Serala

Right, 'cause this poll was for TNG and I just can't read! 😂 For me, it was the 'tude. She wasn't just the stereotypical Starfleet officer. If she thought there was a better way to do it, she'd let you know, regs be damned. Also, the come from behind story. When she was first introduced, she had been in the stockade for something that I was never quite sure about. Everyone disliked her. But she proved herself and even earned the respect of both Picard and Riker. And Guinan, and you know if Guinan likes you, you gotta be okay. 😀

Such a hard choice, to be honest. And what about the Dax's (Jadzia and Ezri)? I cast my vote, but honestly it was a tie.

I had at first hesitated about putting this here as it might seem self-serving, but it was such an honor being able to write with FltAdml. Wolf that I wanted to share it with the entire fleet. Please enjoy... ((FltAdml. Wolf’s office)) {{ Time Index: Day 29 of Chin'toka shore leave }} Tristan Wolf stood with his back to the door, trying to center himself. The counselor had implored him to take more time to do that. Seemed like full-on hooey to him, but lately he had experienced heart palpitations and an occasional headache and he supposed it was either time to take a few deep breaths, or be the victim of some dire health consequences. He had really needed that vacation that he wasn't going to get. Now a Romulan diplomat was approaching the base in a shuttle, here to talk to him. He asked the stars to give him the patience to listen to a Romulan talk out of both sides of their mouth, the strength to withstand more than mere moments in their presence, and the wisdom to know whether he should transport himself — or the diplomat — into space once it was all over. He opened his eyes and looked around. Not a dream, he was still this man. Without another breath, he approached the desk and gathered everything that moved, dropping it into a drawer and locking it with his thumbprint. He locked down the computer terminal, in case he turned his back for a moment. He even turned off the replicator station — the Romulan would never accept token food or drink, and he didn’t want to give them an excuse to replicate something dangerous. Like murderous toddlers, they were – give them any opportunity and they'd use it. He glanced around and confirmed that, yes, that would probably be safe enough for the moment. Then he sat down at the desk, carefully, and folded his hands on the desk. The door chimed. Romulan Republic Ambassador R’Val waited for the door to open. Her blood was boiling, but it wouldn’t do to start a diplomatic incident right now. The Romulan Republic was still seeking amicable relations with the Federation and alienating the Federation’s main delegate for her people would not be the best way to do that. But she wanted answers. Once the doors opened, she entered to find the Admiral seated inside. She strode in, deliberately measuring her steps and steeling her countenance to avoid revealing her true emotions. She had no doubt she was failing, but she was making her best efforts. R’Val: Admiral Wolf. I would like an explanation about these allegations against my daughter. I find it hard to believe that a Starfleet Officer, regardless of who they may be, could be accused of something this outrageous. Wolf stood. So much for niceties. Romulans never just came for a visit. Wolf: Welcome, Ambassador. A pleasure, as always, to have a member of the Romulan Republican here. ::His tone was icy.:: I'm aware your daughter is serving aboard the Chin'toka, although I'm not entirely sure what accusations seem so outrageous. As the Admiral spoke, R’Val forced herself to remain calm. What she really wanted to do was draw her dathe’anovfsen and run it through him. R’Val: Come on, Admiral. My daughter is being accused of poisoning her commanding officer. Are you really going to stand there and tell me you have no idea what I am talking about? :: her voice began to rise as she spoke and her anger began to seep through :: I can’t believe you, of all people, would allow this anti-Romulan sentiment to stand! I thought Starfleet had changed in their views about my people. I see that I was wrong! A whisper ran through the back of his head questioning why, he, of all people, would care about anti-Romulan sentiment. She must have thought him a better man – someone who aspired to Picard's moral certitude, someone who had a special place in his heart for her people. That was her first mistake. He knew the lengths these people would go to set you back on your heels and put you into a defensive position. They'd move about the galaxy in invisible warships, speaking in riddles, eyeing you warily over an offered glass of wine before hissing in your face about your duplicity. But he knew all that before the Empire fell. The most important thing he had learned about them in recent years was that if a Romulan accused you of something, it was a good bet they, themselves, were guilty of just that thing. Wolf: We're all innocent until proven guilty, Ambassador, that's the Federation way. But since I have you here, I guess it's worth asking: Did she kill him? He hadn't even considered it up to this very moment. Reider had come in a few days ago with the notion of putting a green – no pun intended – First Officer into the commanding officer's seat. She was too inexperienced to command a ship in the Expanse, but more importantly he just wasn't ready to cross the bridge of giving a Romulan the command of a Starfleet vessel. Regardless, he hadn't assumed she'd killed Thoran. This was a whole new ball game. A Romulan ambassador in his office defending a half-Romulan Starfleet officer before charges were even filed? Before there was even a shred of evidence that she was implicated? His mind whirred as he raced through the possibilities. The Starfleet Intelligence officers on the base would have been phasering each other in the back to be the first one at his door with that kind of news, but he hadn't heard a peep from them since Reider had visited. Was she here to get out in front of it, before they caught on? A delicious gambit. But… too obvious? Romulans thought humans were fools, but it didn't seem like them to send her in here trying something this conspicuous. Unless they thought that doing nothing would seem even more obvious. Charge in, railing against a heretofore unconsidered accusation, and of course his first response would be to question the entire premise, leading him to then assume that there was no possible way she had done it. Switchbacks upon switchbacks – the Romulans were trained in it from birth. He had only been lying since he had learned to talk. Part 2 R’Val was about to blow a stack. Yes, that was a human phrase; one she had picked up during her forty-year long exile on Earth. But it was apropos. How could he even ask such a question? Had he never read her service file? Serala’s fierce loyalty had been directed toward the Federation and Starfleet and there was no more chance that she would kill her commanding officer than there was that she would join the Tal Shiar. However, there had been the evidence. Her contact had told her the evidence was clear and that Serala was about to face charges for murder, mutiny and possibly even conspiracy. The poison in question was unequivocally Romulan in nature. It wouldn’t take a genius to link Serala to R’Val and claim she was the source for the poison. Starfleet was about to throw the book at her and the evidence would sink her. R’Val suspected they just didn’t want a Romulan in the command chair and so had invented this miserable farce of a frameup to ensure Serala would never sit in one. It wasn’t the first time her daughter had faced such accusations. And the consequence would be ruined relations between the Federation and the Republic. After all, if they did try and link R’Val to this, it could be claimed that the Republic had taken a direct hand in the death of a very well respected Starfleet Captain. And Humans thought Romulans were duplicitous. She lowered her voice in a dangerous menace as she leaned forward over his desk to get her face closer to his own. R’Val: Admiral Wolf. If you knew the first thing about my daughter, you would realize just how ridiculous that question is. She is not a Klingon. :: She paused trying to collect herself before she stood back up and continued. :: Serala may have human genes, but I raised her and I know that she is Romulan at heart. She is dedicated to the concept of mnei’sahe. However, where that concept really applies to the Empire, Serala has found a way to make it work for the Federation. She would never consider such an act. Her honor would never allow her to do such a thing. Besides, I have seen her working with him. She admired that man almost more than she did her own father. Were she looking any closer, she might be able to see the gears turning in his head. Yes, what a ridiculous question that a woman described as a "Romulan at heart" would spend years positioning herself to be the next in line for command. What a ridiculous notion that she would hurry along her captain's demise… But that question nagged, wagging its finger inside his head like a mirror to the woman in front of him. It was all too convenient. Why kill him when just a few more years would see her – all things being equal – pushed into her own command? Clean and clear, in possession of a pip and command codes, nestled in velvet in a little mahogany box, just waiting to be passed along to her handlers – her mother? Surely that was more enticing? Killing Thoran might seem too obvious to be true, so let Starfleet assume that a Romulan would never be that brazen – when that's exactly what she was. But the Russian nesting doll of Romulan machinations were never that simple. No, of course no. It wasn't even about Serala, or Thoran. This was a diversion from something else, something bigger. He was being set up. Or she was. Or the Federation. He had been at dinner with a Romulan diplomat once, a long time ago just after the destruction of Romulus, who had leaned in and said quietly: "Misdirection is the key to survival. Never attack what your enemy defends. Never behave as your enemy expects and never reveal your true strength. If knowledge is power, then to be unknown is to be unconquerable." At the time, he wondered if he was about to be murdered. But now it seemed like the most perfect full-circle moment he had ever experienced. Wolf: Ambassador, whatever you've heard, I believe you've been misinformed. We have no indication that Serala's a suspect. While the investigation into the sudden passing is ongoing, we don't currently believe ::his own gambit, now:: that there was foul play. Truth be told, I think you're right – Serala wouldn't consider it. I'm sorry you came all this way, but I can assure you if anything changes, I will contact you personally. R’Val stood back. This was unexpected. Her contact had been quite clear that Starfleet had all the evidence they needed, had even presented it to her. How could this man not know about it, unless it wasn’t true? Or a conspiracy within the ranks of Starfleet? No, that was about as probable as Serala killing Captain Thoran. Something was going on here and she would get to the bottom of it. One thing was clear, however. Fleet Admiral Wolf had no idea what she was talking about. She could read it on his face. There was no deception there. R'Val: I see. Well, in that case, Admiral, I will take my leave. But if you learn of anything that would prove that my daughter is being considered for charges, I would appreciate knowing about it at once. Jolan’tru, Admiral. R’Val had seemed like a fool in front of this man. She couldn’t believe her source would so mislead her. There would be retribution for this, of that she would make sure. Without so much as a “by your leave,” she turned and headed out of his office. Wolf watched her leave his office, and then waited another 20 seconds for her, presumably, to leave the outer office. He unlocked the computer on his desk and touched the intercom button. Wolf: Get the head of StarBase 118 Intelligence in here immediately. And then get me the acting commanding officer of the Chin'toka, Lieutenant Commander Serala. ----- PNPC Ambassador R’Val Romulan Republic Ambassador Par’tha Expanse as simmed by: Lt. Commander Serala First Officer Training Team Member Image Collective Member Community History Team Member Chat Team Moderator/Co-Facilitator USS Chin'toka NCC-97187 A239412S10 & FltAdml. Tristan Wolf Chief Administrative Officer for Romulan Affairs StarBase 118 P237106TW0

So, apparently there is someone now handing out very cold drinks in a very hot place ((StarBase 118, Executive Towers)) {{ Time Index: Day 27 of Chin'toka shore leave }} Fleet Admiral Tristan Wolf was a surly fellow, even on the best of days. As the Chief Administrative Officer for Romulan Affairs, the last decade had not been peaceful or kind to him and that was starting to show. Not that taking his first post on StarBase 118, all those years ago, had felt like he was in for a quiet backwater – the Trinity-Serellan Sector was, after all, the meeting point of three great powers – but he had not expected to see the fall of the Romulan Empire and everything that happened since. He had not expected his hair to go this gray this fast. And today was another disappointment: He had intended to leave on vacation, but had not. He didn't really know where he was going – his assistant had booked him a transport to somewhere pleasant, he had been told – but he had been dealing with some nonsense going on across the border all day that had cancelled the plans. There was always some new thing going on with the Romulans – some new faction growing in power, some old Romulan Warbird that had been found abandoned and was now being used to blow up something valuable. If it were up to him he'd send the StarBase 118 fleet across the border and show the flag just to get a day of peace around here. It was up to him, he supposed, but it would be the end of him in Starfleet. And no matter how annoying this gig was, he did have the best seat in the house and that counted for something. He turned away from his desk to look out the window of the executive tower at the top of the starbase, then closed his eyes. The bulkhead stretching away below reminded him of another office, nearby, from which he had witnessed something terrible happening, and he didn't want to think of that. Instead, he saw a growing laundry list of tasks on the back of his eyelids, scrolling upwards with incessant and tiring insistence. The room was deadly silent. He preferred not to work with music, and this far above the hustle-and-bustle of the base, there just wasn't really any noise. His office was removed even from the corridor by the waiting room, where only two assistants sat, and he couldn't ever remember hearing them through the door, except that one time… Wolf: No rest, no break, no sanity. ::He muttered to himself.:: oO Onto the ne– Oo The doorbell chimed. Another garbage scow dropping off something for him to deal with, no doubt. He swiveled back to his desk. Wolf: Enter. The doors slid open, revealing the face of Admiral Luke Reider, Chief Administrative Officer of StarBase 118 and the Trinity-Serellan Sector. His old job. Wolf: oO This old [...]. Oo Except, Reider did not look old. He looked young, vital, ready for tennis or handball or whatever old sport was back in fad. The man had looked like that for decades, since his enigmatic encounter with the Erntemaschinen. They had experimented on the crew of his ship, held them captive for months, then sent them away. And none of them had ever shown signs of aging again. Wolf: oO Lucky [...]. Oo Reider's hair was still blond as the day Wolf met him. When was that? Almost 20 years ago, now that he thought about it. That made Reider 84 years old. As the other man made his way across the room, Wolf wondered how Reider was still junior to him in rank, and then it occurred to him that he probably would have been the person to put him up for a promotion. Wolf: This can't be good. His voice sounded tired, irritable. But Reider was used to it – the bearer of bad news many times before, he knew Wolf's bark was worse than his bite. Reider: oO Mostly just a pain in the [...] with a bad attitude who should probably retire… Oo You're never going to believe this... Reider took a seat without asking or being asked, and dropped a PADD on the Fleet Admiral's desk. Wolf took a deep breath – he hated theatrics – and picked up the glass slate. A report from the Chin'toka, a new ship in the StarBase 118 fleet. He squinted a bit at the PADD. His eyes were tired, like his mind and body, from looking at screens all day. Wolf: Dead? Luke nodded solemnly in response, perhaps a bit performative shaming. Wolf could be so callous at times. The Fleet Admiral dropped the PADD back on the table desk in disgust. Wolf: We just gave him a new ship! You'd think he'd at least have the courtesy of shoving off first. What the hell happened? Either Wolf hadn't read the short report on the PADD, or…? No, Luke thought, of course he hadn't bothered to read past the first line. Reider: He just dropped to the floor, no warning. No more information, yet. Wolf: Any intelligence reports that he was being targeted? Any chance he'd been in a bar fight with a Nausicaan lately? Reider: Intelligence reported-in a minute or so before I came up here. You know how it is. They always dig up some scuttlebutt – whispers and whatnot. It's the Par'tha Expanse so there's lots of political actors. But it'll be awhile before we have anything concrete. Wolf: Well they're no help, as usual. ::Reider pressed his lips together.:: What's your plan? Wolf's presence on StarBase 118 these days was more about convenient positioning for managing Romulan contacts, but had little to do with the fleet here. He could commandeer a vessel when he needed a flagship for a Romulan rendezvous, but most of the time he just pushed PADDs around, as far as Luke could tell. As the Chief Administrative Officer of StarBase 118 – and therefore, the admiral directly in charge of the fleet assigned to this base – Reider was actually the one to decide what to do next, although Starfleet HQ would have something to say about this. Reider would call them next with a proposal. Still, Reider and Wolf had worked… if not together then at least around each other for 20 years now, and Wolf was the senior-ranked officer on the base. When a captain, no matter how freshly minted, passes away and leaves a crew without a commanding officer, it was a good idea to get his temperature before doing anything too drastic. Reider's eyes remained impassive as he mused on the turn of phrase, "get his temperature." He had once read something in a medical history book that alleged people in the old days would check their temperature in the behind. No chance, he thought, that anyone in their right mind would stick a glass pipette full of mercury stuck up there – Reider knew better than most that history is full of myths – but certainly he would have liked to see the sour puss on Wolf's face in that situation. He should have stayed in the medical field. Reider: I've got a few ideas in mind, but nothing concrete yet. Anything coming to mind? Wolf steepled his fingers in front of his face, thinking for a moment, and then picked up the PADD that had carried the bad tidings. He read it again while the other man waited, watching silently. Wolf: Serala. Of course. Now I see why you brought this to me. Reider: Sir? Wolf: The half-Romulan. With a field commission, she’d be the first person with Romulan blood — that we know of — to command a Starfleet ship. The closest anyone’s gotten, really, and you want to promote her, I assume? Luke blinked, caught flat-footed. It was just like Wolf to assume that he, or anyone, had what he perceived as nefarious intent, if you could even call it that. The fact that Serala had a Romulan parent hadn’t even crossed his mind. And why would it? She had gone up the ranks like anyone else. Probably had a harder time of it, truth be told. Even if that had been Reider's plan, it certainly didn't seem that far out of bounds, considering. Reider: I suppose it’s one option, of many, but then again I really assumed we’d prefer someone a bit more seasoned. Wolf’s eyes narrowed just slightly. He seemed to have scrunched down in the plush chair a bit, sinking into himself as if weighted down by his own suspicions and annoyances. Luke had seen this before and now realized his folly – he should have checked the admiral’s schedule first. He should have schmoozed the assistant for information and aborted when it was clear that Wolf was in a mood. He hadn’t had to come up here, but he thought he would earn some points by checking in. He had the lowest expectations of Wolf, and the other man always failed to meet them. Wolf: Yes, someone more seasoned. Make sure of it. The tone was guttural, and the message was clear: Conversation over. Part 2 (( StarBase 118, Commercial Sector, San Francisco District )) {{ Time Index: Day 28 of Chin'toka shore leave }} Admiral Luke Reider, he of no crow’s feet, always thought it was a bit bizarre that this was called the “Commercial District.” There wasn’t really much “commerce.” Yes, people exchanged “Federation Credits” but they were meaningless. He had more credit than he could ever spend in 20 lifetimes, and so did the people selling him the dim sum or the burritos. Truth be told, even when buying something nice for his wife he wasn’t ever really sure if he was paying fair prices for anything. A thousand credits for tulips brought in stasis from Earth? Was that a good price or outrageous? The idea of the black market trade seemed even sillier. Perhaps it made sense if you weren’t a Federation citizen, and instead just passing through. But even then, it’s not like your patrons cared how many credits they dropped into your account. A million here, a million there. He had only looked at his “account” once, as an adult returning from deep space duty, to see how much had accrued in the many years he’d been gone. He hadn’t known what he was looking at because he hadn’t known how much was in the account before he left, and frankly it didn’t seem worth figuring it out. The shopkeeper stared kindly at him, waiting. He smiled back and lifted the tray of food. The computer already knew him from his com badge and voiceprint, and did all the work behind the scenes to pay the imaginary money. He gritted his teeth both in sympathy and in worry. The Chin’toka was without a captain, and just by chance he now had an available captain right here on the base; albeit, one who was currently packing his things and preparing to go home to his family for a good long vacation while his new ship received an unexpected refit and an expected crew rotation. After what seemed like a year of command that Mei’konda Delano probably saw as a bit disappointing, he was probably relishing the chance to leave Starfleet behind for a bit. Reider was acutely aware of all the fleet under his command — at least down to the upper-staff level. Knowing where they were and where they were going was his currency in trade. Move ships here and there and you could save or lose a planet to famine, a plague, or hostile invaders. But even more importantly was understanding the captains on each of those ships: Who would do a job capably and who would bungle it? You live long enough and eventually you start to understand some of those nuances. Starfleet liked to make them all think that by the time you reached captaincy you were a superhuman – species notwithstanding – ready for any task, up for any adventure. But most captains were not. Instead, they mostly relished the mundane, the routine, the easy. Some were space cowboys, admittedly, although they were a dying breed. Only the very few were sensible, diplomatic, wise, and smart. Reider still wasn’t exactly sure what mold Mei’konda fit into – though the Caitian was highly decorated, service records could only convey so much about how a person would perform under the pressure of command when all eyes are on them – but he had a sense that this meeting was about to help him understand quite well. Now it was time to make the ask. If not for his race, it might’ve been more difficult than usual to recognize Mei’konda Delano. He was dressed down in loose fitting, light colored linen clothing that his people often wore amongst other races rather than the partial nudity that was the norm on his homeworld. There was a time, earlier in his career, when he’d relished every moment he had to wear his uniform. One part of him still did, but he’d been looking forward to this return to Federation space for a while. He’d just wished it had happened under better circumstances, and when they were scheduled rather than six months early. Mei’konda, the Galaxy class starship’s crew of over twelve hundred, and the nearly forty year old vessel herself had been through a lot in the last year. A long-range exploration mission, made possible only through the use of the quantum slipstream drive installed during her last major refit, supervised by Mei’konda himself when he was still a Lieutenant Commander, had been productive to say the least. They’d encountered multiple new spacefaring civilizations, technology, and had made breakthroughs in research in development that would’ve been impossible in known space. It hadn’t all been smooth running, though. Evidence of the sneak attack by three warships that had left fourteen officers and crew dead and cut their mission six months short was still evident on her hull, where the ship’s armor was scorched and blasted in places where her shields had failed. She’d be here at Starbase 118 for a months-long repair and refit, and had been shifted to the fleet’s inactive roster to accommodate this. Her active duty crew was rotating off, most of them to shore leave before they’d be off to different assignments. Mei’konda had no doubt that the ship would be recommissioned eventually, off on a new mission. What he didn’t know was whether or not he’d be on that mission. One way or another, he had a feeling that the unexpected invitation from Admiral Luke Reider to eat with him here today would provide answers. For now, he was content to sit in a quiet corner of the Commercial District, using chopsticks to eat the occasional piece of fresh Sushi that he’d bought from one of the shops here. Mei’konda straightened up as the higher ranking officer approached, and gestured to the seat across from him. Reider sat down, and spoke. Reider: So what's the diagnosis for the Astraeus? Mei’konda: We took heavy daamage in the engagement that brought us home, but my crew is efficient and the ship is functional. She needs extensive repaairs, though. Reider: Seems like it’ll be a while. Mei’konda: Dockyards estimaate four months for a full refit, yes. I would recommend at least six months shaakedown time after it is complete to ensure everything is functioniing as it should. Reider nodded, looking absent-mindedly at something behind Mei’konda, then lifted the dumpling to his mouth with the chopsticks, having tapped it gently on the small bowl of soy vinegar on the plate. They ate in silence for a few moments as the sounds of this San Francisco facsimile added authenticity to their experience. They were seated on the sidewalk of a small side street where a number of the best Chinatown restaurants were. No vehicles came by, of course, it was all pedestrian. But still, it was a nice ambience, and the air always smelled of spice and eucalyptus, which was not a tree that grew in abundance in SF, but could be found all over the Bay Area and so — Luke guessed — it was a bit of subtle fudging on the part of the architects. Reider: You were headed home? Swallowing another mouthful of the Sushi he’d selected, the Caitian nodded back toward the young looking Admiral. Mei’konda: Yes. The plan was to meet my husband en route to Terra Nova, and spend a few weeks leave with my parents. The Admiral steeled himself. Now the duty. Reider: Well… I’m sorry to have to ask but I think we need your assistance for a while longer. Perhaps even until the Astraeus is prepared to fly again. Luke watched the captain for any hint of his emotional state at this. There really wasn’t a danger – he assumed Delano would do his duty. But he didn’t want a resentful captain taking command of a ship he didn’t want in a situation like this. He was putting him in an impossible situation by trying to intuit his emotions, he knew that. Mei’konda paused, the ghost of a frown crossing his face. He set his plate and his chopsticks down, and met the Admiral’s eyes. He didn’t want to have his leave canceled. What concerned him more was the reason why they might need him. Mei’konda: How can I help?

"I heard y'all were in a heap of trouble and I'm here to clean up." Rogue from the X-Men

OMG! I laughed so hard at this title it about made me cry. Chin'toka is having our awards ceremony and the awards are nearing the end. I will let the sim tell the rest of the story: ((Officer's Mess, Deck 11, USS Chin’toka)) ((Time Index: Day 27 of Shoreleave)) ((OOC: All thoughts and opinions strictly IC.)) Ilana was relieved that the party seemed to be winding down. Now that awards had been handed out, there couldn’t possibly be more official business. She could loiter for five minutes before making a discreet exit. She was about to make her way back over to the refreshment table when another voice spoke above the crowd. RAdm. Kove: Not so fast Commander Thoran. ::She looked over to Serala.:: Commander Serala, I believe there is one box remaining, may I have it please? RAdm. Kove: Commander Jarred Thoran, for sustaining an injury in the line of duty, you are hereby awarded the Purple Heart. I would like to remind you that Starfleet Command does not wish to get into the habit of awarding it’s commanding officers this decoration. Ganarvuss: oO Right. I should’ve remembered that injuries earn a ribbon of their own. Now I can go grab another one of those scrumptious scones. Oo Thoran: Thank you Admiral. Unless I am mistaken, that ties me with Commander Raga now. Raga: Well, looks like that just means I have to go earn some more. Serala: Sir, considering how many he has received, I am not sure that is something you want to brag about. Any: response RAdm. Kove: I believe Captain Whittaker, you have a few words you would like to say? The snack bar was beckoning and Ilana was starting to get exasperated. Did these things ever end? Whittaker: Good evening everybody and thank you Rear Admiral for the opportunity to present this most auspicious of commendations. ::he nodded demurely to the diminutive-yet-intimidating flag officer. Then he swept his gaze out at the faces of those assembled.:: For those of you who may not yet know, I served with Commander Thoran on two starships- the Blackwell and the Columbia. I feel immensely privileged to have done so. Your Commanding Officer is a man of principle and honour- devoted to the ideals of the United Federation of Planets, tenets that he upholds like nobody else I have encountered throughout the course of my career. ::he turned to Thoran with a proud, fraternal smile and placed one hand on the man's shoulder.:: You're about to embark on the next chapter of what I am certain is going to be a long and illustrious career and you have one of the finest crews in Starfleet today to support you. But gaining a new ship is not enough. ::he drew in a breath and he broke out into a grin.:: Something more is needed. ::he removed his hand from Jarred's pocket and fished out the rosewood box he had been carrying.:: Jarred Thoran it with immense pride that I hearby promote you to the rank of Captain, with all of the duties, rights and responsibilities therein. ::he pressed the box into Thoran's hands.:: Congratulation, Captain Thoran. Ilana blinked twice rapidly and shook her head as she processed Whittaker’s speech. Commander to Captain. Well, if Starfleet said so. Thoran seemed capable, if not the best judge of character. Ilana joined in the applause and began sidling toward the snack bar. Thoran: Response Journs: Congratulations, sir! Anyone: Response Raga: Let’s hear it for Captain Jarred Thoran! Hip Hip Hurray!! Journs: ::loudly:: Hear, hear! Ilana continued moving towards the refreshments, clapping the whole way. She had only been a noise maker when actively cheering on her teammates. All this fanfare without action grated on her. Recognition was fine, but pomp and circumstance were just… a waste of time. Anyone: Response. Raga: Speech! ::He took a few steps back and nudged the Human forward gently clearly not caring if he had to warp manifolds later:: Ganarvuss: oO Oh for the love of Mike! Oo She’d almost made it. Ten more feet and she’d be enjoying a scone. Maybe if she just took it real slow, no one would notice her moving. She glanced up at Thoran and stopped, ready to listen to whatever he had to say. Thoran: Response Any: response TAG/TBC -- Lieutenant J.G. Ilana Ganarvuss Acting Chief of Security USS Chin’toka A239504HM0 -----------------

I haven't laughed so hard in a long time! 🤣 Great job, Nyka! ========================================== ((USS Juneau - Sickbay)) Wyss: I gotta know… gotta know if it worked. There was no way she was going to rest until she found out if the syphon was a success. There was also no way she could fight the hands that were ushering her back to the biobed. All she could do to resist was kind of cling to the person so that she didn’t take an embarrassing nose dive straight to the floor. Bellweather:::pulling the blanket up:: Relax Kid, Cadfael has things well in hand, we're all safe'n'sound...thanks to you ::squeezing her shoulder. As soon as Nyka hit the biobed, she gave up the fight and reached for her aching head. Wyss: Uhhgn… why do I feel like I drank the warp core? Bellweather:::smirking:: more like swam through it Luv. ::patting her arm:: you're lucky Karise was here, she saved your life. The use of Doctor Indobri’s first name caused a hiccup in Nyka’s brain for a split second. Personally, Nyka had never called the Rodulan Karise so it took a moment to figure out who she was talking about. That alone added to the crap factor of how she felt. Wait… what the hell was a Cadfael? Was it an acronym for something? Was this dark haired woman named Cadfael? There were so many questions running through the Nyka’s fried head in that singular moment, but she was only able to pluck the most important one from the muck. Wyss: What happened? Indobri: oO You died! That’s what happened! Oo The engineer winced at the painful words. Each one seemed to pierce her skull like a stabby little icepick. The origin of the voice wasn’t clear, but she gathered it was her own conscious yelling at how stupid she had been. Bellweather:::raising a brow:: Outstanding question. I'm not a hundred percent sure what happened but the CHENG was able to keep us from blowing up. As for you, you're out of immediate danger, but will need a lot of rest. My hope is there is no permanent damage ::smiling warmly:: time will tell. Cheng? Was that a person? No, not Cheng. THE CHENG. The Chief Engineer. They had a Chief Engineer? Since when? Just how long had she been unconscious? Wyss: ::sighing:: Ugh. Nothing makes sense... She was trying to recall the events in the M/ARA, but the fragmented information she was hearing only made things more fuzzy and confusing. Nyka’s tone was lit with a heavy shadow of gloom. Her brain felt like it was in a thick fog. Bellweather:::holding her hand:: Hey, I'm right here and so is Karise. ::squeezing her hand:: I don't give up on my patients and I don't expect them to give up on themselves. ::smiling:: You're never alone. Wyss’s hazel eyes drifted up to the… was she a doctor or a nurse? There were two full pips on her collar. She was a Lieutenant. Bingo! That had to count for something. But having come from a place where medical types weren’t to be trusted, Nyka found herself reverting back to that way of thinking. In that moment she actually found herself wishing that Indobri was there, even if it meant tip-toeing around awkward subjects. Wyss: You sound like a stalker. A flat joke. It was the best she could muster to hide her uncertainty about the woman, and well… every-damn-thing. Bellweather:::laughing:: I may have gotten a little jingoistic ::winking:: all the best Doctors do Kid. ::smiling warmly:: As for you just sit back and rest, the Ship is fine, so I'm giving you permission to focus on yourself. ::digging into a pocket:: Here take this and I'll be right back with something for you to drink ::holding out another blue lollipop:: Trust me I'm The Doctor. That answered that question. She was a Doctor. Her name was Doctor Cadfael. Nyka absently twisted the stick of the blue lollipop in her fingers, and then gave a lopsided frown at the cartoon Band-Aid on the back of her hand. She almost smiled at it, but pulled her gaze toward a familiar voice. Indobri: Well, look who has returned to the land of the living! The smile Nyka gave her was soft and welcoming. She was actually grateful to the Rodulan for the humor, and a great many other things. Indobri: You know, if you wanted to get my attention, all you needed to do was buy me a few drinks. Stopping your heart probably wasn’t the best choice. Was Indobri flirting with her, or was Nyka delusional? It was probably best to give a neutral reply. Wyss: Sorry about that. She looked down at the lollipop, and then it registered what was said. Wyss: Wait, did I die? Indobri: ? Nyka was entirely buying it. She remembered passing out a couple of times, but dead? Wyss: Like… a little dead? Or a lot dead? You mean, somewhere in-between dead and not-dead? Like undead? Indobri: ? Wyss: Oh. That kinda sucks. Yep. That sounded seriously serious. The redhead paused in thought and then gradually started to ease a smile. It was customary in her universe to do one thing every time something like this happened. Wyss: So, good news. That makes today officially my new birthday thanks to you. There will be a mandatory party when I get out of here. That definitely wasn’t the standard reaction after having left this plane of existence. Usually somebody might pause and reflect, or somber at their own mortality. Maybe it would hit her harder later, but right now she was feeling pretty dang lucky. She held up a finger to stop any comments. Wyss: But for now… can you sit with me for a moment? oO Don’t say no, don’t say no, don’t say no. Oo There was something she needed to say, and if she waited any longer it was just going to become awkward again. What was coming probably was a bit of a reflection on her life, or better yet a correction. Indobri: ? The redhead scooted over on the bed allowing a space for her to sit. There was a moment of hesitation, mostly to gather her nerve, but also to find some strength physically and mentally to put the words together. Conversation wasn’t exactly easy to produce, but if she didn’t say it now, then it might not ever get said. Wyss: I’m… oO Don’t be an [...], just say it. Oo Wyss: I’m sorry for the way I left things the other morning, ::frown:: and every day after. Like ripping off the Klingon band-aid on her hand. Fast and more painful than it’s supposed to be. Indobri: ? Wyss: Wait, just let me finish. ::beat:: I like you. Like, really like you, and I enjoyed our night together. ::blushing:: Like, really enjoyed it. Oh, for frak’s sake she sounded like a stupid teenage girl. She quickly ran a hand over her face in frustration. This was going poorly. Time to make a course correction. Wyss: Okay, I’m just going to lay it all out. I suck at relationships. I avoid them like the plague. They usually end horribly for me, and I freaked out the other morning because well… If I’m being honest, I don’t usually stick around that long afterwards. Not that I do that kind of thing a lot, but… oh hell. ::it just went from weird to humiliating:: Forget that last part. So here it is, I’d like to get to know you better, and I don’t know maybe we just don’t label it anything right now. You know, in case… I don’t know whatever. ::beat:: That sounded better in my head, and this was a bad idea, and I was dead so I’m not sure what I’m saying. You probably have patients to check on. There. That was an easy out for both of them. Ensign Nyka Wyss Engineering Officer USS Juneau Author ID I238301T10

Man, Raga is really on top of it with this one! She's the bad guy you hate to love. Great job!

Hey, Sorry for such a late posting here, but I just want to congratulate all of this year's winners! Great job, everyone!

And here we have Dr. Karise Indobri from the Juneau showing off her finest.

I am assuming the winner will be announced during the Annual Awards. Is this correct, or should we be watching for a separate announcement?

Serala sat in the First Officer’s chair staring at the viewscreen. The Captain was off somewhere and she had been left in charge today. The shift was turning out to be fairly routine, and to her mind, boring. She found herself hoping for a little excitement today, but she really should have heeded that old adage: “Be careful what you wish for.” Several weeks ago, Serala had experienced what she was still calling Hell Week. An ironic nickname considering that Serala had no religious beliefs of her own, outside of a regard for The Elements. The only good thing to come out of that week had been the birth of her beautiful daughter, T’Saara. But other than that one wonderful event, she had experienced crashing into a frozen wilderness and being stranded with government sanctioned assassins hunting her and the other survivors; the rather brutal death of her husband which she had felt through their shared telepathic bond; and the rather unexpected return of her deceased father from the grave after nearly thirty years. Two weeks later, the Captain promoted her to First Officer. Life was just starting to settle down, and here she was wishing for more excitement. Suddenly, the viewscreen began to shimmer and the stars faded out to be replaced by the image of her husband’s face. He looked straight at her and began to speak. “Serala. What are you doing, e’lev? Why have you not taken me to Vulcan?” Not sure that what she was seeing was real, and confused by the question since she had sent his body home, she hesitated briefly before answering. “But how are you here? And what do you mean? I sent you home?” “But, e’lev, I do not live in my body. I am in you. My katra is in you. You must take me back to Vulcan. To Mount Seleya.” “Stevok Deyhhan? What do you mean? How can your katra be with me? We were nowhere near each other when you died.” “My wife, we were bonded. We did not need to be together.” Of course! How could she have not realized that. Stevok had told her about katra and that they were usually transferred to someone if they could not get home. There, the katra was taken to their holy mountain, Mount Seleya, where the priestesses would store it. How that was all done was a mystery to Serala. She had always believed that physical contact was necessary for the katra to transfer to another, but the nature of their bond would have changed that. On their very first meeting, Stevok was in the early stages of his pon farr and had instinctively chosen her as his mate. Somewhere along the way, they had bonded telepathically. It was not uncommon for Vulcans to bond with their mates, but it was usually done in a ritual ceremony as so many things with Vulcans are. But occasionally, it could occur as an instinctive action on the part of one Vulcan partner or the other. Such had been the case with Stevok and her. Ever since that day, they had never been apart even when separated physically. “But I felt you die! I felt the bond sever. How is that possible if you were still with me? He smiled that knowing smile of his that often irritated her. Like he was sharing some private joke at her expense. “Yes, Serala. The bond was severed. My body was dead. But my katra needed a place to go, so I clung to that bond and was flung into you when the strand was severed. And I have been here since. I am just now recovering enough to be able to reach you again.” “Then I must take you home at once!” Stevok seemed to consider it for a moment before responding. “I have reconsidered this, ailhun. I can remain this way for years and I sense that you still need me. But when the time comes, I need you to promise me you will take me home.” “I promise, Stevok. On my Honor!” Anyone who knew Serala knew how much that honor meant to her. “But, how will I know when it is time.” “Another will come to take my place in your heart. You must let him. And when he does, then it will be time.” That was never going to happen. She was sure of that. But Stevok had said it with such certainty that she wondered. When she next spoke it was whispered, barely audible. She was making a solemn vow to the love of her life. “Jol-ao au deyhhan. There will never be another to take your place.” “E’lev, there must. You must continue to live, and love is a part of life. It is not logical for you to remain so. Grieve for me as you must, but do not refuse to live your life because of a memory. For that is all I can ever be for you now.” Serala doubted such a thing would ever happen. She had loved before, but none ever held her heart like he had and none ever would. Sensing her thoughts, he laughed that most wonderful laugh of his. “Of course, e’lev, none will ever hold your heart in the same way. For each, love will be different. But it does not mean it will be less. Only different.” She still doubted his words, but Stevok had always had a way of reaching that stubborn part of her that few could ever breach. So, she conceded the possibility, though she didn’t think it would be for years to come, if it ever did. “If such a time ever comes, e’lev, I swear on my Honor that I shall return you to Mount Seleya.” “Then I can ask nothing else of you, Serala. I wish that I could have remained for you and our child, but it was not meant to be so.” Tears began to creep into her eyes. More than anything, she wished he had lived to see his beautiful daughter. “I wish you had been here to see her, Stevok. She is so beautiful. And she has your eyes. I named her T’Saara after your grandmother.” “But Serala, I have just told you that I am with you. I have seen her and she is beautiful, just like her mother. And you will be a wonderful mother to her. I am so proud of you both.” She cried in earnest now, and part of her worried that the others on the bridge were witnessing this private moment. She did not want to be a spectacle for her crew. But the love she felt, and the loss, once more rose up to overwhelm her. She was so unsure of so many things. How was she going to raise a newborn and yet remain as First Officer on this ship? Yes, so many had stepped up to offer their assistance. She knew Little Bean was never going to be unloved or uncared for. But there was just so much even she could handle. And with Stevok gone…. She was feeling overwhelmed again. With love, with loss, with loneliness, with responsibility. She had friends, but Stevok had always been her confidant. The one she could turn to when she needed to talk, to work things out, or just to be vulnerable for a few minutes. “I am still here, e’lev. And I will not leave you until another has come to take that role from me. But you must let me go when that time comes. Live, Serala. Love.” The smiling face of Stevok vanished at that and Serala noticed that the others on the bridge seemed to not have realized anything had just happened. “I Swear It.”

Congratulations Ensign! I played Arusia Rosadk during your training and I am pleased to let you know that I will continue to sim with you on Atlantis as I am a member of that crew. Looking forward to it! 😁

I'm squared away! Lt Commander Serala

Got to be Dr. Selar all the way. Dr. Crusher would run a close second, but I would prefer the cold logic of a Vulcan to give it to me straight rather than the typical "break it to them softly" approach most doctors want to employ. Besides, who could resist those ears of hers?

Congratulations Cadets, You each did well and I know you will enjoy your new posts. Welcome to the fleet and don't be a stranger.

Again, congratulations to everyone who was awarded one of these very special awards. Special shout out to Kurt Logan from Atlantis and Femi Cattan, who used to be one of us. Well done. Lt. Commander Serala Chief of Tactical and Security Atlantis Staff Member Training Team Member Image Collective Member USS Atlantis NCC-74682 A239412S10

Congratulations to all the winners. Well deserved all. Keep up the good work! Lt. Commander Serala Chief of Tactical and Security Atlantis Staff Member Training Team Member Image Collective Member USS Atlantis NCC-74682 A239412S10

Serala has chosen a rather simple, yet elegant green gown to match her eyes. Lt. Commander Serala Chief of Tactical and Security Atlantis Staff Member Training Team Member USS Atlantis NCC-74682 A239412S10

Congratulations, Ensign, and welcome to the fleet. I know you will do well. Feel free to drop me an email any time or hit me up on Discord. Jim Lt. Commander Serala A239412S10

I am obviously biased, since I play a half-Romulan, but I have always loved the Romulans and I love their ships just as much. Even the early warbird from TOS was sleek and impressive. The TNG D'Deridex, or B-Type, Warbird was large and beautiful. I especially love the Valdore class from the Nemesis movie.