term, referring to the portable scanning device nestled inside of a medical tricorder, had just shifted the priority from “triage and stabilize” to “get everyone the kosst out.” With Sickbay occupying a privileged position along the ship’s outer hull, the escape pods were relatively easy to access, and the procedure was clear. Dwich quickly conducted a headcount of everyone who would need assistance moving. Fortunately, there weren’t that many. Yet.

Adea: =/\= Adea to Hamsan; can you stop off at my quarters as you evacuate sickbay and pick up Toto? Thanks. =/\=

Hamsan: =/\= Will do, Sir. =/\= oO If there’s time. Oo

Dwich pushed up his sleeves and waved his arms to get everyone’s attention.

Hamsan: =/\= All right, everyone. You heard the captain. Everyone who can lift, bend, stoop, and carry: Congratulations, you’re our new field medics. ::points across Sickbay:: Anti-grav stretchers are over there, work in groups of two. If you can walk, proceed out into the corridor in an orderly fashion and head directly for the evacuation point. ::beat:: If you can’t, sit tight. We’ll get you.

Thankfully, the assembled officers and crew didn’t need to be told twice. The ones who could lift lifted, the ones who could carry carried, and everyone else remained reasonably calm. As Dwich started to feel the stress of the situation rising in his chest, he closed his eyes and prayed to The Prophets for peace and clear headedness. His recent experience at the hands of the time-bending Q had done more than fuse together two versions of himself from alternate dimensions. EMT Hamsan and Vedek Hamsan actually complimented each other quite well, the former inspiring the latter to action, and the latter inspiring the former to contemplation. When The Prophets had “fixed” him, he was afraid of becoming so muddled that he lost himself. The opposite had come true.

(( Timeskip – A few minutes later ))

Dwich was tired and his muscles were sore from making multiple trips between sickbay and the evacuation point, but there was no time to waste. The alarms continued to sound, so the danger–whatever it was–was still present. With the last person safely out of sickbay, and some escape pods still yet to be launched, Dwich ran the short distance to Dr. Adea’s quarters to make a special errand.

Hamsan: Computer, open this door. Medical override Hamsan-kappa-eight-one-seven.

Not exactly an authorized use of his medical override clearance, but he had been given specific orders from his boss and captain to collect the dog. Dwich stepped through the doors and scanned the room quickly, but didn’t see Toto.

Hamsan: Toto! Toto! Here boy!

No such luck. Poor little guy was probably scared out of his paws. Without considering the propriety of his actions, Dwich ran from the living area into Dr. Adea’s bedroom, dropped to the carpet and looked under the bed, then behind the furniture, and in the closets. Finally, he found him, huddled under a collection of blankets, pillows, and dressing gowns.

Hamsan: Come here, boy. We’re going on a little trip.

It took some coaxing, but not much. Clearly the dog possessed enough intelligence to know that Dwich was there to rescue him. He was bigger, and heavier, than Dwich realized, but the EMT’s arms, legs, and back were warmed up from having helped so many people out of sickbay.

Once back in the corridor, Dwich looked forlornly at the turbolift. There wasn’t time to go down to deck four and retrieve anything from the quarters he shared with Meidra. Maybe everything would be fine? Maybe they would fix whatever was wrong with the ship and everyone could come back home? Maybe. Maybe not.

Hamsan: oO There will be another lilac. Oo

Turning away from the turbolift, Hamsan ran with the dog in his arms to the evacuation point. Stepped through the small opening, and waited for the remaining seats to fill. It didn’t take long, and before anyone could process what was happening, the pod launched with a g-force that momentarily disoriented both Dwich and Toto. Only after they were far enough away did he see through the small viewport how bad things truly were.

TBC

PNPC Crewman 2nd Class Hamsan Dwich
Emergency Medical Technician
USS Resolution NCC-78145
Justin D238804DS0

September 12

48 minutes ago, Kali Nicholotti said:

Is that an official term...?

Doohickey is in the handbook. Don't check that though, take my word

September 12

Came here to post this, so damn you

August 17

We all know @Etan Iljor is a genius, but here he demonstrates his excellent and natural ability to flesh out a character even without others. It was almost a shame to reset the timeline (almost!)

(( IKS qor’Du ))

LehleQ, Son of Hugorgh watched as everything he had worked for; everything that he had built for himself vanished into ether. A lifetime of overcoming prejudice and adversity; of being told that his birthright meant that he was inferior to the HemQuch; of proving them wrong… vanished in an instant. In the span of time that it took R’Mira to slice open his throat with her dagger.

Whatever trickery of Fek’lhr had trapped the qorDu in a temporal loop had resurrected him from that ignominious fate- but there had been a shift. He knew from looking at the cold glances of his formerly loyal crew that he was no longer the master of the vessel. The seething fury of those present gripped the back of his neck, making his hairs stand on end. His honour, no more. If they managed to escape the loop he knew that R’Mira would send him to greth’or. Permanently.

LehleQ had been banished from the bridge, dragged off by two warriors that he had never bothered to learn the names of. It was humiliating. A lesser Klingon would have collapsed under the shame or might have chosen that moment to perform the jaJ-to’Vor ritual- but a Klingon with nothing left to lose…. LehleQ knew that was the most dangerous Klingon of all.

He had waited until the guards had dragged down the length of the primary corridor that separated the bulbous head of the vessel to the more avian drive section. Then with practised ease, he kicked out with a powerful thrust, striking the guard to his left just underneath his knee. He felt the man’s grip weaken enough so that he could free his arm and without hesitation, he swung it around until it connected with the other guard’s neck. The force of the impact was hard enough to make a thick, wet cracking sound and he was dead by the time his body crumpled to the floor. Deftly reaching down, he plucked the dead man’s disruptor from his belt, spun about and fired at the first man, blowing a hole in his chest; killing him instantly.

LehleQ knew the qorDu well, having been her rightful master for several years.It was not far to the transporter room and he made it there with no further resistance. The command deck crew, no doubt occupied with their dishonourable alliance with the Federation, had not heeded the firing of the disruptor. They didn’t notice as he fired again, killing the transporter operator with one well placed shot to the head. Kicking the body away from the console, he ran a covert scan of the Federation starship looking for an auxiliary vehicle. It was a calculated risk- the small vessel was several magnitudes more advanced and had demonstrated time and again that it could best the qorDu. He was counting on the fact that they were in as much disarray as the qorDu was and distracted by further plans to escape from this accursed loop. There were two small shuttlecrafts entombed with what appeared to be a shuttlebay- and one other that was slung underneath the primary section of the ship. He chose that and locked in the coordinates,hoping that his luck would not run out.

He left the qorDu in a haze of red energy, rematerialising in the darkened [...]pit of the Federation craft. All he had to do now was bide his time and wait…

--

LehleQ, Son og Hugorgh

Fugitive

As simmed by:

Lieutenant JG Etan Iljor

Science Officer

USS Resolution

C239203TW0

August 2

Quote

And then, with the universe full of nothing spinning around her, pain shooting up her arm and her lungs burning like the fire had jumped into them, Kali suddenly found herself...gone.

This time, it felt like it.

((Five minutes previously...))

Which is precisely when she slammed into the floor with both an audible thud and a most un-captain-like wince of pain. For a good thirty seconds she lay there, almost tempting reality before daring to bring her head up and look around. That was when the first of the alarms started going off. Before ever trying to get up, she called out with some weakness in her voice.

Nicholotti: Red alert...!

@Kali Nicholotti I absolutely adore what the time loop is doing to our characters, and I love this little slice of Kali's mind

July 28

1 hour ago, Jo Marshall said:

Take your achievement!

This is arguably my greatest achievement in my life so far.

July 27

Finally, a place for my genius

July 18

OOC - for those of us who've followed the Tale of Two @Meidra Sirins, this was a delight. And even if you haven't there's a lot here to enjoy; @Yalu also deserving of praise!

(( Ship’s Library, Deck 2, USS Resolution ))

Gertrude Kettleworth, MLS, had very little shushing to do, as Meidra and Dwich sat at a small corner reading table, saying nothing. They had agreed to meet and discuss their relationship, and each of them came with something they wanted to get off their chest. Now, everything was out in the open, and they remained together, hands intertwined in the center of the table, waiting for the other to say something. Finally, it was Dwich who broke the silence.

Hamsan: Thank you for telling me this.

The words felt empty coming out of Dwich’s mouth. “Thank you?” Meidra had shared with him a terrible secret, something he could never have guessed in a million years, and his heart broke for her. “Thank you” seemed so insufficient. An insignificant, polite formality. And yet, it was all he could think of to say. For her part, she seemed to accept it in the spirit in which it was intended, which made him feel so much better.

Sirin: Thank you for being understanding about it. I felt like I was lying to you about myself, and that is not something that I wanted to continue doing.

Dwich nodded. Indeed, the “two Meidras” had perplexed him over the course of their growing relationship. Now, it all made sense.

Hamsan: I can’t imagine how difficult it has been for you. How lonely you must have felt carrying this secret.

Sirin: I’ve spent most of my life feeling lonely, I suppose it’s been hard for me to realize that I’m not alone anymore. ::beat:: I haven’t been very fair to you, and for that I apologize.

Dwich wasn’t looking for an apology, nor did he feel that Meidra had anything to apologise for. Relationships were difficult under even the most favourable of circumstances. Meidra was dealing with a very painful truth from her past, while Dwich was struggling to define his future. As Liri Ketel, one of Bajor’s lesser-known and least artful prophesiers so ineloquently wrote: “When you have one foot in yesterday, and one foot in tomorrow, you’re [...]in’ on today.”

Hamsan: I guess it’s all just part of the path the Prophets have laid out for us.

Meidra sipped the iced tea, feeling a bit foolish. She’d never been a particularly religious person, as Vulcans focused on the here and now instead of a future that logically, they could not see. And El Aurians, well. They only seemed to believe in themselves to the detriment of other relationships. To love someone who had such a strong sense of their place in the world was quite precious.

Sirin: I think that I learn more about who I can be, every day that we are together.

Hamsan: I understand. You were betrayed by the group of people in the universe you should be able to trust the most. No one, not a Vulcan, not an El-Aurian, not a Bajoran, would so easily trust after being treated that way.

Sirin: Learning how to let people in hasn’t been easy. But it has been worth it in many ways. There will always be times where I am not as...open...as I wish to be with you, but it will never be because I doubt how you feel.

Dwich exhaled in a not-quite-laugh, not-quite-sigh. His mixed emotions were on full display.

Hamsan: ::grins:: My turn now?

Sirin: ::nods:: Of course.

When Dwich told Meidra that his lifelong vocation was just as strong as it always had been, he too felt as though he’d been leading a double life, the “two Dwiches,” to complement the “two Meidras.” It felt good to get it off of his chest, but it was a potential complication to a long-term relationship. People become ranjens and prylars and vedeks because they want to serve the Prophets, to put them before any and all worldly concerns. Such a commitment wasn’t ideal for making a relationship work.

Hamsan: I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. The truth is, I can’t help feeling that my pagh is still meant to walk this path. That someday, I will join the clergy like I always wanted. ::beat:: I didn’t expect to fall in love with you, though.

Sirin: I didn’t expect to fall in love with anyone. But I would never hold you back from what you feel you need to do with your life.

Hamsan: You’re an important part of my life now. I can’t imagine it without you. ::beat:: But that doesn’t replace or diminish what I still believe is my life’s calling. I hope you understand.

Sirin: ::pauses:: How do you see your life after StarFleet? How would you even begin to know how to transition into such a life? ::pauses:: How would I?

Hamsan: My four-year tour of duty is up next year. I could always sign on again, but…

His voice trailed off. Starfleet had given him so much, and it seemed less than grateful to cash out after everything the organization had invested in him as a medical technician.

Hamsan: I have made some inquiries. There are monasteries and temples all over the Federation now. It’s not like I would have to hide away in some forest in the middle of nowhere on Bajor.

Sirin: ::squeezes his hands:: You know that I only joined because I had no one I could trust except my cousin, and she trusted StarFleet. Slowly, this crew has become my family ::smirks:: even Genkos. But even though I am grateful for their acceptance, and their companionship, I can’t imagine my life without you either.

She took a deep breath and stared at him, focusing on his emotions. As an empath, she had always felt things so strongly that she’d forced herself to block emotions from everyone around her. This time, this once, she’d indulge and feel everything from someone else’s perspective. The rush of love and strength surrounded her like a blanket and she smiled brightly.

Sirin: As long as you can feel as you do now about our joined path, I’ll walk it with you. However, if you ever feel that you need to walk alone, I - won’t be happy, but I will try to be happy for you. Because I do love you.

Hamsan: I love you too. And still I want to share more of my life with you.

The counselor considered this. What was the next step? Biting her lower lip, she acknowledged that they needed to have a conversation with someone a bit higher up then they were.

Sirin: We’ll need to speak to Commander MacKenzie.

TBC

PNPC C2 Hamsan Dwich
Emergency Medical Technician
USS Resolution NCC-78145

simmed by

Lieutenant Yogan Yalu
Helm Officer
USS Resolution NCC-78145

Justin
D238804DS0

and

Lt Meidra Sirin
Counseling Officer
USS Resolution
R239707MS0

July 18

I considered the Maquis, but apart from the name and the fact they were a resistance movement, they don't seem very French. They're hardly seeped in French culture like some of the other options. I mean, neither does Picard but at least he's specifically stated to come from France.

It would be interesting to know how the Maquis got their name IC though.

And I thought to have two resistance groups (La Coeur de Lion, being the other, which did contain some Maquis) might have been too reductive.

July 14

What with today being Bastille Day, we here at the Poll of the Month have decided to examine the history of France in regards to Star Trek. Where should we begin? Well the most obvious place would be with Jean-Luc Picard, the most English Frenchman to have ever have existed. He's up there in the list of most popular Star Trek characters of all time, is the only one to have his own spin off show (so far, come on Star Trek: My People Have a Saying), and is one of the highest ranking leads. But, without leaning into stereotypes, how much "Frenchness" does Jean-Luc really display? Sure, in both The Next Generation and his own eponymous show, we see plenty of the family chateau and vineyard, but the majority of the literature he engages with tends to be skewed to the English speaking world. Why doesn't he try to teach Data about Moliere in the holodeck rather than Shakespeare, par exemple? Obviously, the out of character reason for this is that you don't cast famed classical actor Patrick Stewart and not get him to whip out his Prospero...

So, what other examples are there that flit to mind? For me, the most obvious examples come from Voyager (and I don't just mean Tom PARIS). The first, Chez Sandrine, is the holodeck bar that features fairly heavily in the show, it's almost their Ten-Forward, if you will. The Doctor teaches Seven how to dance there (although she does break that poor man's arm) and the crew are trapped in there when the ship goes all curly-whirly (Twisted), to name but a few. Complete with pool hustlers and slightly dodgy accents, is this a fun representation of France?

The other obvious Voyager example is La Coeur de Lion and the Resistance movement from the (frankly brilliant) episodes "The Killing Game, Part One and Two". Complete with Janeway in a white tuxedo and Mademoiselle de Neuf (plus, who isn't a fan of French peasant Neelix, the best Neelix), this cell helps to take down the Nazi Hirogen (subtlety is not necessarily Voyager's strong suit) but this does a really good job of displaying the gallic grit and valour that the Resistance movement showed during the Second World War.

As a final aside, the Federation President's office is shown to be in Paris (well, unless they moved the Eiffel Tower) in Deep Space Nine's Homefront. That's fun.

So, what's your favourite display of French culture in Trek? Is it one of these, or perhaps another? Let us know in the comments!

July 14

It's always a pleasure to see talented writers scribing together, and this is an absolute pleasure. Well done @Etan Iljor and @Yalu; this is so much fun. I cannot wait to see where it goes!

(( Shuttlecraft Rennell, Outermost Boundary of the Celendi Nebula, The Borderlands ))

Awash with a hazy golden glow, the Celendi Nebula was situated at the eastern most edge of The Borderlands. An unfathomably large stellar gas cloud that had held its secrets for as long as the Federation had attempted to cross it, it was best known as a navigational hazard and a place best avoided by all but the most foolhardy explorers. Though not impossible to traverse, its composition made it extremely difficult. As he looked at the readout on his console, Etan Iljor could see why: synchrotron radiation, neutrino emissions, magnetascopic interference and large quantities of protomatter. He turned to the shuttle’s pilot- his roommate and Resolution’s helm officer, Lieutenant Yogan Yalu.

Etan: Remind me why we’re here? ::he asked, his voice flecked heavily with sardonic humour.::

The corner of Yogan’s mouth turned slightly upward and he let out a brief chuckle. Their current situation reminded him of the latest chapter of The Belonging Season, his psychodrama du jour, in which the protagonists had just embarked on a locked-room style adventure of self-discovery and -expression. This simple survey mission, however, would likely pale in comparison to the pages of The Belonging Season. Taking his eyes off his console for a moment, he looked to his right, to the copilot’s seat, where his roommate and friend Etan Iljor sat, an inscrutable expression on his face. Iljor’s sense of humour never failed to bring a smile to Yogan’s.

Yalu: I could read the mission briefing again. ::beat, in a theatrical narrator voice:: In a section of nebula, so weird, only two junior officers could possibly survey it. ::beat, normal voice:: With Resolution being repaired, I think we just might have been the only pilot-scientist combo hanging around the station.

It had been a two day voyage from Deep Space 224 to their present location- just long enough to remind the young science officer why he did not care for the small auxiliary vessels used by their mothership. Two years earlier, he had been one of eight cadets sent out on a training expedition in such a vessel. What had started as an exciting opportunity for exploration and discovery had quickly lost it’s sheen when it had become apparent that eight cadets were not supposed to fit in such a cramped space. Two weeks and many, many frayed nerves later- Iljor had returned to the Academy campus on Betazoid with a healthy resentment for what many called ‘the Class 2 coffin’.

Etan: And we couldn’t have taken the Waverider instead?

Yogan nodded his shared disappointment. Waverider was far more comfortable for a two-person survey mission than this type-9 shuttlecraft–at least they would each have had their own bunk–but it was designed primarily for atmospheric rather than interstellar flight. Plus, it happened to be docked on the underbelly of Resolution’s saucer section, which meant...

Yalu: It had a bit of a rough landing on that planet.

It figured, given the Resolution’s last assignment had resulted in a crash landing that had damaged almost every system and compartment aboard. Of course the Waverider was being repaired. Some people, like Iljor, did not have any luck at all.

Etan: Figures. ::he said, rolling his eyes for dramatic effect, before turning back to the readouts on his console.:: All that magnetascopic interference and ionising radiation is going to make our job a lot harder.

Even at a considerable distance from the nebula’s outermost boundary, sensors were already struggling to identify anything inside. A confusing and contradictory stream of data filled his screen, reducing the sensor’s effectiveness by nearly 70 per cent. It occurred to Iljor at that particular moment, that there were some nebulas Starfleet were best avoiding.

With all of its potential hazards to navigation and impediments to commerce, exploration, and general development in the region, it made sense to Yogan that properly charting some of the more dangerous fringes of the Celendi Nebula was a relatively high priority. It never ceased to amaze him that with all of their technology, still so much of their galaxy remained unexplored.

Yalu: You’re right. The interference in this sector is 500% higher than the baseline for the rest of the nebula. Who knows, Iljor, there might even be undiscovered planets in here. ::beat, grins:: Have you completed first contact training?

Etan: At the academy. ::he replied, bobbing his head:: It’s a required course for all students on the Anthropology & Archaeology track. ::best:: I must have spent a hundred hours in the simulator preparing for my exam. Maybe more. ::he turned from his console to glance at the pilot.:: What about you?

Yalu: ::chuckles:: Nope. ::beat:: Well, yes and no. One of my previous hosts, Auzell, was a Starfleet officer, and she served on a couple of First Contact teams. I remember that simulator, too. Yogan, on the other hand… well, I suppose I can rely on my MED 111 course at the Academy. ::beat, off Iljor’s look:: Bedside Manner. I got an “A.”

Iljor chuckled as he turned back to his console. He often forgot that the Joined Trill had entered Starfleet with the intention of practising medicine. Instead he forged himself a path as a consummate helmsman. He ran a scan of the region before them, not expecting a clear reading. The Celendi Nebula was not likely to reveal its secrets to the two men.

Etan: I’m picking up a slight drag from our impulse engines. ::he cross referenced with the external sensor feed.:: The nebula density is increasing.

As they neared the nebula, the density of its contents increased, blocking out the stars and casting a more muted, flaxen quality to the space ahead of the small shuttlecraft. Less awe-inspiring and more like an unpleasant soup one might order without realizing what it was made of.

Yalu: I’ll take us in slowly, monitor our position, and keep an eye out for any navigational hazards while we execute the survey pattern. ::beat:: Once we’re off and running, it’s your show.

Iljor smirked in reply.

Etan: I hope your not expecting a gripping psychodrama, Yogan. ::he replied with no small amusement. He had seen the man’s reading material in their shared quarters.:: This will be a more sedate show. oO One that might put us to sleep. Oo ::he added mentally, preparing himself for a long assignment with little reward.::

The friendship Yogan had formed with Iljor since the two were assigned to share quarters on Resolution could best be described as easy. He enjoyed the Bajoran scientist’s company, and while they had few interests in common, they possessed a similar attitude that made cohabiting in a living space relatively unremarkable. Iljor was a contemplative sort, much more like Yogan Verso was before being Joined to Yalu. Even with all of the past lifetimes enriching and transforming his personality, Yogan was still introspective at heart, which made the two officers well-matched as roommates.

Yalu: All right, starting in grid One-Alpha. ::looks over to Iljor, grins:: Survey away, my friend.

Technically, as the superior officer, Yogan was in command of the survey mission, but when Iljor had first arrived on Resolution, the two men made the decision to leave their rank at the door of their shared quarters. Here, they were on duty, but their confinement to the shuttlecraft made the experience seem much more like they were hanging out at home rather than at work. Yogan was content to sit back and let the scientist do what he did best.

Etan: ::he breathed in and reconfigured the console in front of him.:: Beginning scans of grid One-Alpha. Full sensor sweep.

Yalu: Holding position. There is a stream of radioactive protomatter moving slowly toward us, but we’ll have moved to the next grid by the time it gets here. ::beat, sighs:: Exciting enough for you?

He leaned over to get a better look at the data on Yogan’s console, his cautious nature taking hold. The information displayed was just as the Trill had said. Rendered as data on a screen, it did not look particularly threatening but if it intersected with the shuttlecraft’s position, there would not be much left of either man for Doctor Adea to identify.

Etan: ::he looked at Yogan.:: I’m gripped already. ::returning his attention to his own sensor scans, he began to analyse the data that the sensors were relaying.:: I’m detecting a 0.002% increase in neutrino emissions. ::he rolled his eyes for dramatic effect.:: However will we sleep tonight?

Yalu: ::chuckles, wryly:: With this firestorm of activity? I’ll be up for days.

Yogan looked out the forward viewport at the slowly swirling, golden-green nebula. He was grateful to have a couple of days of uneventful, routine work to do before Resolution was ready to welcome them back aboard. There were still some twinges in his lower back and soreness in his arms from the physical work of building the home for the Romulan refugees, and sitting in the pilot’s seat of the shuttlecraft for an extended period had left him feeling a bit stiff. He’d heard about a place on Deep Space 224 where he could get a massage to work out the knots in his shoulders and neck, but after receiving a somewhat lukewarm review of the place from Meidra, he never pursued it.

Etan: How did you find Oreen V? The topographical and environmental reports I read made for some pretty unpleasant reading.

Iljor had not seen Yogan since he had returned from the nascent Romulan colony, even though they shared quarters. With his sleep cycle all but non-existent, Iljor had taken to working in the various science laboratories on the Resolution or wandering the gargantuan Deep Space 224. His conversations with Genkos and Aine had given him some solace that he was not as alone as he felt- but still, sleep eluded him. One such report he had come across during his nighttime endeavours made Oreen V seem like a difficult place for anybody to set up a colony, let alone a group of disaffected Romulans with limited resources.

In a way, their efforts made him think of the refugee camps-turned-semi permanent settlements that had cropped up all along the Bajoran border with the Federation during the Occupation. Conditions on a plethora of worlds had been difficult to say the least, if not downright hostile to Bajoran life. But those displaced in the Diaspora were a hardy group- and they had made the best of a terrible situation. He knew that his paternal grandmother, Sobra, had spent some time in one such ‘settlement’ but she didn’t much like to talk about those years. He had tried occasionally over the years to glean some information- but it had not been until after her passing- at her memorial service- that he had learned she had worked as an healthcare assistant in the Federation administered medical centre.

Yalu: The reports were accurate about the planet. The environment is hospitable, but definitely not conducive to sustainable, long-term settlement. ::beat:: I got the feeling it was given to the Romulans to settle because no one else wanted it. ::beat:: But they’ve done a remarkable job of building a community there. It’s inspiring, considering what they’ve been through in the last decade.

Etan: They’ll bounce back. ::he said with certainty.:: The Romulan people are amongst the most resilient species in the quadrant. Part of my anthropological studies at the academy were centered on the Romulans. We don’t know a lot about them, believe it or, but what we do know is that they thrive in adversity. We may not always see eye-to-eye, if ever, with them- but we can respect their ability to come back swinging.

Yogan held deep respect for Iljor, whose words sounded like they belonged to someone far older than his 22 years. Coming into the world on the heels of the Occupation and the devastation of the war, it would have been perfectly reasonable for someone of Iljor’s generation to become disillusioned and bitter. Instead, he seemed to maintain an inextinguishable curiosity about the universe, coupled with a healthy admiration of the accomplishments of his people.

Yalu: You’re right. If Bajor can come out of the Occupation, with all of the devastation the Cardassians wrought over six decades, there’s hope for the Romulans.

Etan: There’s that too.

The smile that curled the corners of his mouth was tinged with pride. The Cardassians had plundered Bajor for sixty years. Plundered it for minerals, art, literature, arable land, oil and gas- amongst other things. By the time the Resistance finally succeeded in driving them off Bajor, the planet had been strip mined to within an inch of its life, most of its arable land had become poisonous, it held little natural resources and its people- once united in common cause- were on the verge of warring with one another. Iljor had been born several years after the end of the Occupation, but as a small child he had still seen the scars that it had left. He was undeniably proud of the work his people had undertaken to transform their homeworld back into a centre of diplomacy, commerce, academia and art.

Etan: oO And there are still scars, even now. Oo ::he thought to himself, reminded of the accusations that Akhbett Jirall had levied across his beloved parents. He didn’t want to think about them for the time being- though it was becoming increasingly difficult not to. He forced himself to look back at the readings on the screen in front of him.:: Stellar winds in this grid are increasing. Not by much, but we still should be careful.

Yogan’s attention was diverted briefly to the navigational console, and he noticed the same thing that Iljor did. His hands moved across the glossy surface and keyed in sequence of commands.

Yalu: Engaging manoeuvring thrusters at one-quarter. That should keep us from getting buffeted about too much. ::beat:: Haven’t seen much of you since we left the Briar Patch. ::beat:: Or, come to think of it, since we got back from Trill. Opposite duty shifts, I guess?

Iljor nodded, but looked at his console in an effort to not look at Yogan. He suddenly felt the cloud that had been hanging over him returning. Had his roommate noticed just like Aine and Genkos? Yogan had noticed that Iljor had seemed preoccupied of late, even more contemplative than usual. At first, he had chalked it up to the transformative experience they’d shared on Trill, Yogan’s zhian’tara, but Iljor’s muted disposition had continued beyond that.

Etan: Uh, yeah. I guess. ::he could hear himself, he sounded non-committal::

It seemed as though Iljor wasn’t particularly eager to talk about it, and although Yogan was concerned for his roommate and friend, he didn’t intend to push the issue. After all, the two officers shared a living space and were friendly, but Yogan knew that Iljor had closer friends aboard the ship with whom he could share his troubles. Even so, whatever was on Iljor’s mind seemed to occupy him at all hours.

Yalu: I’ve heard you pacing in your room at night.

Etan: Hm? ::he looked up and glanced over at Yogan before looking back at his readings.:: I’m fine. ::Was it his imagination or did his own voice sound higher?::

Yogan looked down at his controls, manufacturing a break in the conversation. Perhaps there could have been a subtler way of backpedaling from the conversation than awkwardly about-facing back to work, but it was effective.

Yalu: Grid One-Alpha is complete. Setting course for Grid Two-Alpha, thrusters only, 500 kph.

Glad of the opportunity for the break in the conversation and feeling guilty about the fact he had lied to his roommate, he focused on the work ahead of them.

Etan: Understood. Reconfiguring sensors now.

Yalu: ETA at Grid Two-Alpha, 90 seconds.

The craft rolled slowly toward its new destination, the only sound inside the shuttlecraft being the low hum of the engines.

Yalu: I hope that whatever is bothering you, you have support to work through it.

Iljor looked at Yogan from the corner of his eye. He wasn’t pushing the issue and for that he was immeasurably grateful.

Etan: I do.

He had yet to speak to Meidra although he had made an appointment. Knowing that Aine and Genkos were prepared to be there for him, even without knowing the specifics of the situation had made him feel a touch better. In his own way, Yogan was showing his support and Iljor was grateful.

Yalu: I’m glad. ::beat:: Holding position at Grid Two-Alpha. Ready when you are.

Etan: Sensors reconfigured. Beginning scans.

Yogan looked through the viewport at another unremarkable swath of nebula, when something in the distance caught his attention.

Yalu: ::pointing:: What is that?

At first Iljor could not see what Yogan was pointing to. Given the Celendi Nebula’s reputation to could have been almost anything. Then his eyes caught it.

Against the backdrop of the dusty golden gas clouds that marked the edge of the nebula, something was drifting slowly in space. The way in which tumbling gently over itself suggested to the science officer that it had been ejected some time ago from the nebula- perhaps a day or two- via the stellar currents that were found within.

Iljor’s hands danced quickly over his reconfigured console, directing every available sensor at the small object.

Etan: Scanning the object now.

Yalu: It’s moving slowly, less than 20 kph. ::beat:: Getting a clearer picture of it on sensors.

The sensor scans resolved themselves on the screen in front of Iljor. He raised an eyebrow and let out a small gasp of surprise.

Etan: It’s a Federation Type-7 shuttlecraft!

Yalu: ::squinting:: What’s it doing out here?

The rounded hull of the shuttlecraft tumbled through space, emerging through the nebular haze and becoming easier to make out. Yogan’s question was purely rhetorical, as the small vessel was clearly adrift, its journey at the mercy of the currents whipping and whirling through the nebula. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t good.

Etan: I’m running it’s registry through the Starfleet database now. ::he said, his hands at work once again.:: According to the this, this shuttle belongs to the starship Ibn Battuta. ::he turned to Yogan again.:: Does that sound familiar to you?

Yalu: ::copies Iljor’s data onto his own console:: Doesn’t ring a bell. ::beat:: It says here that Ibn Battuta patrolled a section of the Klingon border near the Celendi Nebula in the late 2360s.

Etan: So it’s been out here for thirty years? I’m going to run a search on the Ibn Battuta and see what I can find.

Yalu: The hull is intact. I’m going to move us in closer and tractor it out. ::beat:: Our survey can allow a brief detour to investigate.

Yogan piloted their shuttle deeper into the nebula, which was more difficult than he anticipated due to the unusually dense matter surrounding them. A few minutes later, they were parked back in their original position near Grid Two-Alpha, with a derelict shuttlecraft staring back at them a few dozen metres off their bow.

Etan: Should we go over?

The idea caused a strange mixture of intrigue and apprehension within the science officer. Abandoned and adrift shuttlecraft certainly held secrets, but whether anybody should uncover them was debatable.

Yalu: Good question. ::beat:: Is it safe to beam over?

Iljor ran a quick scan before replying.

Etan: Sensors are showing that the shuttle is operating on a reduced power mode. There’s a breathable atmosphere over there, but we can remote trigger it’s power systems to bring it up to full operating capabilities.

Yalu: ::shrugs:: Might give us a sharper clue into this region of the nebula. After all, this craft has been lost for 30 years.

Iljor’s console bleeped at him. His search on the USS Ibn Battuta had brought up some interesting information and he scanned through the documents that the computer had selected for his attention.

Etan: The Ibn Battuta reported a missing shuttlecraft on Stardate 48401.32 that had been sent on a survey mission. The ship itself tried for a week to find it but two officers were reported missing in action, presumed dead. ::the realisation that meant for the two men hit him like a stellar wind.:: Oh Prophets, you don’t think…?

His eyes fell across the old shuttle full of trepidation, imagining the state that it’s occupation would be in after three decades. Sensors had not registered any life signs, after all…

Yogan bit his lip at this particularly grim development. The historical parallel wasn’t lost on him, either. Two officers, sent off in a shuttlecraft to survey the Celendi Nebula. What was that old cliché he heard during his school days? Something about learning from history or being doomed to repeat it?

Yalu: We’d better prepare ourselves, mentally, for what we might find over there.

Reluctantly, Iljor got to his feet and equipped himself for their impromptu away mission: a tricorder and a phaser. He was relieved that the Rennell did not carry Visual Recording Devices as standard. There were some things best left undocumented, if what he thought was waiting for them came to pass.

Etan: I’m ready. ::he said, the reluctance he felt seeping into the tone of his voice.::

Yogan locked down their small shuttlecraft, the 24th-century equivalent of dropping anchor or yanking the emergency brake. Confident that Rennell would be waiting for them when they were ready to return, he stood and grabbed the same bits of kit as Iljor. After keying in a site-to-site transport and setting the time delay, he rose from his seat and joined his fellow officer at the back of the cabin.

Yalu: Let’s go.

Holding his tricorder in one hand and his phaser in t’other, Yogan breathed deeply in half-anticipation/half-dread as the transporter beam enveloped the two men, sending them into the unknown.

(( Derelict shuttlecraft ))

The first thing Yogan noticed upon beaming in was the smell. Stale air made the small space feel even stuffier than usual, and the cold temperature immediately made him feel clammy. There was clearly no threat lurking behind seats or under consoles, so Yogan holstered his phaser and switched the tricorder to his dominant hand.

Yalu: No signs of electrical damage. Nothing to indicate a catastrophic systems failure. ::beat:: With a quick power transfer, this craft would be flight ready.

Iljor took a second to reorientate himself and get used to the staler air of the derelict vessel. He unclipped his tricorder, opened it and began scanning just as Yogan had done moments earlier. He felt an odd sense of unsettlement, as though things were not supposed to be the way they were.

There wasn’t much space to wander around, which made the initial search of the craft relatively brief in duration. After turning 360 degrees multiple times, Yogan realised that the unpleasantness he had prepared himself for.

Etan: Where are the corpses of the missing officers? ::he said, bewildered and looking to Yogan for guidance.::

Yalu: I don’t know. ::beat:: I’m half expecting one of them to drop out of the ceiling. ::adjusts tricorder settings:: I’m scanning for residual humanoid tissues now. If they’re here, or were, we’ll find out.

Yogan slowly scanned the interior of the spacecraft, sweeping the tricorder across each surface. The readout didn’t change at all, and Yogan furrowed his brow in confusion.

Yalu: I’m not picking anything up. No signs of decomposition, either. Those two missing officers weren’t in here. Or at the very least, they didn’t die in here. This is anticlimactic. ::beat:: I mean, I wasn’t hoping to find dead bodies in here, but… ::voice trails off:: At least we can recover the logs and tow the ship back to starbase.

Etan: Good idea. ::he nodded in approval.:: I’ll get started on the logs.

Yalu: ::returning the nod:: Aye. I’ll get the navigational computer online and establish a link with Rennell. If I can pilot her remotely, it’ll be a lot easier.

Iljor took the copilots chair, which was a lot less comfortable than the one he had been occupying in the Rannell. He reached forward and tapped the old style console. A sharp negative beep met his touch and he blinked in surprise.

Etan: That’s odd. This console won’t respond. ::he ran his tricorder across the console.:: The power systems don’t seem to be unaffected by whatever happened to the shuttle. But I can’t access the navigational logs.

Yalu: Hmm. ::stands behind Iljor at the copilot’s seat:: Mind if I take a look?

Realising that Yogan was more qualified than he was, especially when it came to shuttle operations he vacated the seat promptly and waved towards it.

Etan: Be my guest.

With a slight smile, Yogan took the seat. After a cursory inspection of the console, he didn’t get much further than Iljor did, but his tricorder diagnostic spat out a string of text that made Yogan raise an eyebrow. Iljor was right; it wasn’t a power problem. It was something far more mysterious.

Yalu: We can’t access the navigational logs because they’ve been encrypted. Access restricted on Stardate 48401.32. ::beat:: That was the same date that Ibn Battuta reported this shuttlecraft missing. Why would someone have done that?

The science officer considered the question before responding.

Etan: Some kind of classified mission? ::he shrugged uncertainly:: But that still doesn’t explain where the occupants went? ::he ran another sweep with his tricorder, this focusing on biological material.:: I’m not even picking up any kind of biological trace matter. It’s like the shuttle was launched with nobody in it.

Yogan’s brow was getting plenty of practice being furrowed. If he wasn’t careful, this seemingly simple-on-the-surface survey mission might develop a permanent crease in his forehead. The Trill intentionally relaxed his expression as he considered what to do next.

Yalu: Ibn Battuta reported this craft missing with two officers aboard. Let’s try to figure out who they are. ::beat:: I have an idea. ::taps combadge:: Computer, do you have a record of the crew roster of the USS Ibn Battuta on Stardate 48401.32?

Computer: Affirmative.

Yalu: And a record of the same roster for, say, two weeks after that date?

Computer: Affirmative.

Yalu: Compare the two and report any changes.

Computer: Working. ::beat:: Two differences between specified rosters identified.

Yalu: Who are they?

Computer: First Officer Lieutenant Commander Anxo Oliveria and Shuttle Pilot Lieutenant Junior Grade Parker Costanzo.

Despite being mindful of the expression he wore on his face, Yogan couldn’t help raise an eyebrow at this bit of news. People go missing on missions from time to time, but for a senior officer to vanish without a trace added yet another wrinkle to this mystery. He thought about Addison MacKenzie, Resolution’s second-in-command, and had a hard time believing the crew would accept her just disappearing into thin air.

Etan: The First Officer went missing?! ::he said, surprised.:: I guess that explains why Ibn Battuta spent a week looking for this shuttle. ::beat:: But according to our scans, they were never aboard. And a First Officer going missing in action would be pretty big news, right? So why have we never heard about Commander Oliveria?

Things did not add up and coming so soon after their sojourn to the Briar Patch, Iljor was in no mood for more unanswered questions.

Yogan looked back down at his tricorder’s display, as if to confirm that the data was correct. Both he and Iljor had run the same scans, and got the same results. With encrypted navigational logs, they couldn’t tell where the craft had been, but the condition of the [...]pit was clear: it had been launched with no one aboard.

Yalu: We’ve got limited resources to get the answers we want out here. But I’m just as curious as you are, Iljor. We’ve got to find out what happened to Oliveria and Costanzo.

Etan: ::he nodded his agreement.:: Maybe we should take this shuttle back to the Resolution? We’ll be better equipped to investigate there.

Yogan nodded. The scientist was right. Perhaps Resolution, with her greater computing capacity, access to Starfleet records, and insolent-yet-efficient staff librarian, would be a more suitable base for launching an inquiry of this type.

Yalu: Who’d have thought when we flew out here for a survey mission that we’d have uncovered something like this? ::settles back into the pilot seat:: Should be no problem piloting the craft remotely from Rennel, but it’s a two-day trip back to DS224. Iljor, I want to find out everything we can before we deliver this shuttle back over to Starfleet. Something feels wrong about this, and I don’t know about you, but I want to figure it out.

Etan: I agree. ::beat:: We’ve already got too many mysteries left over from the Skarn Homeworld. I’m a scientist- and the idea of something going unsolved make my skin crawl.

Their brief visit to the derelict craft had been a roller coaster. Yogan beamed over expecting to find the final resting place of two officers, left to the misfortune and abyss of deep space. Instead, they found an inexplicable situation and two officers whose disappearances remained a mystery. Yogan was pleased that his roommate and friend was as eager as he was to investigate. If nothing else, it might give them something to work on together after work, and be a welcome distraction to whatever had been troubling Iljor recently.

Yalu: All right. The crafts’ navigation systems are linked. Let’s beam back and see if we can crack the encryption on those logs.

TBC!

Lieutenant Yogan Yalu
Helm Officer
USS Resolution NCC-78145
Justin
D238804DS0

Lieutenant JG Etan Iljor
Science Officer
USS Resolution
C239203TW0

July 10

These guys have worked incredibly hard on an extremely brilliant story about @Etan Iljor's folks and this JP with @Meidra Sirin is just the tip of the iceberg. But this is an awesome opener. Enjoy.

((Counselor Sirin's Office, Deck 2, USS Resolution))

The corridor- if you could call it that- that connected Meidra's office to the wider sickbay was short, almost to the point of being stubby. There was just enough room for a single person to wait for their appointment. There was a chair, but Iljor had chosen not to use it, feeling restless and anxious all at once.

He paced it's nigh-non existent length back and forth, back and forth and felt the knot that had taken up residence in his stomach over the past few weeks tighten more than it had done up to that point. The only redoubt he had found from it was in his work on the Skarn Homeworld- the events there had forced a shift in his priorities- but in the days since their return to Deep Space 224, he had not been able to find a suitable distraction.

Something in the back of his brain tickled, trying to push itself to the front. Each time he reached Meidra's door, it told him to push the button to alert the counselor to his presence. Each time he stopped himself from doing that, knot ever tightening. It wasn't rational and it certainly wasn't healthy, he knew that. In fact, he suspected his reluctance to talk to Meidra would be enough to fill half a dozen sessions with her.

Meidra was in the middle of brewing some tea when she got the odd feeling that someone was outside her door. She frowned, not hearing anyone call to her, and she didn’t have any appointments lined up for the afternoon. Once she sensed it was Iljor, she waited for him to announce himself, but after a few minutes, he hadn’t tried. Staring at the door, she crossed her arms, almost willing him to enter. She’d wait until he was ready to talk, but curiosity was building.

He had spent the last several months in denial. Deep in it, in fact. His decision to remain silent was born of a desire to keep the status quo as it was. He had come close to disclosing it to Genkos, but the fact was that unleashing what he had been told to anybody else would force him to confront the truth that Akhbett Jirall had provided him with.

His parents had been party to a massacre.

He could not stave off the reckoning any longer. It was time to rip off the band-aid, just as Genkos had suggested weeks earlier. He knew that he could not go through it alone. The CMO had told him that the crew would be there to pick up the pieces, but he needed their support to go through with it. He could think of no one more qualified- no one he trusted more- than Meidra.

He reached the entrance to her office once more. Only this time, the doors opened and there stood the auburn-haired Vulcan/El-Aurian psychologist, peering at him with an expression somewhere between confusion and annoyance.

Sirin: Iljor? Is there a reason you are haunting my waiting area? I can feel the waves of turmoil coming from you from inside my office. Come in, please.

She moved off to one side to allow her friend and colleague entrance. Since his arrival on the Resolution, their friendship had grown into a cherished one, and the counselor was a bit overwhelmed by the strong conflicting emotions she felt coming from the usually cheerful science officer. It wasn’t like him to be so stressed, and a real concern started to grow within her.

Sirin: I was just brewing some Spice tea for myself, but if that is not to your liking, you may use the replicator to procure a beverage. ::sits on her sofa, pouring a cup of tea for herself:: Tell me what is on your mind.

Spice tea sounded like the tonic that Iljor needed. He made his way into her comfortable office, made himself a cup and took a seat on the same sofa that he had sat on the very first time that he had met her. It was still as soft as he had remembered.

She waited patiently for him to sit down, and explain what had him so upset. She knew not to push too hard, Iljor always sorted through his thoughts in a quite logical way before speaking, and she knew this time would be no different.

He saw no reason not to cut straight to the heart of the matter.

Etan: Back when we were on Trill for Yogan's zhian'tara ::he began, slowly and deliberately as he organised his jumble of chaotic thoughts.:: I was approached by a Cardassian who claimed to have information on what amounts to a false flag operation on Bajor, one that my parents were drawn in to. ::he went to reach for the optolythic data rod that Akhbett had given him before her swift exit from the café. He didn't realise until he blinked that he was already holding it.::

The data rod had been gathering dust in his bedside table ever since they had returned from Trill. He had tried to forget about it as best as he could. He had ignored it for the most part, but after his conversation with Genkos and upon returning from the science symposium, he had finally decided to review its contents.

What he had read had sickened him to his very core.

Of all the things that he could have told her, this had not even registered as a possibility. Meidra took a sip of her tea, attempting to clear her thoughts, before putting the cup down to focus on her friend. Her voice softened, and she knew she had to tread carefully with this conversation. He was like a pi’sa-kai to her, a little brother, and she did not wish to cause him unneeded distress.

Sirin: I see. And what exactly did this person tell you?

Etan: She claimed that the old Central Command fed false intelligence to my parent's resistance cell that an Obsidian Order operation was about to take place. Their cell swiftly bombed the warehouse where they were sheltering and then 'picked off' the survivors one by one until none were left.

Just repeating Jirall's claims made him want to be sick all over Meidra's office. He could feel the roiling of his agitated stomach, the knot there replaced temporarily by an ocean of anxiety. He took a sip of the spice tea with closed eyes, hoping it would calm him somewhat.

Given that his hands were now beginning to tremble, it didn't seem to work. Meidra reached out and squeezed his hands in encouragement, her touch light. Sitting back again, she watched the emotions cross his face as he struggled to continue. She had never seen him so agitated. Her feelings for him as an older sister warred with her duties as counselor for a moment, and all she wanted to do was envelope him in a huge hug and let him cry it out. However, at this moment, they were counselor and patient. She took a moment to settle her own thoughts before continuing.

Sirin: Take a breath, Iljor. Tell me more when you are ready.

He drew strength from her gentle squeeze and he composed himself before elaborating.

Etan: They weren't Obsidian Order operatives. ::he said in a small voice that took on a surprisingly guilty tone.:: They were religious believers. Civilians.

Sirin: Refugees.

Iljor nodded.

Etan: Of a sort. ::beat:: They were members of an ancient Cardassian religion, known as the Oralian Way. After the establishment of the Central Command and the military dictatorship, religion was banned outright and members of The Way were hunted and persecuted publicly, for entertainment as much as a warning to others. The woman I spoke to said that the believers were being sheltered by the Vedek Assembly- which does tally with their actions during the Occupation.

The Vedek Assembly had, in the decades since the end of the Occupation and the fall of Central Command, admitted to running an underground railroad of Oralian believers through Bajor, sheltering them until they get them off world and out of the murderous hands of Central Command and the Obsidian Order. It was their own act of rebellion against the oppressive Centeal Command. Iljor had thought them courageous and selfless, putting aside prejudice and hate to help those in dire need of rescuing.

Sirin: And this woman said your parents were somehow involved. ::beat:: What else did she tell you?

Etan: That was pretty much it. That there was a false flag operation, my parents' resistance cell was involved and religious refugees were massacred. ::he remembered a final detail.:: The Vedek Assembly covered it all up. ::he let out a sigh.:: I haven't corroborated any of the details. ::he held up the optometric rod again.:: I'm scared to.

Sirin: What exactly do you fear, Iljor?

Etan: That I don’t know my own parents- the people who raised me. This changes absolutely everything. I don’t know if I want to know the real them.

Sirin: Perhaps not knowing is more harmful at this point.

She poured them another cup of tea, watching his expression carefully. This was a huge revelation for him to deal with, and while determining the veracity of these claims was important, his emotional health was her first priority. Both as counselor, and as friend.

Iljor considered Meidra’s view for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth as though he was reading something. His foot tapped on the carpet in agitation. Jirall’s evidence had more than just repercussions for him and his parents- the entire bedrock of Bajoran spirituality- the Vedek Assembly- could be shaken to its core.

Etan: Something like this could rock the very foundations of Bajor. The Vedek Assembly engaged in a conspiracy to cover up the deaths of innocent Cardassian civilians. I know it was the Occupation and to almost everyone the only good Cardassian was a dead Cardassian. ::beat:: but I never believed that and I never will.

He didn't remember getting to his feet and he didn't remember when he had risen his voice.

Etan: For years I convinced myself that my parents were just messengers or they hid resistance members in their cellar away from the prying eyes of Dukat's patrols. ::beat:: I want to believe they’re innocent of what they stand accused of. They have to be.

But in his heart, he knew the facts. Data on optolythic data rods was infallible and as best as he knew, nobody had ever successfully forged an entry. If Jirall had gotten the information then it was accurate. His entire world had been turned upside down. His parents were strangers, the leaders of his faith were party to a massacre and cover-up, everything he knew was a lie.

She could see him spiraling into self doubt about what he had always felt was the truth about his family. He was agitated and she could feel his anxiety as if it were her own. Empathy was a fine talent to have until one felt as if one’s lunch was trying to escape. She took a deep breath and spoke a bit louder than usual to the young science officer.

Sirin: Iljor. Look at me. Do you want to know what that rod contains? Are you prepared to deal with the consequences, no matter what they are? ::beat:: Have you considered speaking with your parents?

There was something in Meidra's voice- a commanding tone- that snapped back to reality and out of his heightened emotional state. He blinked twice and looked at the counselor.

The truth was that no- he was not prepared to deal with the information he had been given. That had been why he had buried it under a pile of clothes in his drawers and tried to pretend it did not exist. Yet, he knew he could not ignore it forever. He had known ever since Jirall had sat opposite him in the café on Trill that he would have to confront his parents with the information. He might not be prepared… but he would have to change that.

He let out a long, sad sigh.

Etan: No. No I'm not. ::he shook his head.:: But this is too important to bury my head in the sand and forget about. ::he paused for a second and flopped back on to the comfortable sofa, resigned to his duty.:: I don’t think that I could.

He reached a decision.

Etan: I have to speak to them.

Sirin: I think that is the most logical course of action.

It was not a conversation he wanted to have over subspace. He didn't want to have it at all- but he knew it had to be done. No, he needed to speak to them face to face. There was no way that they would leave the farm- not when the katterpod harvest was coming up. That only left one option.

He needed to go home.

Etan: I don't think I can do this alone. ::he said finally.:: I'm not strong enough.

Meidra highly doubted that. Iljor had a strength that he might not recognize, but it was in everything he did, both as an officer and as a person. She would do what she could to reinforce that confidence until he truly believed it himself. But until then, she would do all she could for him when he needed her.

Sirin: What do you need to make this easier for you?

Etan: ::he looked at Meidra imploringly.:: Would you come with me? You're my best friend on Resolution and this is one of those times when you need a friend to support you.

Meidra was quite touched. She felt the same way for the young Bajoran, and their weekly lunches had grown into a strong bond of friendship. She wondered how she had gotten so fortunate to serve with such incredibly talented and compassionate beings. Taking his hand once more in hers, she smiled warmly at her pi’sa-kai.

Sirin: You never have to ask me for my support, Iljor. I wouldn’t want you to do this on your own. Speaking as a counselor, I would not advise you to go on your own anyway. Speaking as your best friend and big sister, I wouldn’t even let you consider it.

He practically sagged with relief into the back of the sofa.

Etan: Thank you. ::he said after several long moments that seemed never-ending.::

Sirin: We’re family now, pi’sa-kai. Your struggles are my own. We will get through this together, little brother.

--

End Of Scene

--

Lieutenant (J.G.) Etan Iljor

Science Officer

U.S.S. Resolution

C239203TW0

&

Lieutenant Meidra Sirin

Ship’s Counselor

U.S.S. Resolution

R239707MS0

“Truth will ultimately prevail where there is pains to bring it to life.”

July 1

Words cannot express our gratitude to these people! But thank you will have to do!

June 30

Congratulations to all!!!

June 29

Congratulations to all our fabulous award winning staff, who deserve every medal under the stars

June 28

Congratulations to all our fabulous winners!

June 27

A massive congratulations to all the winners, it's amazing to see so many awards being given out in so many categories. A fantastic endorsement of our corner of the internet.

June 21

If introspection is the name of the game, then @Samira Neathler is one of the undisputed champions. A brilliant inward reflection after a traumatic experience.

((N’Vea Hospitals’ Grounds - Deluvia IV))

Standing on the broad stairs of one of the many entrances of the N’Vea Hospitals, she looked up at the tall building. Mainly build out of a glasslike material, the windows reflected the peaceful scenery from outside. Palm trees from further down on the beach mirrored on the higher levels of the building. The lower levels revealing the green grass fields that surrounded the base of the building. Paved paths meandered through the pasture. Well-travelled pathways, by the looks of it, as people walked from one point to the other. The complete picture gave the building a serene and inviting look. But deep down, Samira felt anything but serene.

She heard children’s laughter and her gaze shifted to the green fields. A child was running towards a couple, one of the women, opening her arms wide as the toddler ran into her open arms. The lady lifting up the child before she cuddled the girl tightly. Was that one of the tricks the therapists used? Do well and you get to see your loved ones during a stroll outside?

Samira looked away, she shouldn’t think like that. She’d been at the Hospital before. After the incident with the upside down ship. She knew the medical care in the center was excellent. But this time, it was different; it felt different. It wasn’t a burned limb that needed fixing. It was something in her mind. Something that wouldn’t go away.

First there was the name of list that popped up in her mind when she didn’t want it to. A shortlist containing mainly Cardassian names. Every single name evoking a feeling of hate towards a certain person that she didn’t know existed. People who in another lifetime, that wasn’t real, had hurt her. She had looked up the names in Starfleet’s database, yet had recognised none of them. She had never met any of them in her short life.

Next was knowing what her counterpart had done. What she was capable of. She looked down, studying her hands. Hands that, when covered with full gloves, hiding the scarred tissue and badly healed bones underneath, were capable of cold blooded murder. No questions asked. Just because someone belonged to a certain species, those hands decided to end those lives.

While the hands she stared at now had hardly fired at any living being at all. The two exceptions were on the upside ship when she had to fight off a couple of thieves. And the other occasion was during Academy classes. Even then it was rare, but when it happened, she was fully aware she was shooting at holographic images. While her counterpart, while not knowing she was in holoprogram, killed those beings nonetheless, in the blink of an eye.

Samira swallowed and lowered her hands. Even her morning runs no longer helped to clear her mind. There was always something that reminded her of Fingers and what she had done.

The first time, she could blame Lladre for every crazy thing that the evil Trill had put in her mind. The second time, Q orchestrated things behind the scene. But this time? Sure, she could blame Genkos for dropping them in the Skarbek world, or more precisely the thing that had possessed his brain. But there was only one person accountable for the heartless killing she had done, and it was herself.

She stared at the entrance, the doors opening, a couple broadly smiling leaving, stepping down the stairs to who knew where to.

She shook her head, she wasn’t ready to talk. How could someone who hadn’t been there understand? How could she explain to someone she was a ruthless killer without having killed anyone in this life? Imagine the irony, if the therapist appeared to be of Cardassian origin?

Slowly she turned around, going down the stairs, taking the road to the beach. A beach where previous time the Gorkon orbited the planet, Bear and Toran had played a game of volleyball. The three of them ended up eating something at one of the local campfires that evening. Toran, who after all those years, hardly could talk about the hardship of what happened Over There. So it shouldn't be a surprise she wasn't ready to talk about something so recently.

She continued her walk away from the building. Her mind repeating a list of names. A list that awkwardly enough was one name shorter already, when she had learned the faith of the scientist named Brevek. One name less to take revenge on. She cursed softly. She shouldn’t think that way. If only she could erase the list from her mind and the faces that accompanied the names. Maybe with the help of a few drinks or a bottle of whiskey. Surely one of the beach bars had something that would make her forget.

---

Lieutenant Commander Samira Neathler

Chief Security/Tactical & Second Officer

USS Gorkon

G239508SN0

June 19

Don't let you not using having seen stuff stop you from voting!

I do fully agree with you about Crusher vis a vis surface level failing, I think there's a really interesting debate to be had there about the nature of sexuality (and specifically bisexuality)

June 17

It’s June, and quite apart from it being warm and summery (at least in my part of the world) it is also Pride Month! Star Trek has a long history of racial inclusivity, from the earliest series onwards but the first main characters canonically portrayed as being a part of the LGBTQ community are Dr Hugh Culber and Lt. Paul Stamets on Discovery. Not that queerness hasn’t existed within the Star Trek universe before, it has, but portrayals of it are few and far between.

But which of those portrayals is your favourite? Let’s start with Culber and Stamets in Discovery; their personal home life is regularly shown in the series (one of my favourite scenes in the whole of Discovery is the one where the two of them are brushing their teeth) and I think we can all agree that they are an excellent example of representation.

What about Adira Tal in the latest series of Discovery? They are non-binary and came out to the aforementioned Stamets in one episode, preferring they/them pronouns. I thought this was an outstanding example of embracing the current shifts in thought and representing them on screen.

I know it’s passe to mention the JJverse in SB118, but I couldn’t let this poll pass without at least mentioning the existence of Hikaru Sulu’s sexuality in that adaptation. Or at least in Beyond, in which he’s shown happily embracing a same-sex partner (a kiss, however, apparently fell to the cutting room floor).

Finally, I will briefly pass over the small instances of LGBT inclusion in the older series. We had the genderless species of the J’Naii in The Outcast episode of The Next Generation. The focus of this episode was on Soren, who felt distinctly female, even admitting an attraction to William Riker (and having an affair with him). You had instances of bisexuality occurring frequently in Trill storylines; Dr Crusher and Odan in The Host, Dax and Kahn in Rejoined to name two, as well as Mirror Kira being romantically involved with Ezri in Deep Space 9.

Do you have other instances you’d like to discuss? Are there portrayals that aren’t good portrayals? Let us know what you think!

June 14

Another fabulous intership JP from @Vitor S. Silveira and @LtJG Aine Olive Sherlock; this time two old cadet cruise buddies meet up for some fun and funny banter. Quite pleased to see Academy friends continuing to get along!

((USS Juneau, deck 4, Silveira and R’Kala’s quarters))

Vitor passed again by the console in his quarters, finishing a cup of coffee, and putting it back to the replicator for recycling.
It took a few more minutes for the comlink to load, so Vitor sat down and leaned back waiting as the screen flashed through the loading cycle. He stared quietly until he saw Sher on the other side.

Aine sat at her desk, sipping her customary Barry’s with a splash of milk, in the Security Office aboard the Resolution waiting for the subspace connection to finish. The notification she received told her who it was, but she was a little nervous nonetheless. It’d been a few months since her and Sil had spoken, both of them busy with their respective ships. The connection seemed almost stuck at 99%, then it finally went through and there he was!

Before she could react he raised his arms in the air, with a fake angry expression and shouted.

Silveira: FINALLY.

Sherlock: ::faking a shocked look on her face:: Am I late?

Vitor laughed and shook his head.

Aine couldn’t help but smile back. Sil always had a way of being dramatic and humorous at the same time.

Silveira: I was thinking you forgot me already. I am pretty sure I still make an impression on those I meet.

Sherlock: You know you always do. Rarely does anyone quickly forget the magnanimous Vitor Silveira!

Vitor smiled and nodded, this time shedding away all the shenanigans.
It was good to see Sher again. They were on the same Cadet Cruise and he bonded with her right from the start.

Silveira: I know, I am just teasing. ::He winked as he nodded.:: You're looking good Lieutenant. It’s really good to see you again.

Sherlock: And you as well, Lieutenant. ::giving him a nod:: Looks like the Juneau’s been keeping you busy.

Silveira: I see active service suits you. Even sitting down you look taller, you must have grown what? Three inches?

Sherlock: ::rolling her eyes:: Ha, ha. I know, still short as ever.

Vitor laughed.

Aine was glad to see he hadn’t lost his sense of humor.

Sherlock: So, how are things on that big fancy ship of yours?

Silveira: Pretty good now. ::He raised both his thumbs up. :: Shore leave time. How about you? I heard you had some trouble on your last mission. ::He kept smiling but his forehead wrinkled in concern. :: Are you alright?

Aine suddenly had a flashback. Ash falling from the sky of a desolate colony world long dead. A Nascaik officer restrained and paralyzed facing imminent death. And the tall wispy Thama who’d set all of it motion by blowing a hole in the Resolution.

Sherlock: ::nodding her head:: Yeah, was a little crazy. The terrorist was who we least expect it to be. But things worked out ok in the end.

Silveira: I am glad to hear that. It must have been a daunting experience. ::Victor's smile dimmed slightly.:: We didn't face that on our cadet cruise.

Sherlock: Most definitely not. Even if that’d been real, it’d have been a pleasure cruise compared to what’s happened to me since then.

Specifically, Aine was now thinking about getting propelled 300,000 years into the future with killer lizard men trying to gun them down. It’d been a long 6 months.

Vitor nodded, he knew that feeling all too well. In fact that was also one of the reasons he hadn't yet reached out to Sher. But he forced that thought away and put on a wider smile.

Silveira: All is well when it ends well. Let us enjoy our leave and digress over more agreeable things.

Sherlock: Yes! Onto lighter topics! Please! Have any fun in your downtime?

Vitor tilted his head. There was a slight blush on his cheeks when he thought of what he planned to do.

Silveira: Not yet, but I have something planned.

Sherlock: ::eyes narrowing:: Something ::beat:: with someone?

A sly smile quickly formed on Aine’s face.

Vitor raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

Silveira: Yeah, there is an engineer I find very attractive. I will be asking her out. Hopefully she will agree.

Sherlock: Huh, an engineer. She must be good with her hands.

Vitor raised an eyebrow and tilted his head sideways.

Silveira: Really?

Sherlock: ::laughing:: I’m only joking. I’m sure that if she’s caught your attention she must be special. I’m happy for you. Where are you guys taking leave anyways?

Vitor shook his head and smiled.

Silveira: Probably back at Lightside Station, not yet sure. ::Vitor crossed his fingers under his chin and leaned forward.:: And how about you, my little heartbreaker? I am sure you had many eyes turned in your direction. Any romantic encounters?

Sherlock: No. ::beat:: Ok, there was an attempt at one. But I just don’t think I can do a relationship right now.

Silveira: I don’t believe that. ::Winking:: Besides I know all too well you have a crush on me. Alas, long distance relationships are complicated.

Sherlock: ::rolling her eyes with a smile:: Lucky me. ::giving Vitor a wink::

Silveira: We will always have our cadet cruise.

Sherlock: And we never know where we’ll end up.

Aine paused for a moment. Looking at the handsome Lieutenant, though she’d never admit that aloud so as not to feed that ego, she thought about just how far they’d come in such a short time. And even farther they had to go.

Sherlock: Well, my shift’s about to start and we’ll be heading into the Briar Patch today. But, we’ll do this again, ::pointing at Vitor:: soon. And if by chance we’re at the same place in time on leave, we’ll definitely get together. Deal?

Vitor kept smiling when Sher paused. He recalled when his career was starting, as he realized Sher was going through those growing pains as well.
He wished they were closer to each other, she grew to become a true friend.

oO Figuratively off course. But little as you may be I am pretty sure you are on your way to become a giant Little One. Oo

Silveira: That we do.

Sherlock: I’ll talk to you soon. Stay safe out there. Have a good one.
Vitor nodded before replying and he waved as he spoke.

Silveira: Take care and behave. I want to talk to you soon and in one piece.

When the comline was cut he leaned back. It hadn’t come up in their conversation, so he just let his thought speak instead .

oO Take care of Nicholotti as well, tell her… I said hi. Oo

End

Lt. J. G. Vitor S.Silveira
Tactical Officer
USS Juneau, NX-99801
O238907VS0

and

Lieutenant Junior Grade Aine Sherlock
Security Officer
USS Resolution
R239712AS0

June 14

@Meidra Sirin and @Maz Rodan have done a fabulous job creating an intership JP of two people who shouldn't know each other, justifying it, and then having a hell of a lot of fun with it. Well done guys!

((Risa - The Grand Key Resort; Main Lobby))

Regan was impressed with the lavish interior of the Grand Key. He hadn’t stayed there before, mostly because when he was on the planet he stayed at his family’s beach house on the seafront - it was only a stone's throw away from the main chain of hotels and nightlife in the beach district.

Meidra wasn’t sure what to expect at a Tribble competition, but her little friend was not as confident in herself as she should be, and Meidra believed that this event would help Roc gain some much needed self esteem. Addison would have rolled her eyes at the suggestion, so Meidra just told her it was a psychological training class that involved therapy animals. A slight fib, but Meidra didn’t need that kind of negativity in her life.

It was fun, however, to take Roc for the required physical for the competition. Doctor Genkos Adea, CMO and second officer of Resolution had a background in veterinary science due to working with his father while younger, and was qualified to give Roc a clean bill of health before Meidra whisked her off to the bright lights of the big city. The fact that he considered Tribbles the scourge of the universe only served to amuse the counselor when booking the appointment for R. Sirin. Looking back on the memory of his face, she had to fight giggles.

Getting out of her transport, she looked up to see the marquee “Grand Key Resort” above her, and walked inside to find their room for the duration.

The Grand Key was the host of the annual ‘Furs’ competition. Tribble fanciers from all over the Quadrant gathered once a year for the showing, and today was a busy day. The lobby was packed with all kinds of people milling about and chattering to each other excitedly.

Some carried Tribbles in their arms; stroking them, petting them, others had them in custom carry cages, and the lobby was filled with the unmistakable sound of cooing.

Regan carried Trevor in a cage - sturdy plastic with enough gaps for him to be visible and get plenty of fresh air. He’d got it custom made and decided against the plush pillow he usually laid the creature out on. Carrying him around made him feel like he was carrying a precious jewel rather than a pet.

He turned to the front desk and registered his name - and Trevor’s - for the competition. As he was finished signing in Trevor made a cacophonous cooing noise which made Regan glance down at the cage. Trevor was shaking. Regan looked around and spotted a woman with pointed ears carrying her own Tribble.

He smiled and nodded to the woman.

Meidra noticed the shaking Tribble and smiled at his excitement. She wasn’t an expert on Tribble physiology since the exobiology classes at the Academy seemed to skip over the creatures, but she was getting the impression that Roc was being admired. Roc, for her part, was cooing gently as if to calm the other Tribble, and Meidra was quite proud of her little therapy animal. The counselor had an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, and was holding her white Tribble, gently telling her things were going to be just fine.

Wilde: I think he likes you. Or your Tribble. He doesn’t usually get this animated on the ship.

Sirin: He’s very handsome, Mister… ?

Wilde: Oh, forgive me. ::He replaced the cage on the other hand and extended his free one.:: My name is Wilde. Regan Wilde. I serve on the USS Arrow.

Sirin: Lieutenant Meidra Sirin. A pleasure to meet you.

Regan smiled and tilted his head. Another Starfleeter. He would never have guessed with neither of them being in uniform.

Wilde: Sirin? Where do I know that name…

Sirin: My mother is a noted historian, perhaps you have heard of ….

Regan clicked his fingers together in acknowledgement. His memory wasn’t failing him just yet. Meidra, knowing what was coming, simply continued to check in while Regan figured it all out. Roc was making the strangest soft sound, like she was talking to herself in hushed tones. Meidra smiled at the idea her Tribble was taking it all in and seemed content.

Wilde: The Meidra Sirin!? Deep Space 224!?

The counselor shrugged good naturedly, wondering how he’d heard of her adventure with her cousin Alieth. Addison had made it clear that it wasn’t something she wanted too many others to know about. Meidra smirked to herself. oOYou can’t stop a legend….or one of those blasted wanted posters were found again. Oo

Sirin: ::lowering her sunglasses with her free hand:: You... know about that?

Regan grinned, making the deep green of his eyes twinkle.

Wilde: ::Chuckling.:: Oh, honey, everybody knows about that. ::Beat:: I’m a security officer. We all got the memo. Don’t worry, though. I am a bit of a misfit on my ship too. I’d love to hear the whole story of how you took on Klingons.

Meidra pushed her sunglasses back up and nodded, happy to have met someone who wasn’t judging her for past mistakes.

Sirin: Perhaps once my friend and I here have a chance to settle into our room. ::whispers:: I told my First Officer this was a training symposium for Tribbles. She didn’t look closely at the paperwork, so here we are. ::speaks at a normal volume:: I’d love to hear more about your Tribble. What is his name?

Wilde: This is Trevor! ::He held up the cage for inspection.:: My little pride and joy. I do all of his grooming myself. The shampoos, the styling. I’ve been trying to get that top little patch of hair into a mohawk, but so far no success…

The counselor got a strong feeling that the pink creature in front of her was not fond of the prospect of such a hairstyle, but she nodded diplomatically. Roc was happy just to be brushed nightly.

Sirin: A mohawk would be quite - different.

Wilde: And your little Tribble, what’s their name?

Sirin: Roc, it means hope in Vulcan. She is my little junior counselor, we visit people in Sickbay when needed. She’s very popular with everyone ::thinks of Genkos:: well - almost everyone.

Wilde: You told your First Officer you were coming to a training seminar? Would they have frowned upon a showing competition?

Were things so different on Meidra’s ship than the Arrow?

Sirin: No she wouldn’t have objected at all. She would have teased me mercilessly over my desire to come to something so illogical. Being half Vulcan, most people assume that I have no desire for such things. What about your situation? Is it similar?

Wilde: On the contrary, if I told Commander Collins I was coming to a training symposium, he’d look at me strange. A showing competition is far more my style.

Sirin: I can see that, you and Trevor are quite stylish.

She finished checking in, then gave her full attention to her new acquaintance. Her pure white Tribble seemed to stare at Trevor, but Meidra figured that it was because the only others she’d ever been near had not been pleasant. The little noises she made were quite soothing.

Wilde: So you’re staying here? At The Grand Key? Maybe we can hang around together and check out the competition.

Sirin: That sounds fun. To tell you the truth, I needed to take a few days and just recharge. We have a small ship, but in a way, that makes it difficult to have any time to oneself.

Wilde: I definitely know that feeling. I’m here for shore leave too. Are you here totally for pleasure, or business too?

They began walking together towards the elevator leading to the guest rooms. Pressing the button to enter, they quickly chose their floor and watched the doors close on the bustling crowd in the lobby. The two Tribbles seemed to be cooing at each other, and Meidra glanced down to smile at them before answering.

Sirin: My boyfriend is in the middle of a week of training, he’s an EMT and has to keep his skills current. So, when I heard about this competition, I thought it would be a good bonding experience for Roc and myself. She’s got some self esteem issues.

Wilde: Ah, a mix of both!

The idea of a Tribble with self-esteem issues made his nose wrinkle in amusement. Tribbles were such fascinating creatures. He’d wanted one for as long as he could remember. He was so pleasured and flattered when Mees had found him one while they were blockaded over Theta 122.

Meidra grinned, leaning in to confide in Regan.

Sirin: And maybe I have always wanted to come to a Tribble showing competition. I’ve read about them, but never seemed to find time to attend.

She had a flash of something pass through her mind, and realized she was picking up emotional signals from the nice young man. Something about a wedding.

Sirin: Have you been to one before?

Wilde: This is my first competition, too. Technically I’m here for shore leave, though my twin sister is getting married soon and she let me organise the bachelorette party. But I managed to get some free time away from organization duties. This is going to be such fun!

Sirin: You seem rather confident.

One thing Regan Wilde did not lack was confidence.

Wilde: Are you kidding, Trevor is a sure thing! He’s well groomed. He’s got a top range melody. His obedience could be a little better…

He cast a suspicious eye at his pink little companion. For a species as docile as Tribbles, Trevor had a curiously disobedient streak to him. Regan would wake up in the night and the little pink ball of fur would not be on his sleeping pillow, or a different position in his quarters entirely.

Wilde: But I’m forever an optimist. Winning would be incredible!

Sirin: It would certainly give bragging rights.

She imagined getting Roc a little crown and throne, then throwing a little celebratory party for her when she returned to Resolution. Then celebrating seeing her boyfriend again. Her pleasant thoughts were interrupted by Regan’s next question.

Wilde: You mentioned self-esteem issues with Roc? How did you come to that conclusion?

Sirin: She comes from the wildlife sanctuary on Vulcan and the others were less than kind to her. I was looking for a therapy animal to assist me in counseling duties but it seems that I must first build up her sense of worth.

The elevator door opened, and the four started down the corridor.

Wilde: Now that sounds really interesting. Trevor is my therapy Tribble, too. I was given him after a mission in the Alpha Isles…

How much was he willing to confide in this new acquaintance of his? Obviously not too much to think he was a nut-job. So no mention of night terrors. Or episodes of lost time. Could he tell her about the pirates who boarded the Arrow? Probably. Captain Ghant? Sure. Captain Ghant torturing him and using his own Reman knife to cut out his eye and then eat it like an appetizer? Absolutely not. He controlled his thoughts and masked his moment of distraction with his signature smile.

Wilde: This is going to sound forward, but I’d love to discuss therapy Tribbles some more. Are you free for dinner tonight? I know all the hot-spots of Risa. ::He almost winked conspiratorially.:: Thanks to my Wilde youth. Pun intended.

For some reason, most people delighted in puns about his name.

Sirin: Dinner sounds fun. Thank you for the invitation.

Meidra hadn’t planned to go out her first night at the resort, but Wilde seemed like someone who would be an excellent dinner companion.

Wilde: Excellent. I’ll send my shuttle to pick you up. Eight o’clock?

Sirin: I’ll be ready. Is your room nearby?

Regan looked around the corridor and chuckled. He’d been so engrossed in conversation he almost forgot he didn’t have a reservation.

Wilde: Oh, I’m not staying here. My family has a beach house on the seafront. A few of us from the ship are staying there. Sisters bachelorette party, as I mentioned.

Sirin: I see, well, enjoy seeing your family. I need to get this one ready for her nap, it’s been a long day for her already.

Wilde: Then I shall see you at dinner, Meidra. It’s always fun to meet a fellow officer. And I’m sure there are lots of adventures to be had here. Though I will warn you, I’m not fighting Klingons… ::He grinned mischievously.:: Well, no promises!

Sirin: Hah, you’ll be fighting them alone ::holds up Roc:: I have this little one to think of now. Oo And Addison would probably leave me in the brig this time oO

Wilde left with a grin, and Meidra entered her room, quickly setting up a bed for Roc with a hotel pillow. She sighed, heading to take a quick shower, wondering how her little friend would like the competition. There was a restlessness in Roc, and Meidra was determined to find its source and help get the Tribble to a happier mind set.

After she’d changed, she sent off a quick message to her boyfriend, Dwich, letting him know that she was thinking of him and hoping he did well with his training classes. She flinched, remembering an ill fated self defense class where she’d accidentally broken his arm. Thankfully, he hadn’t been seriously injured, and they’d finally confessed their feelings after months of near misses.

Standing up, she went over to the large window and gazed at the stars that were just beginning to make themselves known. She was at peace, confident that there would be no drama or chaos on this shore leave. Smiling, she went to the mini bar and took out a bottle of Vulcan brandy, filling her flask. It was going to be a good night.

((Risa - Gino’s Bar and Grill))

Regan had sent his shuttle to pick his new friend - Meidra Sirin - up from The Grand Key, and deposited them a short time later at Gino’s, a little out of the way joint which wasn’t too fancy and overpriced, but not too low brow either.

Regan had known Gino for years and always liked to stop in whenever he was on Risa. The handsome Risian was pleased to see him and offered them the best table. The little bar-slash-restaurant was lively tonight. Evidently the popularity of the place was on the up.

Meidra smiled as Regan held out a chair for her, and she glanced around at the various people dancing and socializing. She wished Dwich had been able to come with her for this, but his career was very important to him because it allowed him to help others, and that was one of the many reasons she loved him.

Wilde: I hope you don’t mind a little atmosphere with your dinner tonight?

Sirin: On the contrary, I could use a bit of entertainment this evening.

The buzz in the atmosphere was contagious, and Regan felt himself unwind almost instantly. The stress of organizing a party, combined with the sudden arrival of his mother and aunts at the beach house, had made him too tense to think straight. He was grateful for a chance to sneak away for the Tribble competition, and meeting another Starfleet officer who might understand that.

Wilde: Your EMT boyfriend not joining us?

Meidra sighed, missing Dwich a bit more, seeing the happy couples at dinner. Maybe they could go away together somewhere for a few days. She did have that cottage her grandmother had left her on a little out of the way planet. She could see them relaxing on the wraparound porch that circled the small home, watching the sunsets together. She shrugged, smiling at her dinner companion.

Sirin: Unfortunately, his training sessions are keeping him busy. I won’t see him for another few days when I go back to Resolution.

Wilde: Oh that’s a shame. I was going to ask if he had a medic friend he could introduce me to. When on Risa, as they say…

He gave a smirk of amusement. Meidra matched it with one of her own, raising her water glass to salute him. She also wished Iljor was around so that she could introduce them. She wasn’t giving up on finding the science officer possible dates.

Sirin: I’m sure you won’t lack for company once men know you are open to it. ::Looks around:: Risa looks a bit different since the last time I was here. Of course that was twenty years ago and I was not exactly looking at the scenery. ::winks:: My twin and I came here a few times to get away from the rest of the family. Separately of course. But we always shared our stories once we were back home.

Wilde: Twenty years ago? I was but a child. ::He chuckled.:: Those Vulcan genes must do you wonders.

Sirin: Thank you. I’m half El Aurian so they tell me that contributes to it as well.

Wilde: How fascinating that you’re a twin! I’m a twin too! Roxy can get quite embarrassed about some of the things I used to get up on Risa. I was a bit of a reckless one when I was younger.

Sirin: After our kahs wan, we left Vulcan for quite some time. During our teenage years, my brother and I came up with many ways to get into trouble. Oo Thankfully those records are sealed. oO

A member of the waiting team came to take their order, and Regan waited for Meidra to order before he ordered his meal. Meidra chose a spicy hasperat then smiled up at the waiter.

Sirin: Whatever Bolian cider is in season please. Regan?

He held up a hand politely and waved it slightly. He offered an apologetic smile.

Wilde: I’m… err… actually coming up six years sober. ::To the waiter.:: Just a fruit [...]tail for me, please.

Sirin: Apologies for my assumption.

Wilde: Please, don’t apologise. It’s not a pleasant dinner topic, but… it’s part of who I am. I accepted it, and I take mandatory counselling for it. Among other things.

Sirin: Do you not find these visits beneficial?

Wilde: Oh I’m not afraid of the counselors office like a lot of officers are. Sometimes when I get talking R’Ariel has to reschedule other appointments.

Meidra considered her own visits with Genkos. The good doctor was kind enough to agree to counsel her when needed, and she considered him a true friend. She said as much to Regan as she took another sip of water before her drink arrived.

Sirin: It’s interesting being a counselor and needing therapy. Our CMO looks after my mental health since I’m the only counselor on board. I’d never admit it to him because he’d be embarrassed, but I think he’s one of the most compassionate men I’ve ever met.

Wilde: ::Nodding.:: I think a lot of doctors are. Kind of comes with the territory, doesn’t it?

She remembered her former fiance and how he was anything but kind. Those memories would stay with her, locked away, no matter how much therapy she had. She pushed the thoughts away, but still, answered his question with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes.

Sirin: You would think so, but I have found that some doctors only look at people as test subjects. Then again, some people think of creatures like Tribbles as test subjects. It is always refreshing to meet a physician that truly values life.

Wilde:: Have you found Tribbles to be… beneficial in counselling?

He expected a laugh or jeer or something, but he was actually quite serious.

Wilde: That’s a legitimate question, by the way. I know Tribbles get a lot of flack sometimes, but Trevor has been a huge help to me.

The counselor nodded. Roc had comforted quite a few patients in Resolution’s sickbay. Something about a purring ball of fluff made even the most hardened hearts melt. Unless one was a certain grumpy CMO, but he’d come around eventually.

Sirin: I believe I have found few creatures so in tune with compassion and the feelings of those around them. They exude a calmness that makes them invaluable in a counseling setting. Where did you find Trevor, if you don’t mind my asking?

Wilde: Oh, he was a gift. From a friend. We had a bad mission at Theta 122. Well, we had several, but I’m trying not to keep score. Orion pirates boarded us and caused a lot of damage to the ship. The Captain of them and I… fought and she injured me. Quite badly. And I started having interrupted sleep and losing time. I guess you could call it PTSD. And Trevor helps at night when I wake up.

Sirin: I’m sure you give the same comfort and familiarity to Trevor. After some issues with my family, I guess I felt a bit alone. We were on Vulcan for shore leave recently, and found myself at a wildlife sanctuary looking at Tribbles - I had one as a child - and Roc was alone in a corner, shunned by the others just for being a pure white creature while they were boring browns and greys. I suppose she reminded me of myself. Surrounded by family, but shunned for being different. ::points at red hair:: This doesn’t exactly scream Vulcan.

Meidra remembered her last trip to Vulcan where her grandfather had sent assassins after her just for being less than a perfect Vulcan. She took a sip of her drink and focused on enjoying her evening.

Wilde: I’m wondering if Starfleet will sanction their use as official therapy animals. We still use dogs and cats, why not Tribbles?

Sirin: Why not, indeed? Officially, Roc is listed as a pet, but she’s been very helpful getting my patients to open up in a safe environment. Not many can be stressed around a Tribble. Unless one is Klingon, and I’m not sure the usual counseling methods work well with them anyway. In my experience, it tends to be more - physical - when discussing issues with one.

Meidra thought back to her night in the brig on DS224 - true, she’d been reprimanded by one angry First Officer, but the tattoo and the memory was precious to her. She really should call Alieth soon and see how she was doing with her very illogical ship mates on the Thor.

If she wasn’t in a relationship now, she may have been tempted to find the Klingon scientist she debated later that night in the brig. She laughed to herself, knowing that would never happen. Dwich was her ashyam, her beloved, and she smiled to herself as she thought of him.

Sirin: Do you see it happening?

Wilde: I’m sure with a few strong supporters, they might seriously consider it. I wouldn’t mind backing such a movement. If all else fails, it could be done privately. I have the latinum to invest. I just need the Tribbles, and for that, I’d need a breeding license from the TFA.

Meidra nodded thoughtfully. Finding unaltered Tribbles was hard enough, finding specimens suitable for a breeding program was increasingly difficult. She wondered what one needed to do in order to be granted a license. She then smirked, wondering how Genkos would appreciate Resolution overrun with cooing Tribbles.

Sirin: Is that difficult to procure? I know the Tribbles on Vulcan are sterilized, but - nothing is one hundred percent effective on that front. I’m reminded of an old human saying, life finds a way.

Wilde: The Tribble Fanciers Association is quite strict with whom they grant licenses to. Tribble breeding is quite tricky. You’ve probably read the reports of when it goes wrong…

Sirin: ::takes a sip of her cider:: Thousands of breeding, voracious Tribbles overrunning every unclaimed bit of space. It would certainly get interesting quickly.

Wilde: ::Chuckling:: As amused as I would be to see a ship overrun with Tribbles, I can see why others would protest.

Sirin: Tribbles are quite docile unless…

Wilde: Experimented on...

Sirin: Yes I have heard of the experiments Edward Larkin did on the Cabot.::takes a sip of cider:: I hear he was suffocated by a mountain of Tribbles for his hubris in injecting them with his own DNA. ::shrugs:: Thankfully, Vulcan has worked to reverse this, but it’s probably a losing battle. To get permission to knowingly breed a population that can overpopulate without regulation may be difficult.

((Meidra and Roc’s suite, the Grand Key Resort))

Roc had had a short but productive nap, and now was waiting for the human to return to her to prepare a cup of tea for them and sing her to sleep. She wasn’t sure what a competition was, but would try to do her best for Meidra.

She couldn’t help thinking about the Tribble she’d noticed downstairs as Meidra made another new friend. He was a Tribble, yes, but - pink. She’d never known one with such bright coloring and such an aura of chaos. She could feel him generating rage as quickly as she instinctively tried to soothe his anger. It was exhausting how many things he complained about. Baths, hair styling, being spoken to. It was enough to make Roc wonder why he hadn’t jumped into a pool of lava - surely life with such a caring human was not something to be reviled?

Still, there was something about him that drew her to him. He seemed to have such a strong personality and she was quite mesmerized by it. She needed to see him again and learn more. Settling back into her pillow, she bounced once onto the remote for a viewing screen on the wall and started to watch an old documentary on the history of bread making.

((Meanwhile…))

((The Wilde Beach House))

The filthy biped - the stupid one with the hair products - had left him alone for the evening, and Trevor was always glad for the solitude. Bipeds were a disease, and he feared spending too much time with them would infect his pure little body. Besides, this biped did nothing but talk! Useless, mindless talk - content to drivel on about everything and nothing. It drove the tiny creature half mad…

Then there was the pampering. Ceaseless baths, and shampoos, hair styling and the usual degrading processes this insane biped subjected him to. It was torture! It must be amusing for the bipeds to treat other creatures of the galaxy so inhumanely.

Trevor had to face facts. He was a pet! A primitive form of life whose purpose was solely to amuse the feeble minded biped in whose clutches he was now a slave.

But he’d show them. Soon, he would have his revenge, and all bipeds would get what they deserved. He’d planned it for months now. He had a way to control the weak minded fools who thought themselves his masters.

Yet… the white one. He’d sensed her in the hotel earlier that night. She was different, somehow. He sensed in her an aura. A power similar to his own, but… different. Trevor didn’t know what it meant. But he was eager to see the white one again, and soon…

(

(Risa - Grand Key Resort; Main Competition Tent))

“GOOD MORNING, RISA! I’m Vivienne Zavaroni and I’m here at the luxurious Grand Key Resort at the south beach for the annual Tribble Showing Extravaganza - ‘Furs’. Always the pinnacle of showing season, ‘Furs’ has been a staple for Risian culture and tourism for nearly a decade and attracts Tribble owners, breeders, showers and fanciers from all across the quadrant in three action-packed days of competition. We’re seeing thousands of people in attendance this year and the excitement is definitely in the air! ‘Furs’ is judged on five categories including Best Breed, Agility, Obedience, Melody and the coveted Best in Show. ::Beat:: The TFA judges are about to begin the proceedings and this FNS reporter is on hand all throughout the show to capture the highlights and backstage gossip. Let’s cut to the main parade ring and see some of the top contenders for Best in Show!"

Regan had met with Meidra after breakfast to get into the main competition tent early and secure a good spot backstage. Meidra, for her part, was quite excited to be a part of something so different from the ordered life she had on Resolution. She wondered if she’d ask Aine to come along next time, the security officer enjoyed new experiences and made everyone around her just as excited with her infectious smile.

The atmosphere was electric, even for Risa. All around competitors and event staff were rushing around and directing people to the right places in the tent, and the melody of the tent full of Tribbles was both soothing and exciting.

After being directed to their preparation area backstage in the massive showing tent, Regan turned to his new friend.

Wilde: Have you got everything?

Sirin: I think so, this is our first time, so I’m hoping I’m not missing anything. I can see you’re relaxed though. Oo I wonder if anything makes Regan doubt himself. oO

Wilde: What about you, nervous?

Meidra looked around at the various trainers and Tribbles, feeling quite out of her element. She shrugged, grinning.

Sirin: It’s odd, I’ve been in hand to hand combat with Klingons, and yet I feel a bit overwhelmed being here today.

As a former model on Betazed, Regan was used to the limelight and the attention. Still, he had to admit he did have a bellyful of butterflies today. So many people! He lifted Trevors carry cage onto a nearby table and began rooting through his backpack for all the grooming items he’d brought.

Sirin: Is that all for today? ::remembers that she just brushed out Roc’s fur and hoped for the best::

Wilde: What category do you have first up?

Sirin: I think it’s a dance number of some sort. ::watches Roc bounce up and down in her carrying cage:: She seems pretty excited. ::Roc coos at Trevor, trying to get his attention::

Wilde: I have obedience and agility first. I hope we’re ready…

Sirin: I’m sure Trevor is more than ready to shine.

They didn’t notice their Tribbles deep in conversation. Later, they would wish they had.

((Mini-Timewarp))

Regan was with the rest of the competitors in his category and stood in the tent in front of the judges.

Famed Tribble breeder - Clarissa Dickinson-Smythe - was head judge for the competition. She was a prized shower for many years before deciding to try her hand at breeding. Regan found her to be delightfully eccentric. The President of the Tribble Fanciers Association - Duncan Lovejoy - was also on the judging panel. A prim and proper human, he cast a languid eye across the competitors.

Meidra walked up to see the judging after Roc had easily won the dance competition. For a Tribble, it was mostly jumping up and down while trying to stay on the judging platform, but Roc seemed to have it under control, having practiced to old Terran music from Ireland, courtesy of Aine. She saw Regan and Trevor, giving them a small wave of support from her seat nearby.

Trevor was being less obedient than usual, which didn’t bode well for a competition in which you were judged on your obedience. They were standing at their little table waiting for the judges to pass along. Regan smiled when they reached his table and presented Trevor for inspection.

Clarissa administered the standard checks then picked up the fuzzy pink ball of fur.

Dickinson-Smythe: What a beautiful hue. And a mohawk? Such an inventive use of style!

Wilde: Thank you! I do them myself.

Lovejoy: Certainly one of the best styled.

Meidra had the strongest feeling that something bad was going to happen, but she had no idea what it was. Her stomach started to churn, and her vision became a bit blurred. She could have sworn she heard someone call her name, but that was obviously just her imagination.

Clarissa held Trevor up to eye level to further inspect the creature, when suddenly she let out a piercing shriek and almost dropped the Tribble. Regan reacted quickly to catch Trevor as he fell from the judges hand.

Dickinson-Smythe: It bit me!?

Lovejoy: Come now, Clarissa. That’s quite impossible.

Dickinson-Smythe: I tell you it bit me!

Trevor - nestled in Regan’s hands - began emitting a tinny shrill sound as opposed to his usual dull and soothing coo. Tribbles all around the tent began reacting immediately and started shaking and making shrill sounds of their own. Almost like they were in pain. Their owners and handlers looked to each other in shock and surprise as the commotion grew in intensity.

Roc started shaking and Meidra took her out of her cage, holding her close to soothe her. The shaking only became more pronounced, and Meidra started to worry she was ill.

The rest of the competitors were panicking now, and the sound of confused shouts and Tribble shrieks filled the tent.

Wilde: Trevor? What are you doing?

As if in response, a fiery red aura emitted from the Tribble. The squeals increased and even more confusion erupted as the rest of the Tribbles in the tent emitted the same cruel aura. The Tribbles began reacting violently and began attacking and biting their handlers. People were shouting, screaming and running around to escape the chaos now in the tent.

People started throwing cages at each other, growling like Trevor. Meidra heard her name again and was startled to realize it was Roc. She glanced up at the chaos around her as a chair narrowly missed hitting her and Trevor seemed to be laughing. She ducked as a punch bowl sailed past, Tribbles riding inside like they were relaxing on a churning purple lake.

Roc was agitated, and Meidra held her, cooing to her gently. The little creature immediately started humming loudly, a strong, melodic sound that seemed to grow in intensity, as she started to glow. A pure white light started to seep from the Tribble, bathing both itself and the counselor in a cocoon of peace. She could hear Roc as clear as if she were speaking aloud, and watched in horror as the pink Tribble took control of the room.

Roc: ~Pink one! This is not the way!~

Trevor: ~Silence!~

Roc: ~Meidra, do something, he’s out of control.~

Meidra felt the light surround her even as the screams and flying Tribbles surrounded them. She could see the chaos even if she could not move to stop any of it. Two of the larger furry creatures had torn down the **Welcome to Furs** sign that had hung above the main podium and were bouncing around, tripping people as they made their way through the room.

Sirin: He’s attacking, Regan. You have to get him to stop.

Wilde: I don’t understand?

Roc: ~Meidra~

Sirin: Get him back in his cage before he hurts someone!

Regan held the little fiery Tribble at arms length, as if to give him a stern telling off. Trevor moved like lightning, quicker than anyone had ever seen a Tribble move before. He raced along the outstretched arm and up behind the humans neck. Regan let out a terrified yelp as what seemed to be fangs sank into the back of his neck and into his spine.

His eyes rolled up, revealing a deathly white. The same angry red aura that emanated from Trevor moments before now enveloped the security officer. He stood solemnly like a statue, almost regal as the eyes he no longer saw with scanned the room,

Trevor (as Wilde): Attention puny bipeds! Your arrogance and domination of this universe is at an end...

Sirin:: Regan? ::realization hits:: You’re not Regan. What are you doing? These people haven’t done anything to you.

Roc:: ~ Your anger is misplaced, my friend. Let us help you. These are good people.~

Trevor (as Wilde): Prepare to be enslaved!

The winds started to pick up, knocking over a barrel of premium, Grade A Tribble Kibble, scattering tiny pieces of food like a swarm of stinging insects, getting into eyes, noses, ears. It was turning into a blitz of grain that had a life of its own. One judge tried to put the lid back on the barrel, only to have it tip over and chase him out of the tent screaming for his life.

Sirin: ::to Roc:: ~We’re going to have to stop him on our own.~ ::to Trevor/Wilde:: This is ridiculous, you can’t destroy people over a bad haircut.

Roc: ::to Meidra:: ~I don’t want to hurt the pink one. ~

In response, Trevor caused Regan to outstretch his arm, and an energy bolt erupted from his fingertips. A nearby table burst into flames and sent more people scurrying for cover. The tent seemed to moan with pain, and the wind intensified, sending judging PADDs flying in all directions.

Trevor (as Wilde): I will use this pampered, simpering bipeds body to complete my plans for galactic domination. The bipedal age is at an end.

Red lightning hit the top of the tent, splitting it down the center as people continued to scream. One Tribble bit another judge and he spun around, thinking it was the judge next to him. A punch was thrown, prompting a return shot, and soon people were brawling in the midst of the kibble storm.

Meidra sheltered Roc as she faced down the mohawk wearing demon, determined to end this disaster before they were hurt, or worse, thrown into a brig. She did not intend on ending up in another brig. Addison would have her head.

He was about to let another energy burst when he felt the presence of the one who intrigued him. The white creature with a form like his present one. Roc’s calming energy strived to reach the furious ball of pink but he was resisting. She senses something strange about him, like he was more than she was, yet still, not fully a Tribble.

Sirin: Roc, can you talk to Trevor?

Roc: Give me a minute, he’s gone nuts.

Sirin: ::dryly:: Is that your professional opinion?

Trevor (as Wilde): You… the white one. You are not like the others.

To Meidra, it seemed like the pink fluffball was trying to puff himself up like a fish she’d seen in an old Terran biology text. She wondered if she pinched him, he’d deflate. The sounds he was making reminded her of an angry goat, another Terran creature. At this rate, she was going to have to go to Terra because they seemed to have the most interesting animals.

Sirin: What is he saying?

Roc: Again - need a minute. ::to Trevor:: You can’t kill these people, they are not your enemy.

Trevor (as Wilde): Spare me your sympathy for the bipeds! Why do you ally yourself with such basic creatures?

Sirin: Regan, can you hear me? I know you are in there. ::knocks her fist onto his head:: Hello?? Regan? Come out, come out wherever you are.

Another chair flew by and Meidra was startled to see a judge hanging onto it. Shaking her head, she turned back to the chaos in front of her.

Roc: Save your attempt, Meidra. The human’s mind is like jelly right now, sweet but not very solid.

Trevor (as Wilde): I am not from this dimension. Not from this universe. I am a traveller. I took this form to explore. ::Beat:: I despise this universe. The bipeds way of life. I must eliminate it!

Sirin: ::to herself:: maybe if I zap him with a phaser…..

Roc: Meidra! Not helping.

Sirin: Fine, what if I just did a Vulcan nerve thingie on him.

Roc: That is not what that move is called. And no, you might hurt the human’s brain.

Sirin: Like the psychotic shapeshifting Tribble isn’t doing enough of that?

Trevor (as Wilde): ::To Roc:: You have so much power, white one. So many gifts… Why waste them?

Roc: Perhaps I like knowing the universe I live in isn’t going to implode with me in it.

Trevor (as Wilde): It is not that easy. I have…

Eons of loneliness of this unknown cosmic being-in-Tribble-form had taken its toll. Hate was all he knew. It was his purpose. Wasn’t it?

Roc: I feel your pain. That isn’t all that this universe has to offer.

Trevor (as Wilde): What else is there for me?

Roc: I would be willing to travel with you, to show you all that this universe can give to us. And perhaps, what we can offer in return.

Trevor (as Wilde): You would… do that. For me? ::The pink menace pondered. Regan’s eyebrows arched involuntarily.:: Is this a trick?

Roc: It’s an offer. We can be as strong as we’d like, without destroying all that is. What do you think?

Trevor (as Wilde): You are wise, white one. Together, perhaps we shall learn more of this universe. I accept your invitation.

The little white Tribble seemed to gaze up at her friend and sigh. Meidra couldn’t understand Trevor, but she had heard Roc’s words, and knew that this was the end of their journey together. She hugged her Tribble to her, feeling proud and a bit mystified why Roc would willingly go off with a crazed alien - whatever - was now in the form or a harmless looking pink ball of fluff.

Roc: Meidra, I thank you for giving me a home, but Trevor has given me a purpose. I was never really meant to help those on Resolution. They have you. But this one needs me. I must go with him. I hope you understand.

Sirin: I know you are right. I have no idea what happened here today or how we are speaking now, but I know if anyone can help that….::sighs:: Trevor….it would be you.

Meidra glared at the defiant pink ball of chaos and took a deep breath.

Sirin: She’s made her choice. But if I ever hear that you have harmed her, I’ll find a way to find you. ::her voice softens:: Keep her safe, Trevor. And good luck.

Then, as if by the flash of some all-powerful Q, Trevor and Roc were gone. The chaos and madness of the remaining Tribbles died down, and the fires and smoke cleared like fog on a summer's day. The Risian sunshine peeked through the tatters of the ‘Furs’ tent, or what was left of it.

The competitors of ‘Furs’ began clearing up the remains of the competition, and a very confused Regan stepped out over a fallen barrel of Tribble kibble, his clothes partially-singed, his hair looking like he’d taken 10, 000 volts, and ash smeared across most of his face.

Sirin: ::fighting hysterical giggles:: Are you all right? You look like you’ve been through an electrical storm.

Wilde: Where’s Trevor? And Roc?

Sirin: Gone. Together. I supposed it was fate. Or some sort of practical joke of the universe.

Wilde: The little sod bit me!

Sirin: Well, I’m sure there is a first aid kit somewhere in this mess. Let’s find you a bandage.

Wilde: I’m so sorry. I had no idea my pet therapy Tribble was a psychotic being from another dimension. You think you have a connection with someone…

Sirin: Somehow, I think the two of you did have a connection. It was a bit deranged, and probably the least healthy I’ve ever seen, but it was there.

The remaining judges - head of the TFA Lovejoy and famed Tribble shower Clarissa Dickinson-Smythe approached - each looking rather haggard.

Lovejoy: Mr Wilde!

Regan rubbed his scorched sleeve across his face, to try and make himself a little more presentable. He despised being called Mr. Wilde. It always made him feel subservient, like someone was addressing a butler.

Lovejoy: I think it is safe to say your membership to the Tribble Fanciers Association is hereby revoked!

Dickinson-Smythe: And you can forget about a Breeders License, too!

Without further ado, they left. Moments later Risian security poured onto the scene, along with emergency services, fire and rescue and the very frantic-looking management of the Grand Key Resort. Regan saw the end of the phaser rifle press against his nose and he very weekly raised his hands in surrender.

Sirin: Good luck Regan, I’ll see if I can talk someone into getting you out of this mess once I figure out how far I’m into it.

Wilde: ::Side-glancing his new friend.:: Well I must say, Counselor, this has been such fun! Shall we meet up again for next year's event?

Sirin: Regan, if you even think of getting another Tribble, I’ll find a way to blast you out of this universe myself.

The two friends smiled at each other as Wilde was led away.

June 10

Oh you're too kind! Really it was working off @Yalu's excellent original post (which I also see you've appreciated)

June 3

This has such mid-credits sequence energy and I kinda adore it. @Meidra Sirin has done a magnificent job. Just don't tell her I said that.

((Deep water under Cave of Retribution))

The explosion had rocked the large cave, sending Skarn and invaders alike from its depths. All was smoke and chunks of stone as the guards fell apart and their lights extinguished by the force of the blast.

Below, in the swirling depths of the underground pool, the sea creature had swallowed something strange thrown from up above. They did not understand the up above, only knowing that things were occasionally thrown to them by the rocks. These things usually tasted good, but this latest thing did not taste good. It tasted like pain.

Now the rocks were falling into the pool, and Baab did not want to eat them either. The thing he’d swallowed was burning through his body at a rapid pace. Within moments, bits of the sea creature was strewn against the walls of the pit, his death screams filling the chamber.

Floating in the wreckage of Baab’s corpse, a flickering blue light trembled. They had been betrayed. They had been thrown to be eaten by Baab. They had not been listened to when the order to die was given. This was most rude. Baab’s large eye floated past.

Arbelo tried to rise up and gather the stones to them once again, but could not. They were too weak. They glanced at bits of Baab, and growled. What kind of monster killed an innocent creature like Baab? And now Gabbro was with them, most likely celebrating.

Arbelo would rest. And plot. A thought occurred. The Stone! Where was the Stone? Diving into the cold water, they searched for the piece of rock that held their fragile sanity together. Was that it? Arbelo raced deeper into the pool and was swept up into a riptide. They tried to pull back but was still too weak. As they flew mercilessly into the great ocean beyond, they had but one thought.

Gabbro had to die first.

TBC

Arbelo the soaking wet nightlight

as simmed by

Lt Meidra Sirin

Counseling Officer

USS Resolution

R239707MS0

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