Genkos Adea

Congratulations all, but especially to @Corliss for her fantastic story!

Everything I just said about Brian could also go for Ryan here - again, a tiny timescale to whip up a realistic MSNPC based on a real person and man did he deliver - thank you @Hallia Yellir ((Edo Castle, Japan, 1859)) In moments that felt like raging storms, there were small times like these where everything seemed to be seemingly dealt with. In spite of the weighing politics that were ever-present in Ii’s position, swarming outside the walls of this grand castle — the monument of his leadership and power. One of the few bastions of power left within the Shogunate. Marching through his castle, Ii took every step with a metallic ‘thunk’. The iron plating of his armour rattled with seemingly every step he took. Despite it being lightweight, there was an odd chafe around his neck he could never quite get over. But on this particular day, despite everything being taken care of, for the most part, there was one thing he needed to find. An old heirloom, that had been long forgotten in the underbelly of this grand castle. One he perhaps may have placed, and simply forgotten about long ago. Ii slid open the door, there was the unmistakable stench of stale air. With the little illumination from a dying paper lantern, the outline of figures graced his vision. At first, he wrote them off, simply as servants, but upon closer inspection, he wrapped his hand around the hilt of his weapon. With narrowed eyes, he shouted. Ii Naosuke: Intruders. Identify yourselves! Given the recent unrest and suspicion within the other of the Shogunate, Ii had perhaps a small shadow of a doubt that these intruders may wish harm upon him. But… they didn’t look like the people he would recognize. Most of them shared features of the Dutch and Americans he had dealings with. Silveira: How did we get here? What are you talking about? And where is my bra? Etan: What’s going on? ::he blurted out, looking at each of the other officers in turn.:: Tiberius: I think we need just need to stay calm and talk this out. His anger only seemed to boil with the lack of explanation. Nothing came of his simple order and that frustrated him. They were, after all, in Ii’s domain, and it was foolish of these… interlopers to enter the bowels of his castle, his home, without even asking for his hospitality. Nicholotti: Let's work the problem. What do we know, and what do we think we know? Ii Naosuke: Have you no honour?! You will face me when you speak. You all trespass on my domain. The group huddled and whispered in hushed tones as if contemplating their next move and Ii observed closely. Some of them seemed dressed… strangely, one was dressed much like the Europeans he had passingly spoken to and heard of, and another had… odd ridges on the bridge of his nose. The other two seemed normal for the most part. After a few moments he took a step downwards into the room, tugging on the hilt of his katana and half pulling the blade from its heavy sheath. Ii Naosuke: You cowardly foreigners conspire amongst yourselves, and you do no acknowledge and bow before he, who is in your presence? Silveira: My Lord, you have been provided with false information. I am not a baka gaijin. I am Vitor Silveira. Count of Marmelos and I assure you neither my servants ::he gestured to Jor and Tib.:: nor my wife ::he gestured to Kali:: have done anything dishonorable or wrong. Silveira: I do not wish to insult you, but those accusations stain my honor. And that is something both your people and mine take in the highest account. But out of respect for you I might consider it as a misguided act. There was a pause in Ii’s thought process. This foreigner spoke perfectly in such a way that had caught the Damoyo completely off guard. Ii Naosuke: You have entered my castle, my home without my acknowledgement. I wish to know what ‘misguided’ act caused you to do so. After all, it is difficult to miss where my domain starts and ends. Nicholotti / Tiberius: Response. Etan: My master speaks the truth, My Lord. ::beat:: We have no reason to seek a quarrel with you. ::he said with a low bow. He didn’t know why exactly he did so, but it seemed to feel right.:: We were set upon during our journey last night and brought to this… place. Silveira: Response. Ii Naosuke: How? Did you wander in, caught in some drunken stupor? Nicholotti / Tiberius: Response. Etan: If you will permit me, my lord, might I enquire as to where we are? We are most disorientated. ::he waved a hand towards the Commodore and Tiberius.:: Silveira: Response. Now the gears were really beginning to turn. These people seemed genuinely confused as to where they were, and that only seemed to rile up Ii even more. Either he was being made a fool of by some practical joke, or his guards were so incompetent, that four drunk foreigners managed to sneak into the very base of his castle without so much as turning a head. He returned his weapon into the sheath, but still kept a hand on the hilt. Ii Naosuke: You’re in Edo Castle. The beating heart of my domain. Nicholotti / Tiberius: Response. Etan: The people of… Marmelos- ::he looked to Sil with deference, hoping that he had gotten the name of the place he had said correct:: -have no desire to interfere with the cultural affairs of your people, My Lord. We simply wished to view your… domain. Silveira: Response. Ii Naosuke: And yet, do the people of Marmelos view status as nothing but a floor to walk on? Nicholotti / Tiberius: Response. Ii Naosuke: This… ‘Marmelos’ this is from Europe, correct? Etan / Nicholotti / Silveira / Tiberius: Response? Ii Naosuke: Then give me one reason why I shouldn’t simply cut you all down as we speak? Etan / Nicholotti / Silveira / Tiberius: Response? ______________________________ Ii Naosuke Daimyō of Hikone Tairō of the Tokugawa shogunate As Written by… Lieutenant Hallia Yellir Chief Engineer USS Excalibur-A G239409EK0

@Karrod Niac is a freaking genius. I gave him maybe 30 minutes notice that he was playing an MSNPC this mission, and that they were a real person from history and oh, by the way, here's some tags and a long as heck wikipedia page for them... And he comes out with this beauty. I adore him so much. (( Palace of Versailles – 1715 )) Of late, Louis had tired greatly of the affairs of state. Those things which had so enchanted his mind and embroiled his spirits as a youth had turned sour as he had passed into his seventh decade under God. Endless decades of war to expand his Empire had bourn him successes for decades but much like his vigor, those successes had fled him of late and the latest war with the bedamned English, barely five years gone, had nearly robbed France of all that he had built across his long reign. Though he still had the comforts of his mistress Françoise, the Marquise de Maintenon and mother of his only child for which he still bore affection, he increasingly felt the world grow small and dim and tiresome. His enemies seemed to grow in strength as he diminished and there were none alive who would rule well in his sted. The damnable Protestants, worthless Spainards, and endlessly loathsome English held his ire nearly as well as his pitiful younger brother, Phillipe, whose designs on his divinely proclaimed throne had long been spoken of. Still, even with all the matters of the realm in turmoil, his court had convened for yet another ball. Though he had sworn them all to propriety many years past it seemed that his advisors had grown fat and comfortable, suckling upon him like leeches all these years. Were he a younger man he would've expelled the lot of them and wrapped his fist tight around the reigns of the nation as he had when his mentor Mazarin had died, but he was no longer as he had been. So his nobles fritted away wealth and spoke of him in glowing terms which rang false to his ear. And still, they danced. He'd nearly nodded off in his throne, too much wine and too little sleep for one of his failing vigor, when a commotion went up from the dance floor and drew his attention. Of course it was Phillipe, hated Phillipe, who was first to raise his voice. Phillipe, Duke of Orleans: Who are you all? The orchestra halted mid-note as a murmur of confusion and shock spread around the room. A small group of strangely dressed foreigners seemed to be the loci of the courts attention. Louis squinted through failing eyes to catch a better look at them but could hardly make them out. Yalu: Your Royal Highness, we are visitors. ::beat:: From the Czech lands. A great flood has ravaged our noble home and we have been cared for warmly by your loyal subject, the Bourgmestre of Poitiers. Yellir: We apologize for our sudden appearance, but we wished to meet you so very badly, Your Royal Highness. Adea: And thank you for your hospitality. Jolara: Response Phillipe, Duke of Orleans: ::turning to an elderly man on a throne:: Uncle, who are they? Louis cast the man a scornful sidelong glance before turning his attention to their unusual guests. Louis XIV, the Sun King: We, ::He always used the Regal We when speaking as King:: welcome those displaced of Bohemia...or are you of the Moravian Czechs? Jolara: Response Yellir: ::whispering:: Are we certain that was even the correct title? Yalu: ::whispers:: I don’t know, it just seemed like the right thing to say. ::beat:: I’m going to need someone to help me get up. The Czechs, possibly lowlanders of questionable stock, seemed to be whispering to themselves in his presence, which rankled his good humors. Louis XIV: Odd that this is the first We are hearing of your presence. Tell Us, of what sort of Nobles are you? Some cousin of the Habsburgs? Yalu: We make towels, Your Majesty. Soft, absorbent towels. Suitable for any occasion. Jolara: Response His eyes narrowed. Merchants of linens who claimed nobility? Had the Habsburgs fallen so low of late? Louis XIV: Surely the Czech lands are poor indeed if towels could astound them so. Yellir: Your Most Eminent Highness, they are so soft one could use them as pillows, and you would not even know the difference. Adea: No sire, and if you did, you could take this ::he pointed to his head:: from this ::he pointed to his chest, before looking over at the rest of the group and whispering:: What… too soon? Yalu / Jolara: Response Louis was quickly losing what small measure of patience he had for these imbeciles. Louis XIV: Your japery is quite buffoonish, and you have not yet introduced yourselves in Our presence. What are your names? Where is the Bourgmestre of Poitiers? Bring him forth immediately to account for the behavior of his guests. Hallia kept her voice low whispering to any who would lend their ear. Yellir: ::in a low voice:: I really don’t enjoy being surrounded as we are, where even are we? Adea: ::matching Hallia’s whisper:: I want to say… Earth? Yellir / Yalu / Jolara: Response Louis had officially lost his patience. He raised a craggy hand towards the Captian of the Guard and the man snapped to even stiffer attention. Louis XIV: Guards, take these people from my sight at.... Phillipe extended a bony finger and pointed at them, before letting out a loud guffaw. Phillipe: Uncle, these must be the delicious new comedians we have ordered. They are so so funny with their towels! He laughed, and raised his arms for the court to laugh with him, which they did as one. Genkos chuckled nervously. Adea: What the… Definitely Earth… Old old Earth. Yellir / Yalu / Jolara: Response Louis scowled in anger, confused and more than a bit befuddled. He felt he was being mocked but he did not understand how. Phillipe must have been behind it all somehow. Yet another attempt to make him look the fool. He lowered his hand and his guards stepped back to their waiting but tense positions. Louis XIV: Czech clowns, Phillipe? Are you so bereft of diversion that you would have it imported? Phillipe: Response Adea/Yellir/Yalu/Jolara: Response Louis felt exhaustion creeping back into him and he leaned back heavily upon the throne, the momentary distraction losing what little appeal it had. Louis XIV: Very well, Phillipe, very well, if you wish to waste the courts time on these antics, so be it. Go on with your performance, clowns. Phillipe: Response Adea/Yellir/Yalu/Jolara: Response Louis XIV: Well it seems you've amused my court although We are not so readily jocular. Nor should you be, Phillipe. Phillipe: Response Adea/Yellir/Yalu/Jolara: Response Tags/TBC ====================================== His most Resplendent and Anointed Majesty King Louis The Fourteenth Louis The Grand, Louis The Grand Monarch, Louis, The Sun King V239509GT0

All credit and kudos for this must lie with @Yalu who facilitated this.

It's April, it's Spring (at least in the northern hemisphere) and it's starting to warm up (again, only for those of us up north). This means only one thing to many people - birth, growth, renewal. All of this can be summed up in the Christian celebration of Easter - the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus. To many who celebrate (and a lot of people who, like myself, don't), Easter is symbolised in the form of an Easter egg. Now we could have asked you all about your favourite forms of chocolate (correct answer: all) and maybe we'll do that next year, but instead we thought we'd ask about that other type of Easter egg - the in-joke, the reference, the little nugget of gold that's only there waiting for the fans to leap upon and write about on countless internet forums... And our Discord, of course. Fair Warning: This post contains some spoilers for the new series of Star Trek: Discovery, Picard, and Star Trek: Lower Decks. We have warned you! The most recent, and arguably the greatest Easter egg ever made by anyone ever (because it references my favourite Star Trek film) was the momentary reoccurrence of Kirk Randolph Thatcher in Picard. He originally played the "Punk Dude" who is accosted by Kirk and Spock in the masterpiece film, The Voyage Home, and memorably appears in the Picard episode "Watcher". Another little Easter egg is the delightful appearance of the famous Vasquez Rocks in pretty much every episode of the Original Series, as well as many other appearances in plenty of other Trek series (and a few other non-Trek films and TV shows including the A-Team, the Muppet Movie and the live action Flintstones). The one that cannot go without mentioning is the use of Majel Barrett-Roddenberry as the voice of the computer in almost every series since the Next Generation; for me, when I write my sims I can always hear her responses as the computer. It's like she's still with us every time. Who hasn't simmed their character climbing through the Jefferies tubes on board their ship? Those maintenance crawl spaces have more in common with the nautical vessels, where space is at a premium and tubes are the way forward. These maintenance shafts on board our starships are named Jefferies Tubes, after the Starfleet Engineer W.M. Jefferies, who was named in homage to the real designer of the original Enterprise - Matt Jefferies! And of course, absolutely every episode of Lower Decks features a ridiculous amount of Easter eggs in every scene, and to list them here would take up an entirely new poll! But suffice to say, I'm going to pick my favourite, which is the only canon appearance of the Spock Helmet toy from the 60s in Ensign Mariner's stash of contraband. But what's your favourite? One of the above, or a completely different egg altogether? I'm egg-cited to hear your answers!

Can we all take a moment to appreciate the title of @Addison MacKenzie's sim "So You Wanna Form a Union"?

@Etan Iljoralways plumbs some fascinating depths when exploring emotions, and this one is no exception. (( Ship’s Library, U.S.S. Excalibur )) In the fourteen or so months since he had been assigned to the U.S.S. Resolution (and subsequently the Excalibur), Iljor had found himself utterly intimidated by Commander Addison MacKenzie. She was one of the most forthright people Iljor had ever met and carried herself with a sternness that reminded Iljor of several of his strict professors at Starfleet Academy. Meidra had often spoken about the XO’s dressing downs and had also been present for many disapproving looks and comments. In short, Iljor prayed frequently to The Prophets never to get on the wrong side of his imperious superior. So far, he had been doing well. As MacKenzie lowered herself into the chair opposite his own, Iljor hoped that she was not about to grill him on the subject of his reading matter. Fortunately, she seemed to ignore the fact that he had been reading what amounted to poorly written Klingon erotica (indeed, it was more comical and - in places - disturbing than erotic). MacKenzie: I think you had attempted to engage in a fairly important ethical conversation, but your timing was perhaps… poorly chosen. Drawing a breath, Iljor nodded his head embarrassed. She was, as usual, correct. Attempting to debate the ethical implications of their efforts to remove technology from the Demesian people in the middle of what had amounted to a jail break had not been one of his finest nor well chosen moments. He had not planned to do so but had found himself unable to stop himself. Etan: I see. ::he said, slowly.:: I guess bringing that up in the middle of breaking somebody out of an asylum wasn’t the best time. ::he admitted.:: How is Tina, if I may ask? ::he added a moment later. The fate of Tina Kuppasoop had been playing on his mind ever since the Excalibur had retrieved him, Karrod and Sil from the emergency shelter a dozen or so kilometers outside of Jupe. Since their second return to the ship aboard the Gawain, Iljor had left a polite request for updates from the ship’s medical staff- but nothing had come of it. The shake of MacKenzie’s head and the looks of concern that etched itself across her face told Iljor everything that he needed to know. MacKenzie: I don’t have an answer. She is… not well. She looks like Tina Kuppasoup, but she insists that she is someone called Mary Daniel. There is no evidence in her file of any kind of multiple-personality disorder, and even if there were, there’s no evidence of multiple personalities at this point… ::she paused briefly, long enough for her eyebrow to rise:: only one. Iljor nodded sadly. It was an awful situation with very little ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ to borrow from an expression from MacKenzie’s homeworld. From the sound of it, there was little that the medical department could do and that psychological services would need to intervene. Unfortunately that might prove difficult. Etan: Oh dear. ::he said, after a moment of reflection.:: It is just our luck that our counseling department is… lacking. Iljor pursed his lips slightly in annoyance. That Meidra Sirin would transfer to the Gorkon without warning in the middle of a shift was unfortunate. Although he was not about to stop his friend from doing what she felt was important for her career- that she had not even bothered to say goodbye had stung Iljor. He was supposed to be her best friend, after all. He knew he was probably reading far too much into the situation and tiredness was probably influencing his emotion- but it felt as though she had simply discarded their friendship in the name of advancing her career. Etan: oO I guess you just don’t know somebody like you think you do. Oo ::he mused, recognising the bitterness of the thought.:: MacKenzie: It is an… annoyance that our chief counselor chose this time to make such an abrupt departure. Timeliness and consideration were never the Vulcan’s strong suits, in my opinion. Iljor nodded in agreement. As much as he cared for Meidra, the XO was right. Her enmity for the Excalibur’s former head of mental health services had been known to most aboard. That MacKenzie could work with Meidra despite her dislike was something that Iljor could respect- but also led him down an unwanted path: did she like Iljor or did she hold him in resentment? The fact that he couldn’t tell was another reason why she intimidated him so. Etan: I’m not going to disagree with that. ::he said, quietly.:: MacKenzie: At any rate, no sense in worry about things we can’t change for the moment. I’m sure Commander Adea and the others are more than capable of figuring out just what’s going on with her. If I recall correctly, you started to ask me about the ethical implications of what we were doing on Demes II, but you never really got to finish your inquiry. Is that a conversation you’re interested in having? Iljor straightened in the chair, feeling his shoulders tense in anticipation. He bobbed his head slowly to indicate his willingness to pick up their conversation from the asylum. Etan: I’d… like that, yes. MacKenzie: Response. Iljor put his hands on the desk in front of him, intertwining his fingers as he did so. He took several moments to compose his thoughts and drew in a breath. Etan: My concern is that what we’re doing is papering over the cracks. ::beat:: The Demesians have grown used to using Starfleet technology and they’ve shown a… startling aptitude for reverse engineering it. I mean, I read your reports: they managed to create their own approximation of an industrial replicator. If we take away this technology, we risk affecting their culture just as much Regillensis did when he abandoned that listening post. MacKenzie: Response. Etan: I don’t think removing the technology is the answer. The cultural contamination and damage to Demesian society is done. Short of going back in time and making sure the Rampart never visits the planet- we cannot change what happened. I think we have a fundamental responsibility to help these people adjust to a new phase of their development. To do anything else felt like covering up Regilensis’ crimes- and Iljor was worried that was exactly what Starfleet Intelligence and Starfleet Command were trying to do. Both departments had a frightening number of skeletons in their respective closets but in recent years there had been a fundamental shift in their approach to their litanies of renegade officers. Instead of being open and honest with the citizens of the galaxy and working to better themselves, Starfleet had taken to coverups and deflection. MacKenzie: Response. Etan: I won’t disagree that the Demesians were not ready for Starfleet technology but they have it. I’m not suggesting nothing so grandiose as bringing them into the Federation, maybe something more akin to what Second Contact crews do. Help make them sense of what has happened and prepare them for whatever lies ahead. ::he sighed, unsure of whether he was making sense or not.:: Am I making sense? MacKenzie: -- Lieutenant Etan Iljor Chief Science Officer USS Excalibur NCC - 41903 - A C239023TW0

We've had a right old journey in this mission, and apart from the excellent Mary Daniel, we've had an unsung hero written by @Karrod Niac who's final sim here is a beaut. I can even forgive the ENT reference. ((The Outskirts of Yanthi Village, A Simple Tent)) It had been days since the strangers had so abruptly departed her city but they had left behind ideas that were as indelible as the scars on her hands. She regarded them as the wind whipped around her tattered home, so far from the Emberhearth and all she had known only a short time and whole lifetimes ago. Her mottled hands had once been a mark of pride, of her faith, devotion and piety. Now they looked ugly, the relic of a foolish devotion that she could no longer fathom. The wind picked up and cut through the tent like a chill knife, finding her and her small fire, wrapping her in a bitter cold that threatened to steal the breath from her lungs. She had returned to the Emberhearth after the strangers had vanished but the place that had once so filled her with warmth and purpose seemed entirely devoid of both. She tried to explain what she had seen and been told to the Upper Cleric but he had called her addled and, when she would not recant, had the skraats of the Morality Patrol strip her of her few vestments and eject her from the village as either a heretic or a lunatic. Practically speaking there was little difference in their eyes. Ulst had once looked to them for kindness and guidance but in her hour of greatest need she'd found only cruelty and small minded fear. Rather than listen to her or inspect their own beliefs, they had cast her out into the cold, never to return. They assumed the frost would put an end to her 'ravings,' but Ulst Rekaa had survived the frost before and would not be a victim to it now. Not when she had such truth to guide her. She realized after the first horrible night that her ejection had been a blessing in disguise. Had she remained in the Emberhearth she would've come to doubt her own mind, setting aside that which she had seen and known to be true for the comfortable illusions of the Ember. She'd known so many to do so, even taught and guided so many in the means of doing so that she knew well it's seductive power. After a time it would've consumed her truth and she would have remained small, and unimportant, and quiet. Now she would be so much more. The flap of the tent opened and the first of her new disciples entered cautiously. Ty'sen, the largest man in the village and the strong right arm of the Morality Patrol himself, had been greatly troubled by their shared strange evening. Though he had awoken with barely an injury minutes after the strangers had departed, the memory of their might and fury lingered in him. A man who had never known defeat before, who had never known fear before, had tasted of both. He needed truth to make that bitterness palatable and had come to Ulst for it. Others came as well...some who had been there that night. Others who had seen the odd goings on in Yanthi in the weeks leading up to that night outside the barn. They knew not what had happened but were no longer satisfied, if they ever had been, with the Emberhearth's narrow philosophy. Within a span of minutes there were nearly a dozen in the small tent, huddled for warmth and sharing food, drink and blankets with one another in a charitable display. It was affirming to all she had done so far and spoke of all she would do in the days, months and years ahead. For she had been Blessed...and now she must share the great truth with as many as she could. The travelers settled and even the wind quieted as Ulst stood and looked to each face with a passionate glint in her eye. Ulst: Brothers...sisters. You risk much to come here, yet you do so gladly because you are brave. You are wise to doubt, clever to listen and noble to spread the Truth to others. Our congregation has grown so much already that we will soon need to find a new meeting place. But we'll discuss that at the end of our evening. First though, let us begin what we came here to do. To a one her flock stepped outside the tent and into the chill night air, turning their faces skyward. It was hours pre-dawn and her tent was situated on an outcropping on one of the tallest hills in the area. The view below was of nearly undifferentiated white but skyward, when the clouds shifted just right, there was the new Enormity. It took her breath every time she looked upon it now and she wondered how its magnificence could've gone so unnoticed before. Delicate motes of light against the unfathomable deepness of shaded blue and darkest black. Tears of joy froze to her cheeks as she looked upon it and she knew she was not alone in it. Ulst: Look upon the Enormity and let your hearts be glad, brothers and sisters, for what is our First Great Truth? Ulst spoke in unison with all assembled. All: We are not alone! Ulst: Though we struggle, though we suffer, there are those among the deepness who are friends to us. And that is the Second Great Truth! Again, they spoke as one. All: They have come unto us! Ulst: Yes my friends, yes! They have come unto us, hidden among us, to learn and do justice, but not to harm. For that is not their way. No, theirs is a way of service! Theirs is the path to righteousness! It was the Third and Fourth Great Truth. All: For They Are Just! They Are Righteous! Ulst: And we must prepare ourselves for their return, my friends. We know not when but we know that they are watching and waiting, their hand ever gentle, guiding us ever towards them. So live justly! Harm none! Move and act with deftness and in secret until the day comes when they return! And how shall we know them, friends? All: It Points the Way To the Stars! Ulst knelt and began drawing against a large stone nearby. Her mutilated fingers traced the lines from memory now, wet snow contrasting against the light stone in the torchlight. Though they had tried to hide it from her she had seen this symbol upon their strange devices and others had seen it upon magical machines brought to the village foundry. It was their mark, their symbol, and she would ensure all her people knew it so they'd be welcomed upon their return. She stood back and the congregation grew silent, following the flowing lines to the sharp point at it's zenith, pointing towards the stars above. She did not know it was called the Delta, or what Starfleet was, but she knew this symbol meant divinity and it would on her world forever more. [End for Ulst Rekaa!] ======================================== Ulst Rekaa First Prophet of the Enormity V239509GT0

Oh man, I came here to post the exact same thing. Wonderful work by our wonderful Yalu.

Welcome!

The Star Trek franchise has always been known for its amazing make-up and prosthetic work. The franchise is also responsible for some of the most iconic alien races in science fiction. Makeup artists from different series have been nominated for and won different awards for their work. In 2017, the Society of Makeup Artists awarded Nancie Langlois as their Lifetime Achievement Award recipient for her work on Star Trek: The Next Generation. Vanity Fair's Best Star Trek Makeup Artist Award goes to Joel Harlow. He has been nominated for his work on Star Trek: Beyond, Star Trek: Discovery, and Star Trek: The Next Generation. This is the first time the makeup artist has won the award. His work was praised for being "so good that it’s hard to tell where the prosthetic ends and the actor begins." The best makeup artistry in the Star Trek series would have to go to Michael Westmore who has been working on the show since 1987. He has won five Emmy Awards for his work on Star Trek: The Next Generation and Star Trek: Voyager, as well as an Oscar for his work on James Cameron’s Avatar (2009). The Andorian species in Star Trek: The Original Series is one example of a great makeup job. They have blue skin and antennae which were done in a way that was very believable and realistic for the time period it was made in. This is also true for their eyes which were done in such a way that they looked like they had eyelids. Throw forward to the recent movies, and we find Joel Harlow and Don Lanning sculpting and designing the Reptilicus alien species—looking a little Cardassian—creating the scaled skin and ridges around the face to represent the curl of the ear. They look so life like, with their addition of amber-coloured reptilian eyes and sharpened teeth. We can't really say that there is a single character from any of the Star Trek series that features the best makeup artistry. It would be more accurate to say that all of them have some pretty impressive makeup artists.

Welcome to the fleet! Twas a pleasure to train you!

February is Black History Month in America, and as such, we thought we would honour this month by looking to the future! Now, Star Trek has had some absolutely fantastic black actors and characters in their long history on screen, but we would like to know; who would you like to see more of? First up, we have the first African-American Captain in his own series, the brilliant, the sometimes bearded, Benjamin Sisko played by Avery Brooks. One of my personal favourite all-time Trek episodes is The Visitor, a story that focuses on the father-son relationship between Benjamin and his son Jake. This would be a great relationship to come back to - how has the intervening time (and Prophethood) changed them, and the world around them? And can we bring Kasidy Yates back at the same time too, please? Throwing back to the first season of The Next Generation (we know, we know), Tryla Scott wowed the audience as Captain of the USS Renegade. Unfortunately, she suffered an unknown fate at the hands of the parasites, attempting to take over Starfleet Command. As a strong Captain, it would be fantastically interesting to see what happened to her. Maybe we'll see in a new series. The most prolific character/actor in Star Fleet history (please don't @me if I'm wrong) is the brilliant Michael Dorn as Worf, son of Mogh. One of the most requested solo series that I've seen on the web is a chance to see Worf back on our screens. Would you like to see him come back as a Captain, still balancing a Starfleet with his Klingon heritage? And what about my wife's favourite character, the fabulous Tuvok, as played by Tim Russ? Arguably the greatest Vulcan we've seen on screen, Tuvok was the backbone of Voyager who had fantastically different relationships with all the different crewmen of that lost ship. Could he come back? I'd love to see him in the "modern" day; how has Voyager's return changed his life, and does he still see his old friends? There are, of course, lots of other brilliant black characters and actors; far too many to cover here, but perhaps you can let us know in the comments if there are other characters you'd rather see return? Perhaps you'd like to see the continuing adventures of Geordi LeForge or what Daystrom gets up to in his eponymous Institute. Finally, we would be absolutely amiss not to honour three key black characters in the Star Trek universe, all of whom hold a special place in our hearts. First is that of Beckett Mariner, the lead of Lower Decks (possibly one of the most gif'd shows on our Discord), voiced by the incomparable Tawny Newsome. Then we have the first black female captain, Michael Burnham; delightfully played by the great Sonequa Martin-Green. And finally, we have the legend that is Nyota Uhura, played originally by the heinous Nichelle Nichols, and soon to be back on our screens in Strange New Worlds (which I'm very much looking forward to) and to be played by Celia Rose Gooding.

Came here to add this, glad you did it first. A beautiful sim.

@Yalu @Talos Dakora have done a masterful job here, grilling through the last mission's ashes for delicious morsels of character development and meaty relationships. I'm sorry, the fact they set this at the Burger Nagus has made me hungry... (( Burger Nagus, Deck 227/228, Deep Space 224 )) It was the lunchtime rush at the Ferengi burger joint, and the crowd was bustling. The Ferengi interpretation of historical Earth fast food was, Yogan’s human friends had told him, a faithful recreation of the original in both price and quality. If nothing else, it was an experience, and Yogan had never met a burger he didn’t like. He wasn’t certain whether Talos Dakora would find the cuisine palatable, but this was the only place on the station that served burgers. And the only way to determine if the Betazoid was meant to be an honorary Yalu was to chat over a pair of Double DaiMon Bacon Burgers with cheese. Yalu: ::points to menuboard:: I don’t know who DaiMon Bacon is, but that’s the burger I always get. It comes with fries. You can get a salad instead, but they always leave the lettuce in the fryer too long and it gets gross. Talos stepped up to the counter beside Yogan and surveyed the options on offer. He hadn’t really had an opinion of the Terran meat sandwich that the Trill was so fond of before they’d made the switch, but now the little holographic image next to the DaiMon Bacon burger did cause his stomach to rumble a little. Yogan’s comment about the lettuce in the fryer caused his nose to scrunch up a bit as he replied. Dakora: ::Uncertainly:: I guess I’ll do the fries then? They finally got to the first place in line, and a diminutive Ferengi with a name tag that read “LARF” beckoned them up to the counter. Larf: Welcome to Burger Nagus, where you can taste the flavor in your lobes. Can I take your order? Yalu: Yeah, I’ll have the Double DaiMon Bacon Burger with extra cheese, and to drink, I’ll have an Aquasition. ::beat:: Oh, can I get extra grolv and the flarn on the side, please? Larf: ::shouts back to kitchen:: Extra grolv! Flarn on the side! Yalu: ::gestures to Talos:: And whatever my friend would like, please. Clearly, not all of Yogan’s memories of burger-enjoyment had been shared with Talos, because he didn’t recognize a good portion of the words he’d used to order. Fortunately, Talos had years of in-depth training that allowed him to adapt and overcome even the most challenging of circumstances. He leveraged these powerful skills as he ordered. Dakora: I’ll have the same, thanks. Yogan gestured to a large, illuminated sign above the order counter, on which was written in a dozen Alpha Quadrant languages: “SATISFACTION NOT GUARANTEED.” Yalu: Probably best not to get your hopes up. He glanced up at the Trill with a lopsided grin. Dakora: I accidentally skipped breakfast. ::A growl from his stomach accentuated the point.:: I don’t think it’d matter what they put on my plate at this point. Yogan handed over a bundle of latinum strips to Larf and received a holo-chip in exchange. On making contact with Yogan’s hand, the chip activated and the number 125 floated ten centimeters in midair, rotating slowly. They waded through the crowded tables to an empty one on the opposite end of the restaurant, and Yogan dropped the chip on the sticky tabletop as he sat down. The upbeat and bustling atmosphere of Burger Nagus contrasted somewhat with the tone of the conversation Yogan wanted to have. Yalu: So, Talos. How’s your brain? Thus far Yogan’s mind had sort of blended into the noise of the burger joint’s lunch crowd, but some mixture of their proximity at the little table-for-two and the sudden genuine question brought it to the forefront. Talos drummed his fingers on the table a bit, nervously. Dakora: Yeah, uh… ::He smiled unconvincingly.:: Good. Fine. Thanks. How about you? Yogan had spent the trip back to DS224 and the time since Excalibur arrived pondering the question. He’d asked a few other crew members who’d experienced interspecies swaps if there were any lingering effects on them once everything was put right. Disorientation, confusion, and adjustment fatigue were common, but the extent to which Yogan and Talos had… commingled… seemed to be a peculiarity of the orbs’ influence on a Joined Trill and a Betazoid in particular. Yalu: To be honest, I’m having a bit of a time with it. Your consciousness wasn’t in my body for long, but it was long enough to… Yogan hesitated. His work in intelligence perhaps being the exception, Talos didn’t seem like the kind of person who lived a secretive life. Still, one should always have the right to choose which personal details to share and which to keep private. Talos was not given that choice. Yalu: Your consciousness was in my brain long enough for your memories to be shared with the symbiont. In a way, it’s as if you and Yalu were Joined. Just like Yalu was Joined with Zedro and–– ::beat:: well, you know all their names by now. I just wanted to see how you were doing, and whether there’s anything floating around in that Betazoid brain of yours that I could help with. Opening up wasn’t the problem. Talos was as in-touch with his feelings as any other functional person, but it was the delicate subject matter and the implication of the whole thing that was tripping him up. A polite person might’ve called him a people-pleaser, but trained professionals had called him possessed-of-an-unhealthy-need-for-approval. Whatever. Mugato, Gumato. Dakora: I guess… ::He shrugged.:: I guess I’m still kind of processing it all. I’m back in my body, but the memories and the feelings they shared with me are making it hard to just… be myself again. You know? Yogan nodded. It was hard to put into words, and for a moment, he wished he still had the telepathic abilities that belonged to Talos. Yalu: I know. I’ve spent seven years balancing the seven lifetimes of experience I have from Yalu. And now there’s an eighth one in there. Yours. Nodding along as Yogan spoke, Talos tried hard to ignore the fact that he’d just seen the Ferengi fry cook drop something on the floor, pick it up, dust it off and put it back on a plate in the kitchen behind him. Yalu: Your telepathy was overwhelming. Amazing, but overwhelming. I still remember some of the things I ‘heard,’ and so I figured the experience might have imprinted on your memory in a more, shall we say, robust way than a non-telepath’s. It was an extraordinarily circuitous way for Yogan to ask, “Hey, what all do you know about me, and how worried should I be about it?” Of course, verbal gymnastics were less effective in conversation with a Betazoid, who could just aim their telepathic antennae and get the score. Yogan wasn’t sure whether Talos was doing just that, or if he was simply inferring exactly what Yogan was implying, but either way, he seemed to pick up what was being put down. Dakora: I’ve still got a lot of it. The memories and, uh, experiences that were explicitly shared with me during the swap are a part of me now. It’s hard to separate them from my own memories at this point. He shifted a bit in his chair, worried that he’d made that sound like a bad thing. Dakora: Really, I should be thanking The Four that it was you that’s left fragments bouncing around in my head. You… and they ::His eyes momentarily dropped to Yogan’s abdomen.:: kind of seem like you all have got things figured out. Yogan laughed at the unexpected observation. Yalu: I won’t lie. The collected experiences of eight–– ::beat, gestures to Dakora:: nine lifetimes are nice to have; I’ve relied on each of their memories to solve some problem or find a way out of a bad situation. But all of them were flawed, and all of them made big mistakes. Yogan included. Talos had tried to do his own research in the days following the whole Cytarix-Switcheroo, but there was shockingly little data on how long it took the consciousness of a Betazoid, swapped into a joined Trill’s body to bond with the Symbiont. Weird. Now that it was confirmed that he’d left some or all of his memories behind, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He had lived an interesting life thus far, maybe even unique enough to provide the Yalu Symbiont with a new experience or two. But, then again the idea of someone reviewing a first person account of his more debaucherous moments or worse; his most personal failures, made a bead of sweat threaten to form on his forehead. Dakora: ::His brow furrowed a little.:: I don’t know how much of me is left behind, but I know I’m sort of a mess. Sorry about that. Yogan raised a hand, as if to swat the apology away. Yalu: No, I feel like I should be apologizing to you. ::beat:: You didn’t ask to be Joined, and you got none of the preparation that Initiates get before the deed is done. I know you didn’t intend to, but you’ve given me a hell of a gift. His eyebrows rose, seemingly of their own volition. Talos had been wrestling with his emotionally nomadic tendencies and the deeper reasoning behind his preference for shallow self-gratification ever since he’d come back to himself. His head felt kind of like a someone had accidentally turned on the house lights in a dance club and now he could see how filthy and poorly maintained it all had been. To hear all of that referred to as a gift gave him pause. Dakora: A gift!? ::He softened his shocked tone.:: I polluted your collection of the wonderful minds of people who had accomplished great things with… whatever I am. He tried not to look as downcast as he felt about the whole thing, but probably failed. Yalu: Talos, you love life. I can feel that in every memory I have of you, even the difficult ones. I walked around the station and saw ships departing, people meeting, people flirting… ::chuckles:: Talos Yalu finds excitement and adventure and potential in everything. It’s a hell of a way to live your life. So, thanks for that. A part of Talos understood that. Though, that was the part that was being crushed under the weight of the maturity the Yalu symbiont had thrust upon him. Yogan’s words did have some small effect. The Trill’s optimistic review of his core being gave him one of the first glimmers of hope that a happy-medium might exist. Dakora: ::A half-felt grin.:: Yeah, I’ve always been fond of snatching excitement from the jaws of monotony. Yogan couldn’t help thinking about his conversation with Karrod Niac. There was some overlap between Talos’ philosophy and Niac’s, and when two people tell you the same thing, it’s probably best to listen. As Yogan’s stomach growled with hunger, he thought about Yalu, tucked away in his gut, and what kinds of experiences would really elevate the symbiont to the next level. Surely the long-lived vermiform was overdue for some seizing of the day. Yalu: And what about you? ::beat:: Hopefully getting to know Yogan this way wasn’t permanently scarring. Talos’ brow furrowed Dakora: Not at all. ::He paused.:: You’ve worked hard for everything you have, even when it didn’t come easy and somehow you still have a relentlessly positive attitude. The only scarring part is when I start comparing myself to you. What’s that bit about the thief of joy, or whatever? Yogan nodded, and despite himself, let out a chuckle of camaraderie. Yalu: So you’ve got the jist of being Joined, then. I can’t tell you how many sleepless nights I had at first. All of their lives just seemed–– ::beat:: so much more important than mine. It took me a few years to realize that it’s not true. The shoddy holo-chip chose that moment to emit a half-hearted buzz as their floating order number changed to an less-than-pleasant greenish hue in celebration of their imminent feasting. Thoughts of greasy food served to drag Talos from the depths of the funk he was experiencing. At least for a little while. Dakora: That’s us. ::He pushed away from the table.:: Good thing too, because I was getting desperate enough for that fried lettuce to sound alright. ::He stood.:: I’ll get it Yalu: ::nods:: Aye aye. Thanks. Talos crossed the bustling eatery and found the tray on the counter with the correct number and traded the holo-chip for it. He wasn’t sure if the amount of grolv was sufficiently extra, but he was too famished to care. Returning to the table, he set the tray down between them and took his seat, and in an effort not to seem too desperate to throw down, picked their conversation back up. Dakora: Where were we? ::He screwed up his face in thought.:: Oh right. I think it’s just a time and distance thing. You know? Eventually I’m sure I’ll be able to embrace all of the great things I learned from being Talos Yalu, but maybe without judging Talos Dakora so harshly? Yalu: This whole experience taught me a few things too. Not least among them, that it’s a beautiful galaxy out there, and it’s OK to appreciate it. I think I can work on that. Talos nodded as he picked up the large burger and both hands and took an ambitiously large bite. Instantly, he was met with an explosion of meaty, fatty, cheesy flavor that set his taste buds and heart aflutter with each actuation of his jaw. It was all he could do to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head as he swallowed the delicious greasy bit. Dakora: Holy strokes. ::He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.:: This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Yogan picked up his Double DaiMon Bacon Burger and held it tightly to keep it from coming apart before he could get it to his mouth. He raised it slightly, as if toasting with it. Yalu: Welcome to the family. CHOMP. Lt. Commander Yogan Yalu Strategic Operations Officer USS Excalibur NCC-41903-A Justin D238804DS0 and ======//////======> Ensign Talos Dakora Intelligence Officer USS Excalibur-A O238811CD0

Maybe one day I'll write that fish's backstory. Maybe.

This is now canon

As we enter the final year of the 24th century, we thought it might be fun to examine ways our characters might choose to ring in the New Year. We know from a conversation that Bashir has in Deep Space Nine that people (or at least humans) celebrate the New Year with parties and celebrations, but what might they entail..? And do they change with species and quadrants? Perhaps they would like to hold a massive party in their ship or base's bar (or for the more adventurous, perhaps they even venture into the holodeck?) or there's always doing something a little more... unique? Jo Marshall has threatened to go skinny dipping in the Andorian ocean, but as a doctor all I can say is that it's a sure fire way to give yourself pneumonia. On Star Trek Online, the annual event "Q's Winter Wonderland" has players being taught the Klingon New Year tradition of ice fishing? Perhaps our Klingon characters would care to teach the rest of us this brilliant skill. If not, I have a power drill and a fishing rod and I'm going to try it out myself! What about something less... chilly? Perhaps your character likes to stay in by an open (holo)fire and roast chestnuts/marshmallows (or smores)? This is of course assuming that all planets celebrate their new year celebrations in a season of cold weather, which I'm sure isn't true (it isn't even true on Earth!) so who likes going surfing or bodyboarding on NYE? A BBQ anyone? There's a few options below, but if we haven't covered your answer, then please let us know in the comments!

@Yalu @Ben Garcia - Huge props to Wes for the support he's given to Justin on this. I always love seeing how the sausage is made in Ops, and I love how Justin has managed to do this in a really fun and exciting way that is also amazing entertaining. A great way to start a ship launch! I do want to know what AQA stands for though... (( OOC: Just want to express some major gratitude to Wes/LtCmdr. Ben Garcia from the USS Thor for the sim-spiration, idea fuel, and all the things I plagiarized. )) (( Operations Center, Deck 2, USS Excalibur-A )) Well this was nice. An entire bit of the ship devoted to such things as power transfer requests, holodeck reservations, sensor grid allocations, and quartering assignments. Yogan was going to enjoy his new home. Already in a good mood after having met with Captain Piruzian, Yogan practically jumped at the chance to get aboard the USS Excalibur and tackle the challenge of making sure that everyone had a place to sleep tonight. Fortunately, the task would be made immensely simpler by a new computer program, just out of development from Starfleet Operations. Excalibur had been given the privilege of being the first Vesta-class ship to be outfitted with the new system, and Yogan was looking forward to seeing what it could do. The Interior Spaces Allocation And Coordination System, or ISAACS, for short, promised to revolutionize the way starships and other installations managed themselves. Hopefully, it would live up to the hype. Picking up the nearest PADD, Yogan logged into ISAACS and accessed the final allocation of personnel quarters. Everything looked in order, but with a complement of nearly 850 people, this task would be a touch more complicated than on dear, sweet, petite little Resolution. As he scanned the list one last time, he noted the living quarters of the people he had worked most closely with; those who would be transferring aboard directly from their former ship: Room Occupant 1 Occupant 2 Notes 02-0101 Nicholotti, Kalianna A. Commodore Commanding Officer Adea, Genkos Commander Chief Medical Officer AQA on file 02-1601 MacKenzie, Addison K. Commander Executive Officer (none) 04-0302 Yalu, Yogan Lt. Commander Helm Officer (none) 04-0201 Sherlock, Aine O. Lieutenant Chief Security Officer (none) 04-1301 Etan Iljor Lieutenant Chief Science Officer (none) 04-1603 Sirin, Meidra Lieutenant Counselor (none) 04-0503 Yellir, Hallia Lieutenant JG Science Officer (none) 04-1404 Silveira, Vitor S. Lieutenant JG Tactical Officer (none) 05-0207 Dakora, Talos Ensign Intelligence Officer (berth 2 vacant) Double occupancy Yalu: Looks good, ISAACS. Yogan set down the PADD and spun round in his chair to work at the computer terminal. He did another double, triple, quadruple check that all of the assignments were correct and that no one ended up misallocated to live in Deflector Control or Tractor Beam Emitters by mistake, then called up the message he'd drafted to all personnel: // SUBJ: Rooms and quarters aboard the USS Excalibur-A Dear {rank} {surname}, Welcome aboard the USS Excalibur-A. This message is to inform you about: Room numbering and signage audits Quartering assignments Item 1: Room numbering and signage audits The USS Excalibur-A uses “deck–sector–compartment” as the standard format for the identification, allocation, and management of all interior spaces. The LCARS database article on room numbering has been updated to explain the “deck–sector–compartment” format clearly. To ensure that room numbering is consistent shipwide, all departments shall audit their assigned spaces and log any erroneous signage with Operations via ISAACS (the Interior Spaces Allocation And Coordination System). Departments must complete their initial signage audit within the next 72 hours. Please advise Operations if you foresee any issues with completing your audit prior to the deadline. Operations will correct reported signage errors within 24 hours of the log being placed in ISAACS. It is expected that interior spaces will be reconfigured from time to time, to meet evolving departmental and personnel needs. Department chiefs are responsible for promptly reporting any reconfigurations that may necessitate the creation, deletion, or reordering of room numbers within a given deck and sector. Prior approval is typically not required, provided the reconfigurations comply with hardware, volume, and mass limits. Item 2: Quartering assignments You have been assigned living quarters according to your primary personnel classification. Quarters are assigned via ISAACS. By default, all personnel are required to reside in the designated quarters for their classification, unless alternative quartering arrangements (AQAs) have been approved. AQAs can be requested at any time via ISAACS, and are approved by Operations after consultation with the Executive Officer. {rank} {given_name} {surname} {personnel_service_number} {assigned_quarters} {co_occupant_if_any} Your default access code is {greek_letter}-{numeral}-{numeral}-{numeral}-{numeral}. On first use, ISAACS will prompt you to change the access code to a combination of your choosing before the door’s locking mechanism will release. Therefore, please have a new combination in mind to ensure prompt access to your quarters. ISAACS will not release the doors until this action is completed. Please ensure that any personal belongings you wish to have transported aboard from Columbia or Deep Space 224 are properly tagged with your name, Starfleet Serial Number, and quartering assignment. Anti-grav sleds will be available on each deck to assist you in moving. Please take occupancy of your quarters within the next 24 hours. If you have questions or believe there to be an error in your quartering assignment, contact Operations immediately. Once again, welcome aboard. Sincerely, Lt. Commander Yogan Yalu HCO Officer USS Excalibur NCC-41903-A \\ With any luck, the number of transfer requests would be low. Yogan had already planned for the inevitable grumblings from Ensign So-and-So who didn’t want the quarters adjacent to the turbolift, and Lieutenant Such-and-Such who got space sick with aft-facing windows. Hopefully, there would be few of these frivolous requests, but with such a big crew, there was no way to know for sure. Yogan finished off his mug of glurtch, then made a disgusted face. He’d waited too long to drink it and it had gone [...]ly. Had he really been in here for that long? There were a few other immediate things for him to do before he could kick back and settle into his own shiny new quarters. He placed the mug in the replicator and ordered a glass of water to wash down the spoilt glurtch, then sat back down at his desk. Already, a dozen officers had acknowledged receipt of his message. Yalu: Do your thing, ISAACS. Don’t mess this up

What a great way to start our new quotes thread That's meant to be a Fonzie noise in the title, FYI

Welcome to the Fleet; pleased to have you here!

You know when one of these guys has written a post, you're going to have good time. When two of them do it, you get some real magic. (( Holosuite 9, Xaevu’s Discount Holo-Arcade, Maklau Beach, Risa )) Yogan sat on a holographic chair in the otherwise empty room, twiddling the data chip between his fingers. He was a few minutes early, but he was grateful for it. It was only after he’d arrived, checked in, and been escorted into the hired suite that he realized how improper it might look to be meeting Captain Nicholotti… alone… at a holo-arcade… on Risa. It had taken him 10 minutes of nervously pacing around the suite to get over that, so, yes, early was good. The invitation had been unexpected, but not unappreciated. While she had no idea what to expect, Kali's curiosity had been piqued at the idea that the helmsman wanted to meet her at a Holo-Arcade, on Risa no less. She definitely raised a couple of eyebrows when she read it, but never hesitated on whether to show up or not. And so, as she entered the room, she saw the tall Trill man stand and the chair he was sitting in vanish, leaving them both in a very empty, very plain room. She approached, her Marine t-shirt hanging loosely around her shorts as she looked around questioningly. When she entered, Yogan stood, and the chair had been sitting in vanished into the holographic ether from whence it came. Neither of them was in uniform, which Yogan knew from prior experience was less weird than if he’d turned up in his and she hadn’t. It was just as well, since Yogan’s chosen activity would necessitate a change of attire anyway. Yalu: Captain. Thank you for agreeing to meet me here. Kali nodded. Nicholotti: Of course. It's not every day the captain gets invited to participate on someone's adventure. She offered him a reassuring smile having no idea what this was about, but knowing that if it was important enough to ask her to be there, it was important enough. Her full attention was here in this moment then. Yalu: I’ve spent too much time by myself already. I’m getting back out into the world and doing things. ::holds up the data chip:: And I came across a program I thought you might like to run with me. Now her curiosity was very much engaged. She watched him as he held up the chip. Nicholotti: Oh? Yogan stepped over to the control arch and inserted the chip. Yalu: Computer, run program. The room disappeared behind the simulation. At first, it looked nondescript: a flat expanse in all directions and hard macadam under their feet. The ‘discount’ in Xaevu’s Discount Holo-Arcade was evident in the loading time, as elements took several seconds to populate and then grow sharper and clearer in detail. Mountains in the distance came into focus, and yellow and white lines crisscrossed the pavement on which they stood. The pièce de résistance was the last item to populate: a large, grey aircraft from Earth’s liquid fuels age. The temperature in the room rose and Yogan squinted in the holographic sunlight, then smiled at Nicholotti and gestured to the tin bird. As everything came into focus, a nostalgic grin appeared on the captain's face. The things her crew dug up on her...she shook her head as the antique jet came into view and solidified in the gleaming sunlight. Yalu: I don’t imagine this needs any introduction to you, Captain. ::beat:: If memory serves, it is something called a Boeing F/A 18-F Superhornet? Nodding slowly Kali finally took her eyes from the plane and turned them to her fellow pilot. Nicholotti: Indeed it is. Ever flown something like this? Yalu: ::shakes head:: I’ve been piloting suborbital craft since I was a teenager, but nothing like this. I’m excited, though. Kali stepped forward and approached the metallic bird that sat silent in the sunlight. The heat radiated off the tarmac and warmed her legs as she reached out and let her fingertips run along the leading edge of the closest wing. When she got to one end, she stopped and looked back across towards the [...]pit and the open canopy. Nicholotti: You should be. There's nothing quite like this. Her eyes moved towards the next part of the plane as she continued her walk around, seemingly and momentarily oblivious to anyone or anything else. It was like a love affair and she had eyes only for the piece of machinery before her. Minutes later, she ended up back at the beginning, next to her helmsman again. Nicholotti: So you mean to fly this then? She grinned. Already starting to sweat in the heat, Yogan dabbed his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. Although perhaps some of it was attributable to nerves. Yalu: ::chuckles:: How about I copilot? I looked over the specs, but I’ve not mastered the controls just yet. Nicholotti: Alright. We'll need flight suits. ::She eyed him carefully.:: How's your stomach? This bird doesn't come with inertial dampeners. The laugh that escaped her was all but free. There was always something about the idea of the sky and how she could escape to it that allowed her to just let go of the trappings of her waking, walking world. Yogan recalled the training he took as a teenager at the Rytela Flight School in his hometown. The school had a few old, old, old craft that probably flew similarly to this one, and his instructors took him up in them a few times. He found those experiences exhilarating, but that had been twenty years ago. He’d not done anything like this since he was Joined. The symbiont and their memories had a funny way of recasting experiences that once were pleasant as uncomfortable and vice versa. But best not let on. Yalu: ::pats tummy:: I’m sure I’ll be fine, as long as the safeties don’t cost extra. That was fair. It was the holodeck, but that didn’t mean much to her. Once she was in the sky, that was the reality. As a fellow pilot, he would understand. Nicholotti: Well, there’s no time like the present. Yalu: Let’s do it. The process, while vital to her in every way (but inconsequential being they were in a holodeck…), did not take long to complete and soon she was directing him up into the backseat of the jet. He was a bit tall for it, and she laughed at the way he had to bend to fit into the thing, but she’d seen others do the same. To be fair, she had laughed similarly at them as well. Climbing up herself and calling for the ladder to be removed, she allowed her memory to guide her in the preflight. The silence that had surrounded them soon was filled with the ever growing roar of engines that started quietly, but grew steadily behind them. Lights appeared on the consoles, some blinking, others off, and still others illuminating the [...]pit. Kali continued through the motions, moving her feet and looking in the mirrors to see the appropriate movements, and the same for the airfoils on the wings. Satisfied, she called back through the radio in the helmets. Nicholotti: You ready for this? The captain’s voice came through tinnily inside his helmet. It would be an exaggeration to say that his knees were in his ears, but not by much. Given his height and size, had he lived on Earth 400 years ago, he would likely have been disappointed if he’d attempted to pursue a career in one of the Terran air forces. If he’d known, he might have thought to nudge the program’s settings to allow a more comfortable seat. But this wasn’t a pleasure cruise, it was a business meeting. Yalu: Affirmative. Ready when you are. He couldn’t see it, but there was a smirk on her face as she took her time and guided the jet towards the perfect center on the runway. Once there, she paused only a moment before she slammed the throttle all the way up and kicked the afterburners on full, launching the hunk of metal into the sky. As soon as it was off the ground, she pulled the nose nearly all the way up and rocketed straight upwards. It was only after she’d gotten the turning and burning out of her system, and thoroughly put the jet through some of her favorite moves, that she finally allowed it to settle into somewhat of level flight. Yogan felt the g-force in his guts as the jet accelerated almost perpendicularly to the planet’s surface. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have sworn some parts of him were left behind, a Trill trail of bits and pieces dispersed across the holographic landscape. The captain clearly knew how to get results out of the antique craft, and a kaleidoscope of sky, sea, and surface swirled in front and above them. Nicholotti: How ya doing back there? Yalu: Never better! ::beat:: This really is a beautiful aircraft. Maybe we could land so we can appreciate its exterior? Kali laughed. He had been the one to invite her… Yalu: Just kidding. Kind of. The triple salchow was a bit unexpected, if I’m honest. Nicholotti: Fair. But I know that’s not why we’re here. I’ll hand over the controls if you tell me why you really wanted to do this. There was somewhat of a pause, and then the words filtered out over the helmet headset. Yalu: I know that Resolution was the first ship you served on. I’m sorry that she was lost on our watch. Kali raised an eyebrow, though he couldn’t see it. Nicholotti: You can’t apologize for something that isn’t your fault. You all did the best you could with what you had. ::She paused a second and banked the plane, heading into a different direction.:: How are you handling things? Being the subject of multiple interviews and inquiries and so on was never easy. She’d been through plenty and knew first hand. Still, it impacted each of them a little bit differently. Yogan hadn’t considered the fact that they’d be seated single file, and that he’d be having this important conversation about his professional future with the back of the captain’s head. With the lack of eye contact and the headset crackling and hissing throughout, Yogan felt a bit like he was having a conversation with a radio ghost from the past. They couldn’t very well go paint horga’hns, now could they? Addison had already claimed that privilege. Ah, well, they were here now, and Yogan had the captain’s ear until their hour in the holosuite was up. No time like the present, as they say in Temporal Mechanics. Yalu: I withdrew at first. I felt overwhelmed by everything that happened. But then I spoke to some people who helped me out. Good. That was very good. Kali had not. It had taken a Betazoid back then to get in her head and tell her she was alright. She wondered if that was all that much different now, since another Betazoid in an entirely different capacity was now getting into her head...with her as a willing participant. Nicholotti: That’s good. It’s good to have close friends among our family. Indeed, the ship was a family and the Resolution had been closer than most. But even without a ship, that didn’t change. Yalu: Cayden, Addison, and Genkos especially. They all helped me realize something about myself. Captain, I think I see a future for myself in command, and I want to pursue it. Kali grinned to herself. It was always nice when one of her more promising officers finally saw the promise in themselves. Nicholotti: If that is your goal, then that is what we work towards. First step...the aircraft is yours. And with that, she lifted her hands up and put them behind her head as if she were taking a relaxing nap by the side of some pool somewhere, wondering what his first reaction would be. For Yogan, the holosuite simulation suddenly got real real. In front of him was a dizzying series of displays and what 20th century Terrans nicknamed a “joystick.” He could feel the change in pitch; after even a moment with the captain’s hands off the controls, the aircraft’s course started to degrade. Yogan took a deep breath and took the joystick in his hand, pulling back slightly, too slightly at first, to even the bird out. As the craft’s nose pointed back toward the horizon, a memory from Yogan’s teenage years surfaced. (( Flashback – Rytela Flight School, Trill – 2377 )) Flight Instructor: You have control. Yogan Verso: I have control. Yogan dared not take his hands off the panel, even to mop the beads of sweat that were starting to run down his temples. He’d practiced in the simulator, but this was for real. He was actually piloting a spacecraft… in space! Flight Instructor: Change course, bearing 215 mark 090. Speed, 500 kph. Then take us out past the first signal buoy. Yogan Verso: Acknowledged. Yogan’s fingers pinched and pulled along the X-Y translation pad to enter the new course. The craft was small and light–with only manoeuvring thrusters and sluggish inertial dampers. It lurched toward the new heading and Yogan felt the movement in the pit of his stomach and the back of his neck at the same time. He braced himself, but resisted the urge to close his eyes. He was fine, everything was fine. He felt his flight instructor’s hand land on his shoulder from behind in a reassuring clap. Flight Instructor: You’re doing good, Son. (( End flashback )) With talk of command and a future spent climbing the ranks of Starfleet at the center of his thoughts, Yogan might have expected a memory belonging to Auzell, his sixth host whose own command ambitions were cut tragically short by the Dominion War. But instead, he was pleasantly surprised that his own memories played in the background of this important moment in his life. With as much space as that particular host had occupied in his mind lately, Yogan had been concerned that these desires and drives didn’t really belong to him. Now, he was certain that they did. Yalu: I think we’re good. Nothing like the craft we pilot now, where you can leave the [...]pit and grab a raktajino. This one really needs a steady hand at all times. Nicholotti: And a good plan to follow. It was interesting where he was taking it - both the plane and the conversation. Kali remembered the many life lessons she had learned among the clouds as a kid with her grandfather in the front seat, at least until she was tall enough to touch the rudder pedals. Then she was promoted into the front seat, but the life lessons continued. Now it was almost as if that tradition continued. Yalu: A good metaphor for life. But then again... Familiar enough to know what most of the controls did, Yogan eased on the joystick, sending the jet banking hard to the right. The sky and the land ahead spun out of view, and they were treated to a spectacular sight: the holographic mountain chain splayed out into the distance, green foothills blending into a brown, rocky cordillera adorned by snow-capped peaks of gleaming white. It was so beautiful that Yogan didn’t want to stop staring, until an altitude alarm pinged in his ear and one of the panels in front of him changed colors. He tapped his foot, which was starting to fall asleep from spending too much time at the end of a contorted lower extremity, as he righted the jet. Yalu: Not too steady that we miss what’s right in front of us. Kali smirked to herself as the scenery outside rushed by and her body was moved by the way the plane tilted to the side. It felt natural, like he just innately knew. And maybe he did. Some pilots were just born that way. Not even the proximity alerts fazed him. Nicholotti: Indeed. Yalu: If that was the first step, can I ask what the second step is? The echoes of her past rang in her ears. So many questions had been asked among the sky as she punched hole after frustrated hole through the multitude of painted clouds up there. And yet, no matter where she had come from, or where she was going, somehow her grandfather had always made it so that she ended up answering her own questions. She couldn't help what came next. Nicholotti: Whatever step that larger-than-average foot of yours decides to take. At this, she glanced over her shoulder and offered him as much of a 'what do you think?' look as she could, though she wasn't sure if he caught it or not given the way the seats were set up. Still, the sentiment was there and she could hear his understanding in his voice as he next spoke. Yogan smirked, certain that his involuntary chuckle was loud enough to carry over the headsets. Of course he couldn’t get away with it that easily. He would be responsible for determining how this would play out, for charting his own course. Speaking of which... Yalu: Well, suppose I might be interested in making a change. ::beat: I mean, so much is up in the air right now. I don’t even know whether I’ll still be serving under you in the future. Kali had an idea, but she didn't let on...much. In this case she simply steered things back to the idea that he wanted a change. Nicholotti: A change? Yalu: But assuming I were, what if I were interested in a role that might challenge me a bit more than helm? Something that could help me gain the experience I need to get where I want to go? Oh, but the helm got them all where they needed to go. She grinned, finding it quite satisfying that she could keep it to herself. Challenge was something there would be no shortage of in their new home, and an idea was already forming in her mind as he began his proposal. Nicholotti: I think something along those lines can be arranged, assuming you were interested in such a role. Yogan swept the jet around the far side of the mountain chain, where the strip of green foothills was narrow and gave way to a thin stretch of beach, and then ocean as far as the eye could see. He bit his lip as the g-forces acted upon him. Yalu: I would be interested when the time is right. The plane moved again and Kali found herself enthralled by the mountains as they passed to the side. She smiled. Nicholotti: The thing about these steps is that you never know when the time is or will be right. You just...jump. You jump and you know that you aren't alone. That long list of people that got you here, today, they are still there. She paused a moment as she looked at one particularly interesting cloud formation that went by. It kind of reminded her of a starship in and of itself despite it being quite clearly clouds. Nicholotti: And no captain in their right mind would set an officer up to fail. There was the whole bit about an officer being a reflection of their command staff, but in all honesty, Kali simply cared about her officers. She wanted them to succeed, to reach their goals and attain the things that they set as their life achievements. For some, that was command. For others, it wasn't. Whatever the goals were, it was part of her job to help facilitate them. So enjoyable was the experience, Yogan almost forgot that they were in a holosuite, until an anachronism appeared in the sky before them. It looked like a Risian version of a sand timer, with most of the sand having fallen from the upper to the lower well. Alien aesthetics notwithstanding, the message was clear: the time that Yogan had booked was fast expiring. Yalu: I suggest we get one last look at this mountain chain, then head back to the base? We should have enough time for a proper landing. Nicholotti: Of course. This was a good idea. I've not had this much fun in far too long. Kali sat up a bit and prepared to take back the airplane. Their time was nearly over, which would end far better if they landed and were on the ground when everything came to a screeching halt. Still, it had allowed her a moment to get back in touch with a side of her she'd not connected with in some time, though between the model from Colt and this experience, she was thinking the universe was telling her that she might start. Nicholotti: I have the aircraft. ::Beat.:: We make it happen if you're ready. Just don't wait too long. Opportunities don't last forever. Or very long for that matter. With the captain in control of the flight, Yogan allowed himself the luxury of appreciating the otherworldly vista as the jet turned back one last time. In eight lifetimes, he had learned that truer words could not be spoken about the transient nature of opportunity. Out of 368 years full of memories, the only true regrets Yalu ever had were those of chances never taken, of drives never pursued, of avenues never explored. Fighting the twin saboteurs of fear and self-doubt was far easier said than done, but it was necessary when pursuing something worth having. Yalu: I think I’m ready. -- Fleet Captain Kalianna Nicholotti Commanding Officer USS Resolution R238605KN0 and Lt. Commander Yogan Yalu Helm Officer USS Resolution NCC-78145 Justin D238804DS0

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

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