Genkos Adea

Congratulations! It was a pleasure to have you in the Academy!

I'd watch a Garak themed gardening show.

Where everyone knows your name...and exactly how much you have in your bank account

Spin offs are part of the lifeblood of television; did you know that one hundred spin offs are commissioned every year? Me neither, I just made that up. Now, we all love spin offs; Joey, Mrs. Columbo, and Baywatch Nights come to mind as my favourites. Not really, they're unmitigated disasters... Although check out Mrs Columbo for a pre-Voyager Kate Mulgrew. Also cheeky guest appearances from Rene Auberjonois and Andrew Robinson. But there are good spin offs; and every Trek is a spin off in some way or another. Obviously TOS started it all, and from that we got TNG and then… you get the idea. Picard was almost a second generation spin off, coming as it does off TNG. But the question is, who should get the next Picard type spin off solo series? I for one would love to see a spin off about Reginald Barclay's explorations throughout the galaxy along with BA Bara'cus his Klingon engineer, the Changeling Face and their Vulcan leader T'Hannibal. Not my best work, but you get the idea. An anthology series about the Doctor from Voyager's adventures through time might be fun! As an immortal computer programme, the Doctor could appear at any place and at any time… Like another Doctor I could mention… And what about the koala that the universe rides on the back of? What's his deal? And what's he smiling about WHAT DOES HE KNOW?! Or do you have a better idea (not hard I warrant)? If you do, let us know in the comments!

What I really like about this is the way it forms a superlative coda; Ypartin attempted an unsuccessful coup against the Da'al people, and Zeneth (with a little help from Starfleet) thwarted it. Or perhaps he thwarted it himself... But most importantly, they used to be friends... Well done guys! E (( Detention Facility No. 1 – Vman, Da’al Capital City )) Ypartin had lost track of time. Without windows, clocks, visitors, he had become disconnected from the passage of time. Even the arrival of his meals was irregular, unpredictable. All he could do was wait. But for what he was waiting, that was less clear. The Da’al political system was characterised by ever shifting alliances, and prime ministers had often been brought down by loss of confidence. But this had always been a procedural matter; it had never been the result of a popular uprising. This was uncharted territory for Ypartin himself, as well as those who would prosecute him for his actions. The exterior door to his cell unexpectedly slid open and in walked Zeneth, being escorted by a uniformed detention officer. Ypartin stood and took a step forward, toward the force field which separated them. Ypartin: This is a surprise. Zeneth: I realize you thought our positions would be reversed. She moved a bit closer to the force field, disappointment in her eyes. This was the man who had taken her from a university internship and hand picked her to go into her role as military advisor. He had been there when she’d insisted that before she could advise, she had to first go through the same intense training that all military recruits endured. He had been there when her beloved father had died. And now - he was there still, behind a field of energy that separated them. She sighed, realizing that in truth, they had been separated for a long time. This was awkward, and Ypartin didn’t enjoy it one bit. Undignified in his prison jumpsuit and days’ worth of facial hair growth, he felt haggard and unkempt, the polar opposite to Zeneth. She projected an air of confidence and competence in her uniform, which boasted an additional medal or two that Ypartin didn’t recognize. Ypartin: What are you doing here, Zeneth? Zeneth: I wanted to see you. There are still things that need to be said between us. Ypartin: Seems to me like you already have everything you want. The Federation trusts you. The Klingons respect you. Our people support you. You have managed to achieve in a matter of days something no leader has accomplished in centuries. What could you possibly want from me? Zeneth: An explanation. An apology - an argument. I don’t know - give me something, Ypartin. Let me understand how this happened to a man I have admired for so long. Explain how you thought your plan was for the good of anyone but yourself. ::she almost started to cry, but took a deep breath and leveled her gaze at him:: Give me one valid reason you did this. Zeneth would not look away from him. It was like she was seeing him for the first time and wondering if there had been signs of his discontent from the beginning. Ypartin: I don’t see the point. I think everyone knows what is going to happen to me. Despite what my appointed legal team says, I am certain that my trial will be brief, and merely a formality. What purpose would there possibly be in my saying anything now Zeneth: It would bring closure for a chapter that should never have been written. You can still salvage your dignity, and leave a better legacy than betrayal. You can prove to your people that you did, in fact, care for their welfare. ::she blinked back tears:: You can prove to me that our friendship was not a lie. Zeneth saw something flash in his eyes so quickly, she wasn’t sure it had been real. She looked down at her feet, not knowing what more she could say to get the answers she needed. She was beginning to think this was a waste of time, when he spoke. Ypartin: It wasn’t. Ypartin too struggled to look Zeneth in the eye. Nothing he could ever do or say would undo what had been done to the people, the planet, and the government. But he could at least try to mend things with his friend. Ypartin: Zeneth, I– I am sorry. For everything. I regret what I have done to you. Zeneth: To me? That I could almost forgive, but your actions put our people at risk. They need to believe in their government. ::she paced, frustration in her every word:: They need to move forward knowing they are still safe. Ypartin: You are right. Our people need to move beyond this moment of madness. To regain their faith in their leadership. ::beat:: In us. Zeneth: ::incredulous:: In us? There is no us, Ypartin. Your actions have shown you to be a spineless coward. You will be lucky if you ever feel the sun on your face again. No, here you remain, awaiting trial. ::biting back a sob:: a monster that in my naivety, I helped create. Ypartin bristled at how plainly Zeneth spoke; how quickly she laid down the law. Ypartin knew it would be futile to argue this point. Ypartin: I understand. My political career is over, and rightly so. I know I am not deserving of mercy, but I am sincere in my desire to make things right. If only to you, and to our friendship. Zeneth folded her arm across her chest, trying to keep calm. She motioned to the nearby guard to raise his weapon and lower the force field. She threw the holographic base at him, then had the guard raise the shields again. For a moment she saw him as he’d been five years ago when he’d been chosen as Prime Minister. His eyes finally met hers and she stood up straight as she spoke. Zeneth: This is the only thing left of our friendship. I have no need for it, but I think that it could prove beneficial to you when the time is right. We will most likely never see each other again, Ypartin. I will pray to the Goddess for your safe journey, no matter how you access that path. With that, she turned away and started to leave the room. At the door, she paused, without looking behind her and whispered a final farewell. Zeneth: Goodbye, my friend. Zeneth left, taking the guard along with her, and once again Ypartin was alone. He sat down on the cot in the corner of his cell, feeling the sting of yet another shame. On the floor in the opposite corner lay the item that Zeneth had given him–well, thrown at him. He stood and picked it up, accidentally activating the holographic projector in the process. The image it displayed made his throat tighten and his face flush with emotion. The smiling faces, the friendly embrace. It felt like forever ago, and in a sense, it was. Ypartin set the base on his bedside table and laid down, keeping his eyes fixed on the image frozen in time, as if he could make a psychic connection across the years to his former self. He pressed the button to deactivate the project, but instead of switching off, it changed to a different image, one Ypartin didn’t recognize. He looked closer at it, and his eyes widened when he realized what Zeneth had given him. Contained within the holographic image were a series of security override codes, written directions, guard shift rotation schedules, everything he would need to make an escape. Ypartin grabbed the device and read them again and again, committing them to memory. According to this information, he would have to act quickly, and there was no opportunity to attempt it again if he failed. ((Da’al Homeworld, Vman - Private apartments of Zeneth)) The dawn came slowly over the mountains in the distance, the colors of a new day blended with the remnants of the previous night. She watched her falcon flying in the distance, welcoming the day. The reinstated Council had wanted her to consider becoming the next Prime Minister, but she had no stomach for such things. She recommended her most trusted officer, General Ulner, for the post, and he had been chosen as acting Prime Minister until the next election. She closed her eyes and let herself fall into the river of time, her mind going back to the moment she’d given Ypartin the access codes. She saw him realize what he had, and what he’d lost. She felt his remorse through the echoes of time, and bit her bottom lip to keep from crying. A final vision of him safely getting to the small craft she’d left unattended filled her mind. She opened her eyes to see Perra soaring high above her, free yet still bound to their planet, and thought of Ypartin’s words the day they’d met. “One day, when our people are ready, there will be nothing stopping us from truly being free to explore all that we can be. There’s an entire universe waiting, Zeneth. We just need to take that first step.” A frantic call from the officers monitoring the skies told her that an unauthorized vessel was leaving Da’al but she quietly told them it was a funeral shuttle for a fallen comrade. It was on a course into deep space. She watched the bright speck rip through the sky until it disappeared, then silently, decidedly, walked back inside, closing the door to her home and her heart. (( vessel Zhupan – the next day )) Ypartin looked at himself in the mirror, freshly showered and clean shaven for the first time in too long. By looking at him, one would never have been able to guess the ordeal he’d been through in the past week. Escape from prison itself was simple enough, but getting offworld was another story altogether. A series of near-misses and almost-failures hadn’t deterred him, and he’d managed to leave Da’al exactly as given in his instructions. Now, having made it safely out of Da’al space, and onto a he had the opportunity to think for the first time about what he should do next. He was young, barely 46 years old, and despite the indignity of being a deposed leader, it didn’t feel right to just go quietly into insignificance. Maybe not soon, but someday, he would return.

Congrats, welcome and hope you enjoy yourselves! Don't be strangers!

Congrats! It was a pleasure to have you in the academy

An honourable mention to Vash!

When your female sibling needs a hand moving the boat she's in. Give your sis a row. Cicero. You may commence laughter.

Aww, thank you very much!

I like the idea of Nick Offerman playing someone and nobody's quite sure whether he's a Vulcan or just a really stoic human.

Each series of Star Trek has explored different genres of television, veering from deep and meaningful dramas (In the Pale Moonlight), outright comedy (any Ferengi episode), philosophical quandaries (Let That Be Your Last Battlefield) to even ghost stories (but let’s not mention Sub Rosa, eh?) whilst all remaining within the same overall genre of space opera. Heck, TOS did a western (as did TNG now I come to think about it). With the addition of an animated comedy to the Trek canon, and an upcoming children’s show, it would appear that exploring different genres within the Trek universe is the way to go if you’re making a new show. What sorts of show would you like to see? Perhaps a medical show in the vein of General Hospital, but set at Starfleet Medical? A police procedural set on Qo’nos, the Klingon homeworld? Perhaps an anthology show like American Horror Story, but set in different points of Starfleet’s history? A mockumentary like the Office, but at Starfleet HQ (don’t lie, you’d love to see Commodore Oh’s Jim Halpert face)? Would you like one of these shows, or perhaps something different? Let us know in the comments and let’s hope nobody nicks them to make a kick-[...] show!

Genkos is a strictly sapphire wine or uttaberry green tea kinda guy

Fabulous work in the Academy, Aeson! Welcome to the fleet, hope you enjoy it here!

Aww bless ya for saying so!

Insert obligatory hatred of Faith of the Heart here But also This.

Bloody well done @Samira Neathler, @Corliss, @Jona ch'Ranni and @Jo Marshall! Really well deserved wins by fabulous simmers!

Genkos is wearing a bit of a multi-coloured patchwork outfit (image courtesy of @German Galven)

Congratulations, and celebrations! Wilkommen aboard!

I've been enjoying Enterprise a lot more since I made use of Netflix's Skip Credits option.

Congratulations! Superb work!

Welcome, and well done!

Prison wasn’t so bad, Tillul mused. The worst part of it were his fellow prisoners; many of whom were uncouth, angry monsters. But then, they were all in for murder. Tillul had been here about a year, a long year of slowly acclimatising to incarceration, but he’d made what they laughably called his “accommodation” his own. He’d taken to carving small anatomical models of fauna from bits of wood and stone that he’d purloined from the yard during their daily exercise, and he used a small toolkit they’d allowed him from the workshop classes. He’d attempted to be a model prisoner, gaining the guards’ trust, or at least refraining from earning their ire. He sat on his bed, reading the PADD that was a standard prison issue. It contained a variety of Betazoid literature, and he was currently engrossed in the works of Toman Chaa, a romance novelist of little consequence, but whose writings were deemed of having no qualities that might arouse a prisoner to undesirable emotions (such as rage) or mount an escape. He ran a hand through his thinning steel hair as he read, a slight frown on his face. No matter how many of these he read, they didn’t get any better. He was about to throw the book at the wall in a bout of aggressive tedium when a voice shattered the quiet. "Hello, Tillul” Tillul jumped up with a start, his ageing frame showing surprising speed as he rushed to the cell door. There was nobody there. "Over here, love of mine” Tillul’s blood ran cold, the icy fingers of fear playing his spine like a human xylophone. He swallowed once as he turned around. There, on the viewscreen normally reserved for meetings with his lawyer or the warden, was Fumiko. Her almond eyes stared at him from not just across the room, but also across the heavens. She was supposed to be dead; she should be dead. He had pushed and she had fallen, and that was the truth. So how was she here? Tillul was a man of science, he knew there were no ghosts. It was possibly a mental trick, a faulty neuron firing the wrong impulses into his brain, or maybe a new delicious form of torture developed by the race of telepaths. The voice spoke again. "What’s the matter, targ got your tongue?” Tillul shivered as the syrup of her voice ran over his soul. This was impossible. His mouth was arid, as devoid of moisture as the desert wastes outside the prison. He opened his mouth to speak, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "Y-y-y-you’re dead” he rasped, a stutter forming on his lips, a trait he had ironed out of his son with harsh words and tough love. Fumiko tipped her head back to laugh, a brutal mockery of the warm tinkle that he remembered as her expression of mirth. This laugh was cruel, and high and cold and turned his blood to iron in his veins. She turned her eyes to face his, her chilling blue gaze meeting his ebony eyes. The corners of her mouth twisted into a glacial expression of amusement. Tillul felt his knees go weak and he slowly slumped back down onto the bed. "Dead or not, I am here, aren’t I?” She blinked slowly, as Tillul hung on her every word. “My my Tillul, you did very well didn’t you? What, nearly thirty years of freedom after ending two lives in one fell stroke? An enviable achievement. And you would have got away with it too, if not for that son of yours. How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child, eh? After everything you did for him, and still he squeals on you like a pig, revealing your deepest darkest secrets. Sure, you suppressed his abilities, made him a cripple, what, two times over? But at least you were safe. Until you weren’t.” "It wasn’t like that,” Tillul hastened to interrupt her unstoppable train of thought. “It was for his benefit as much as mine” Fumiko scrunched up her face into an expression of extreme doubt and disbelief. In what felt an eon, she shook her head, maintaining eye contact the entire time. "You and I both know you only did it so he wouldn’t accidentally stumble upon your dirty laundry Tillul, and frankly it’s insulting that you would believe I could swallow that pill. I’m not one of your animals; I’ve seen the size of some of the things you gave them” Tillul’s face assumed a mask of purest, undiluted hatred. This woman, this stupid woman, had ruined his life twice over. First of all, she’d had the audacity to get pregnant, to make leaving her even more difficult than it was already. Then her death had come back to bite him in the rear, ruining his chance of a perfect family. Laxe had loved him, and his son had loved him, and then the revelation of one little secret had brought it all down like a house of cards. He pointed a short, bony finger at the face on the screen. "How dare you, how very dare you! You ruined my life! If it weren’t for you, I could still be happy. Still be free!” Fumiko’s face took on a patronising glare that needled into Tillul’s brain as she raised both her eyebrows at him. "I don’t remember forcing you to push me down those stairs. In fact I seem to remember feeling a jolt of shock before the sudden nothingness. So please don’t be blaming me for that, thank-you-very-much” Tillul’s eyes narrowed to thin slits through which his ebony eyes blazed. He considered throwing something through the viewscreen to gain himself a moment’s respite, but a feeling of some kind stayed his hand. Perhaps it was fear, perhaps it was the unsaid knowledge that this wasn’t a physical manifestation and breaking the screen wouldn’t do diddly. Instead he rearranged his face into a softer look of contrition that was as false as his testimony on the stand. He’d tried to argue that it was an accident, that guilt had rewritten his memories to pin the blame on him, because he had felt so anguished at his inability to save her. Unfortunately for him, it didn’t fly. "I am sorry. I am sorry for what happened to you. I - “ She interrupted him before he could get any further. A red rose of rage blossomed in the pit of his stomach, but he clenched his jaw and stayed quiet. After all, he had all the time in the world. "You’re not sorry that I died, you’re sorry that you got caught. Please don’t insult my intelligence or my memory in saying that. You deserve this though, and you know it. You are a murderer, Tillul, a murderer of your wife and her unborn child. Every minute you serve here brings her another moment’s peace, you know that?” Tillul raised an eyebrow at the face on the screen, her calm, docile eyes boring into his, as the face took on a more neutral expression, one that made her look less like Fumiko and far blander. In fact she could now be anyone. If it even was a she - the features had become a nondescript androgynous humanoid face and it was that which scared Tillul most of all. The face winked once at him before disappearing with a soft ‘pop’ leaving Tillul alone on his prison cot, shivering with his penitence. Over the next few days, Tillul frequently noticed a slight tremor in his right hand, often getting more violent as the day progressed towards night, and sleep. He had not slept well since the visitation from Fumiko’s ghost, or whatever it was. At first he had believed it was a manifestation of one of the many deities, some of which were vengeful and some were just and it could have been any of these. However he had dismissed that summarily when he reasserted his atheism to himself strongly in the mirror. Gods and demons simply did not exist and even if they did, he was sure he would be beneath their notice when compared to the grand scale of the universe. So instead he started to think that it was a dream, or rather a nightmare, a mental ordeal of torment that had visited him when he was asleep. That had to be it, he assured himself as he tossed and turned in his bed. And yet the screen in the corner of the room glowed a little brighter when he wasn’t looking...

I see Shayne's question and raise him two! 1) Is this to be formatted in prose or in sim style? 2) Should we consider our story canon / can we?

Congratulations, welcome to the fleet and I look forward to seeing your career progress!