Karrod Niac

This year's theme for the USS Ronin will be - We just launched! We won't be contestants this year but we're happy to cheer on everyone else around the fleet! Have some spooky fun everybody!

I.I. is a serious issue affecting dozens of mature vessels. Ask your Engineer if Nacellion is right for you. If warp field lasts for more than four hours, contact the Starfleet Corps of Engineers immediately.

He’s always Gott his eye on you!

One of the greatest things about our format is the idea that you can release an idea into the wild and, if you're very very lucky, others will take hold of that idea and run with it in ways you never could've imagined. I started the Brew Continuum as an Ensign and somehow, years later, the idea of the little coffee shop that could but probably shouldn't has kept growing and evolving and delighting writers across the fleet. This newest installment is one of my absolute favorites and features a brilliant characterization of one of the hardest species to do well, the Children of Tama/Tamarians. Bravo @Robin Hopper! ====================================================================== ((Brew Continuum, Deck 3 – USS Artemis)) Javaris stood behind the counter of the small caffé, nestled into a nook-like room across from the ship’s Mess Hall, beaming with pride. It was now the second day since his venture had opened its doors, and with much of the crew enjoying their ‘shore leave’, he was sure that business would boom like Kaelor’s forge, its fires never ceasing. It had taken quite some convincing to talk his managers aboard Deep Space 224 into allowing him to open and operate his own franchise aboard the newly-christened USS Artemis-A but, much like Orani, with her eyes on the summit, he had persevered. Now, his hopes and dreams had been made a reality, and it was only a matter of time until his efforts would prove successful – Javaris was sure of it. So, he began puttering about, preparing for the day’s activities – grinding beans, heating steam, and flicking on the aroma dispersal unit which would fill the café with the smell of delicious baked goods. Javaris: ::Sighing contentedly:: Raesh and Jorin, sailing prosperous seas… As he predicted, it was not long before the first customers of the day found their way into his establishment, and his work could begin in earnest. Jibrore, piping hot. Macchiato, its foam extra frothy. Raktajino, its intensity tempered with oat milk… The hours of day sailed along as one, by one, new loyal customers were earned through the crucible of dedicated and studious mastery of the arts of caffeination and customer service. Many of his first customers were, predictably, those already familiar with the Brew Continuum’s outlet aboard the Spacedock… Engineering Crewmen who had been tasked with assisting the Artemis’ crew in their repair efforts whilst the vessel was docked. After several hours, however, a new and altogether unfamiliar face entered – a most auspicious visitor… One of the Artemis’ own complement of Starfleet Officers. The Tamarian barista waved cheerily, greeting the newcomer and inviting them to experience one (or several) of the Brew Continuum’s delightful offerings. Javaris: ::Grinning:: Amara's hearth, its embers glow for all who draw near! Any: Response Javaris nodded, eagerly, happy to attend to the officer’s caffeic needs and desires. He indicated the menu, projected onto a screen above his head so that daily offerings could be customized depending on the availability of fresh ingredients (after all, much like Raesh and Jorin on their journey of trade, once the Artemis ‘set sail’, it could well be some time before they made port again). Javaris: ::Indicating the breadth of available options:: Temba, his arms wide, with pastries abundant... Any: Response Clapping his hands together, Javaris exulted in his customer’s selection. It was a fine choice – and one which he would dearly enjoy preparing as well. Javaris: ::Reacting favourably:: Mirab, receiving nectar from the stars! With the order input into his inventory tracking system, Javaris moved to his devices and began preparing the order. However, customer service neither began nor ended with the preparation of goods. No, no, it began and ended with connection. With that in mind, he attempted to engage his visitor in polite, yet friendly, conversation… Javaris: ::Indicating himself:: Javaris, the huntress’ humble barista. ::Indicating the newcomer:: Lumara's tapestry, woven with shared stories? Any: Response TAG / TBC == PNPC Javaris (he/him) Proprietor & Barista, Brew Continuum USS Artemis-A V239806K11

Well he does now.

A good NPC is worth its weight in latinum but the challenge can often be bringing life to a character or species that we have very little canonical knowledge of. Here Lt. Jg. Hobart swings for the fences and nails a delightfully disgusting characterization in this introductory sim. It's the first sim I've posted in appreciations that made me nauseous, so, cheers! ======================================== ((Command Hub, Central Ventrical, SCS Imperative)) An alarm chimed strangely at Senior Associate Regional Vice Director Of Exploitation Goo’py. The alarm itself was perfectly ordinary, but the fact of it was strange. The humanoid tenant of the Federation facility, one Boo-Fard, had requested an arrival at a specific time, but Vice Director Goo’py didn't get where he was by taking directives from lesser species. He departed Shev’Unden when he was ready, and not a moment earlier or later. But the strangeness of the alarm bothered Goo’py. A ship on an intercept course, of unidentified allegiance, was detected by the Imperative's long range scanners. The trajectory matched a Ferengi origin. The Ferengi, as a species, were easy enough to corral. Their sense of independence could be easily and entirely subsumed by their desire to reap a profit. But their nature of profit was deeply flawed. Measured in terms of currency, the Ferengi were a people wealthy beyond imagination. In terms of power, their greed was a flaw to be exploited. But also managed. On Naz, they had been allowed to fester as an infestation. It was a tale as old as time. Director Flur’psh had thought to allow the Ferengi access, as something of an invasive species. It was on the surface, a sound idea. Mining operations would continue, but the burden on corporate assets would be reduced. Flur’psh was an idiot, who had lingered far too long in a position he clearly couldn't handle. His mind had grown sloppy, and his folds sagged and reeked of a career gone stale. He was, to Goo’py’s photoreceptors, ripe for the picking, and Naz was where he was softest. A victory here would not only reinforce the vital flow of resources from within Naz, but secure Goo’py’s future within the Corporate hierarchy. As his ship blurped out of warp within sight of the horribly spindly looking Deep Space 33, Goo’py gripped a control crystal and accessed the ship's navigation and control suite, setting course for an open bay. Not waiting for instruction from the station. If he was forced to wait for the Federation to catch up with his requirements, he would shrivel and die of old age before even setting foot on their ramshackle excuse for a Starbase. No, Station Ops would accommodate him, at his leisure. The Federation wouldn't risk anything else. With the course programmed and autopilot engaged, Goo’py disabled the Imperative’s artificial gravity. He was no longer required to stay at his station, and zero-G movement was, of course, the most expedient way to get from one compartment of the compact destroyer to another. Leaving his small crew behind, Goo’py prepared himself for the inglorious work of interfacing with lesser lifeforms. ((Timeskip, Docking Bay, Deep Space 33)) Vice Director Goo’py loathed the station from the beginning. The atmosphere was appropriate, but the architecture was gaudy and insistence on making him fight the artificial gravity was obnoxious. He surveyed the motley arrangement of officers and diplomats. In contrast to the Ferengi, the Federation was resilient, a begrudgingly-acknowledged threat. The variety of cultures contained within it meant it could at times struggle to survive, but, in doing so, became more resilient against manipulation. The treaty, for now, held, but the Federation was not his concern this day. Naz was. From his core a deep bubbling and burping, a glopping and sloshkng preceded his speech. Goo’py: Speak carefully or your own words may doom you. The traditional Sheliak greeting was true enough. It's why speech was often a last resort. Script and law and rules could and should be made as lengthy and complex as they needed to be. But the inferiority of the meatier species inevitably presented itself in their preference for speech. Hasty and vague, Goo’py often wondered if it was due to the fear of their meat going to spoil. Any: Response More gurgling and squicking could be heard in the room, as Goo’py formulated his speech carefully. Goo’py: I am the Sheliak Corporate Authority in the Naz region, and, for the extent of thisss… summit, on thisss… space station. When you address me, you address Shev’Unden. Any: Response TAG/TBC ——— Goo’py Senior Associate Regional Vice Director Of Exploitation Sheliak Corporate Authority as simmed by Lieutenant Junior Grade Nolen Hobart Engineering Officer USS Arrow (NCC-69829) A240001NH3

A well earned victory mate, congratulations! Look forward to your prompt for next years competition!

Like Riker before him, Karrod has one off duty outfit and that's all he needs. With all due credit to @Alieth

The Arrow's CO has done a lot of self-reflection this leave and I think this sim deserves special recognition for the delicate balance it manages to strike with a complex, emotional topic and not at all because it implies the benefits of listening to his XO. That had absolutely nothing to do with this post. At all. Bravo, Skip. ================================= ((Deck 1, Captain’s Ready Room, USS Arrow)) Dewitt: Permission to speak freely, Sir? Shayne: We’re alone. That was as good as permission, as far as Shayne was concerned. From day one, his policy had been that the formality of command largely ceased in the confines of a singular, private conversation. He knew that his love of the chain of command could be a noose as easily as it was a guide, and he was determined to not be hanged by his dedication to protocol like some sort of stuffy, intransigent bureaucrat. Thus, anyone- from the lowliest crewmen to the most senior of his officers- held his attention and his confidence while alone in the environs of the ready room. It was a sacred trust, one Shayne was pleased to know he’d never had reason or need to break. Dewitt: I have talked a lot to one of the Cadets from the Libris, Ginny Lacy. I guess she is the brain behind the automation of the ship. She's holding the belief that an AI has a more complete and deterministic picture of heated situations and how to solve them. ::pause and taking another sip:: I can think of a million reasons why I believe an automated AI-based ship is a bad idea... But I cannot put off the thought that there is some truth to what she said. Shayne heard the Lieutenant’s words, and secretly, inwardly began to build defenses around himself. It was natural, second nature, to be exact, and it was a method of maintaining his emotional equilibrium without sacrificing awareness of the moment. But Niac’s words gruffly scampered up his brain stem like a vertical Jefferies Tube, wagged a vaguely hircine finger in disapproval, and then vanished back through the hatch. No, this time he would be better. This time he’d trust his crew. Shayne: There is. Before it had become a topic of personal contention for the captain, he’d often wrestled with the idea of AI ships himself. It seemed that ninety percent of the personnel aboard a given starship were there specifically to attend to the personnel aboard the starship. Doctors, counselors, environmental engineers, communications officers, that one schmuck saddled with corralling the various pets that escaped quarters during crises and took the opportunity to mate, leading to callico-targ hybrids that no one was qualified to look after… wow, his mind flew off the track. The point was that it was an old argument, and even without the normal recrimination that would accompany the notion, Shayne had to admit that the cold logic of steel and circuits would be a comforting distance for the fleet to maintain. But it was too cold for him. Sometimes when he looked at ships in space, he’d think about their beauty or their power. And yet, when they occasionally emerged from the eclipse of a moon, or left the native sun far behind, he couldn’t help but think how impossibly cold they must be. Shivering duranium and frost-encrusted nacelles and… just cold. Dewitt: As I'm collecting those pips on my collar... I'm just wondering how you deal with that... Heated decisions will always be made with an incomplete set of information... Part of it seems like a mixture of a gut feeling and hope. Shayne kept his bearing stern and thoughtful, but inside, it was like a long-forgotten sun had risen from behind a cloud bank. So much of what he’d felt was being spelled out better than he’d ever been able to consolidate it, and it seemed that he was being rewarded for listening to Niac’s words, if only in the form of validation. It hadn’t been just him. It was reasonable. It was feared, and difficult, and challenging, and there was no easy solution, and now his place in all this- in all this- was becoming, if not clearer, then more trustworthy. Shayne: You couldn’t be more correct. In my experience, every officer contends in a different way. That’s where you’ll find your sense of style, of leadership. But for me? I think like an Ops officer, and a pilot. Aviate, navigate, communicate… and do the best you can. It wasn’t much of a response, but it was the truth, and he held close to the validity of these approaches, even if they weren’t for everyone. Dewitt: How do you make those decisions without doubt and without charging yourself if things go south? Shayne stared at Dewitt for a moment, nonplussed. Before, the relevance these questions had to Shayne was something of a novelty, an enjoyable detail in an otherwise rapidly changing life. But now, it was almost like the young lieutenant was reading Shayne’s mind. How very much like the captain Dewitt was starting to become, and for the life of him, Shayne could not determine whether that was bad or good. Shayne: “When I was a child I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child, but when I became a man I put away childish things…” Randal Shayne held much of religion in great contempt, and made it more dangerously clear than most in his position. Tolerance and respect were still possible, but he would not be satisfied with the bludgeon that faith had become so often on his homeworld in the past. One must live it, embody it, and serve it as much as it served them, and in the pursuit of this agenda, Shayne had taken to skimming the holy texts of many faiths around the Alpha Quadrant. It was such a pity he couldn’t believe; the churches were beautiful, the stained glass telling stories that words might have mangled, and the words… twisted to evil so often, and yet… Shayne: You are asking the right questions, but the wrong person. Only you can answer them, in time, and with much deliberation, and much error. And the permission to make those errors, those choices… starts with your leader, and slowly, you find conviction sufficient to supply your own. And then you decide, and learn, and if you are right more often than you are wrong, they make you a captain. It was not the fountain of wisdom Shayne wished to provide, nor the simple answer he himself so desperately craved as a nascent lieutenant, looking with awe and anxiety at the ever-increasing obligations and possibilities open to him. Shayne knew the willingness to dive in, even without knowing, despite the desire to know as much as possible, was part of what made a good leader, or at least a good star service captain. It sounded so reckless, so self-serving, and yet, no ship was safe in port. No soul would blossom in confinement. And no words could convey a truth they weren’t designed to bear. Dewitt: Response Shayne: Our success is built on failure. And so long as you are ready to learn, and answer for the consequences, and accept the burden that is the metal at your collar, I give you permission to fail, Mr. Dewitt. And perhaps together we will find the answers you so keenly seek. For a moment, the uniforms didn’t matter. The ranks didn’t matter. They were but two men; one freshly proven and looking towards the future, and the other watching from farther down the road, at the storms and the rockslides and the many dead canaries, and trying to shout in a hoarse whisper… “awake!” Dewitt: Response Tag/TBC (END?)

Lovely piece and it raises an important question - do Cardassians hate Mondays and love lasagna?

It's fantastic getting to watch our junior officers grow and mature their characters in such a short time since coming aboard but @Seesh has been consistently delightful to read. Well done!

The quiet hum of the runabout, occasionally punctuated by the chimes of automated systems dutifully performing their functions, was the only break from the oppressive silence that wrapped Geoffrey Teller like a pitch-black cloak. In the two days his journey had taken he hadn't spoken, save for the rare instruction to the ships computer, and even those few times had been abrupt and ledden. Gone was the zeal and gangly energy for which he was typically known, buried too deep under layers of loss and grief for even his spirit to shine through. He looked towards the transporter platform and its single occupant and considered again how he'd come to be chosen for this last, solemn duty. Geoff had fallen out of time; stolen away from the life and career he'd built by an enemy who had harried his steps since his earliest days as an officer on the U.S.S. Veritas. He'd been imprisoned, returned to a place that played a central role in his darkest nightmares and only when he'd broken free with the assistance of friends and colleagues had he begun to grasp all that had been taken from him. And all that he'd missed. In the space between two heartbeats he'd lost a year of his life as the outside universe continued on, blithely ignorant to his absence. In the months that had passed since then he'd tried coming to terms with the enormity of that loss yet every time he thought he'd begun to put aside the bitter anger that consumed him in his quiet hours, some new discovery wounded him anew. The message he'd received a week ago had been the worst among them all, though, and so had the request that had gone along with it. He glanced again at the transporter platform and the small urn that stood upon a plinth in its center as tears once again clouded his vision. He had met her on his very first assignment and she'd seen something in him that Geoff himself had been unable to, but that had been her way. Although she had suffered from a debilitating, chronic disease for which there was no cure, her heart seemed to overflow with compassion and empathy for all those around her. She had wrapped those closest to her in an warm embrace that could forestall the sting of the deepest agonies. She'd even made Geoff one of his most cherished personal possessions, a beautiful hand-woven blanket made in the ancient style of her people, and it had become a tangible symbol of all the kindness and care she shared so freely with others. The blanket sat on the empty co-pilots chair where he'd delicately placed it when embarking. He'd not dared touch it since. The navigation computer drew his attention back to the present as the runabout dropped out of warp and, as programmed, brought the ship to a halt. Beyond the shuttle's viewport was the awesome majesty of a formation that early astronomers had dubbed 'The Pillars of Creation,' a vast collection of stellar phenomena that continued to inspire artists and poets. The scientific community had long ago classified and catalogued it, noted its atypical coloration and odd spatial geometry, then moved on to some new mystery. The souls of artists from a hundred worlds had been far less fickle and, from Andoria to Tellar to old Earth itself, many regarded it as the most spectacular of all the galaxies innumerable creations. Geoff looked at it scornfully, desperate for anything upon which to vent his anger and grief, but the stars themselves were unmoved. An impossible chill seemed to suffuse the cabin and Geoff found himself reaching out for the blanket as if in a trance, unable to stop himself from wrapping the thick soft wool around his shoulders like a shawl. He sat there for a time in silence. How long was not a matter of seconds or minutes or hours, or any banal form of time keeping that could be expressed with the use of a timepiece. The time was as long as it had to be, as grief and loss and the pain of tragedy threatened to overwhelm him in silence. When at last he stood and the tears that had silently run down his face were spent he'd grown warm in the blankets gentle embrace and part of him knew it was time, at last, to say goodbye to his friend. Standing and turning towards the transporter controls, he considered again the words she'd asked him to speak aloud at this moment. Geoff knew they came from an ancient blessing that her people had passed down from one generation to the next and could feel the truth in them, even if he struggled to accept it for himself. His hand moved towards the controls but hesitated and his shoulders slumped. "Why?" he said to the air...or to the urn...or to the vast indifferent universe, "You didn't deserve this. You deserved decades of love and peace and comfort. You deserved to be honored...to be recognized. To be seen and heard and celebrated." His voice was horse with emotion. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I wasn't there when you needed me. When you needed one more miracle. When you needed a friend at the end of all things. I'm...I'm so sorry." Geoff sobbed, an exhausted and desperate longing for absolution consuming his heart and burning within his mind. He raged, furious at a universe that could be so cruel and random, so capricious with its gifts and so generous with its miseries. He mourned for his friend and for her family, for those she'd left behind and for those wonders she'd never get to experience. And finally, at last, he allowed himself to feel it all. All the shame and pain he'd stacked upon his soul. All the awful self-recriminations and illogical guilt that he had lashed himself with since discovering that his friend had gone and he remained. Then something strange happened. A warmth suffused him, as if the blanket resting on his shoulders had settled deeper around his spirit and become a balm upon his very soul. And he felt her. Felt her kind, knowing smile. Felt her compassion as a light which gently banished the darkness within him and gently chided him, as she always had, for imposing grief upon himself that she never would've wished for him. Guilt was transmuted to understanding and agony made way for acceptance as her last gift to him sealed the breach within his soul from which he'd been invisibly bleeding to death. His shoulders straightened and the pallor of grief began fading from his face as he took a deep breath, at last prepared to say his final farewell to someone he'd come to cherish and respect. His hand went to the transporter controls and when he spoke, his borrowed and ancient words were calm and clear. "If you've come to the end...you've only found another beginning. Goodbye...my friend." The transporter whined and the urn shimmered blue and white, vanishing a moment later to begin its infinite journey through the majesty of the Pillars. Geoff returned to the viewport and watched the canister drift away until he could no longer make it out against the towering bands of color and light and when he closed his eyes, he saw her smile written across those very same stars. He finally understood why she'd asked this of him and thanked his friend, one final time, for the warmth she had once again shared with him when he most needed it. When at last Geoff turned the runabout for home he was changed. Transmuted through the crucible of grief and loss, his friend had helped him find a new beginning as her last act of charity. It was a gift he'd cherish for as long as he lived. -For Mandy

It's that level of compassion and empathy that makes @Talia Ohnari such an exemplary medical officer.

My disappointment is immeasurable

A Fistful, naturally.

I'd be remiss if I let this whole beautiful gag go by without recognition. Ensign Hobart's dreadful condition has led to a hilarious series of sims that's been a great reading. A well done to all involved. ================================================================================================ ((Interior, Sickbay, Deck 3, USS Arrow)) Hobart: ::trying to sit up:: The thuddewbay! Bower'th thtiw oud! He tapped at his combadge, but missed at first, due to his numbed digits. At another attempt, he heard a reassuring chirp. His uniform jacket might be done for, but at least that still worked. He thought. Hobart: Hobarb do Enthineerin. ::nothing, a frustrated grunt:: Hobarb do Enthineerin! ::pulls combadge off angrily, looks at it:: Gueth idth broken. He smacked his lips. The pressure was decreasing, if slowly. As the two women laughed at his expense, he wondered what time it was, and whether this horrible day was close to an end. Perim: ::chuckling:: I am sorry... What about engineering? I'll make the call! Ohnari: Maye try hand gestures...? With a nod to the doctor, Nolen raised his uninjured hand to the level of his face and opened and closed it repeatedly. He narrowed his eyes at Cadet Perim and fixed them on hers. He had no telepathic powers, but if ever there was a moment to suddenly and heroically develop them, this would be it. Hobart: ::tongue clacking:: Tha bowa in tha thudderpay ith thdill offawyme. This was not it. Perim: Waffles? Don't we better call the mess hall for that? Gritting his teeth, Nolen formed a wedge with the same hand, and slapped it to the top the biobed. Hobart: ::deadpan, attempting to annunciate:: We bwew tha thirkut. Thuddles aww thduck. Perim: ::sudden excitement:: Of course, the power junction. I'll notify them! You stay here! Hobart: Yeh, thoor. I thday here. Ohnari: See? I told you the hand gestures would work. Despite his best efforts to restrain them, Nolen's eyes rolled circuitously before meeting Dr. Ohnari's. Perim: I'll get down there and help with the cleanup - without touching any power related parts. Ohnari: Yes, please do avoid those until we are sure they aren't going to reach out and bite anyone else. Temperamental things, those power parts. Nolen nodded eagerly and pointed to Ensign Ohnari. Hobart: Imfowm Wewdennan Dewidd. The Lieutenant should have already been aware, but an explanation couldn't hurt. So long as Perim avoided undue self-recrimination. The important thing was getting the ship's systems back online, he knew, consideration of how they came to be offline was of secondary concern. Jenna looked at Nolen once again in concern and squeezed his arm lightly. He inhaled sharply and sighed, resigned to occupy the biobed for a bit longer. Perim: You get better soon! I obviously need that engineering tutoring. ::to Ensign Ohnari:: Thank you, doctor! Ohnari: Of course, you be safe, Cadet! ::turning back:: How are we feeling? Your tongue should be a little more adept at that speech thing now. Although if you want to express your "wub" for me again, I'm all for it. Perim left the biobed and - just before exiting sickbay - turned around again to give Nolen one last smile. Nolen gave her a thumbs up, glad she could get her mind onto a different task. That's when Ohnari gave him a playful nudge. He tried stretching his tongue as he strained to recall when he had said "wub." Might as well roll with it. Hobart: Beddah. ::Raising his eyebrows:: It'th becauth I wub you dad I donb howb dith again' you. ::wink:: Ohnari: ::smirking:: Just kidding. I promise to only bring it up about....seven more times before I let it go. But your vitals look good, it appears you do have a moderate allergy to the basic analgesic cocktail, so I'll be sure to update your chart. Nolen nodded. With the Cadet gone, Ensigns Hobart and Ohnari were left alone with the chirping and trilling of various medical devices and instruments around him. As she updated his chart, he was content to languish in the pause's calm. Until he wasn't. This was boring. Hobart: ::grinning, sort of:: Mighd nod ged a bedder pfanth ad thith, Doc. Know any good dongue dwithders? Or, perhabth... ::eyebrows waggling suggestively:: thum muthicaw theader? He didn't give her a chance to object. Hobart: ::puffing up his chest, feigning pomp, singing loudly:: I am tha very modew of a modern mador Generwaw! I've information vegedabew, animaw, an' minewaw! ::deep breath:: I know tha khins opf Enkhlan', an' I quode the fighdth hithdoricaw, from Marathon do Waderwoo, in order cadekhoricaw! TAGS/End for Hobart ——— Ensign Nowem Hobard Enthineerin Othither Yu Eth Eth Arrow (NCC-69829) A240001NH3 Reply all Reply to author Forward

Those first few scenes as a new player are always intimidating and, in this case for Mr. Hobart, doubly so because he's on the Bridge a few hours after showing up. Still he manages to jump right in and contribute with some wonderful characterizations and observations, along with some follicular humor, starting our Act 3 off on a great note. Well done Ensign! ======================================== ((Deck One, Bridge, USS Arrow)) Commander Niac leaned back in discomfort in the command chair on the Bridge, before rising to survey the assembled and assigned crew. Hobart in his own kind of discomfort, tucked away into the proverbial corner of a round-ish room, fell back onto his accidental mantra. It was something he took to saying in Academy simulations, when he found himself in a place like this. The simulations were all contrived to find a way to make cadets of varying specialties all act together as bridge crew. Every bit of his training, every component system he memorized, every tool he learned, had him situated if not in the beating heart of Main Engineering, then somewhere in a Jefferies tube, which from inside felt a bit like a ship’s digestive tract. But every major simulation had him situated right where he was, at the stern of the bridge, looking at a screen, his hands very much grease-free. Every time, Nolen's expression became a little more exhausted, a little more exasperated. But here, on the Arrow, where the stakes were real, he couldn’t muster such chutzpah. Accordingly, he only mouthed the words: "But what does an engineer do on the bridge?" He was about to find out. Niac: Lieutenant Commander Collins, Lieutenant Jg. Ayemet, you're going to be our eyes and ears while the away team is offship. I need you to squeeze everything you can out of our passive sensors. I want to keep track of the team and I don't want us to get snuck up on. Any questions? Collins/Ayemet: Response As Niac began his round of the bridge crew, Hobart stared at the panel in front of him. Thrusters only, shields offline, weapons powered down, life support and air circulation at a minimum. It was a blessing that the lights and displays themselves wouldn't create too much "noise," so they could be left un-dimmed. The air was still fresh enough, but Hobart knew as they settled in, things would begin to get stale. With any luck, the Captain's excursion would be brief. oO And “successful,” of course. Don’t forget “successful.” Oo Niac: Understood, give me as much warning as you can. Karrod nodded and turned his attention towards their helmsman, Cadet Jenna Perim. Nolen wondered which sadistic instructor assigned her to this ship for her cruise. Niac: Cadet Perim, confirm we're in position relative to the asteroid and the facility. Once we're set, I want you to start plotting warp trajectories out of the system and back to the Proteus ring. ::Karrod tried a reassuring smile:: You think you're up for that, Cadet? Hobart's black eyes danced around the map of the ship as he mused to himself about which sections were about to become very cold, and which very sweaty. The Bridge, he estimated with relief, would be closer to the former. As Nolen's father put it: you can always put more layers on. He did not envy Lieutenant J/G Dewitt, though, nor the smell that would undoubtedly await him on his return to Main Engineering. In the brief span of time between his arrival on the ship and his assignment to his current station, Ensign Hobart had only barely had a chance to drop off his belongings in his new quarters, drink a glass of water, and briefly meet a very busy man who seemed to have only just arrived out of the Academy a week or so before he did. The fact that Dewitt had already secured his half-pip was bewilderingly impressive, and Nolen wondered exactly where the Lieutenant got off setting such impossibly high standards for the rest of the crew. Perim: Response Karrod fought to keep a smirk off his face and turned his attention towards the last and newest member of their team, Ensign Nolen Hobart. The hairs on the back of Nolen's neck tingled as an image of looming anthropomorphized facial hair in a command uniform filled his mind. Niac: Ensign Hobart, welcome to the bridge. You'll be responsible for monitoring our power systems and making sure we're not leaking any detectable emissions. We don't want to trigger those facility defense batteries. That said, I want us ready to power up and get underway on a moment’s notice. Think you can handle all, Ensign? Hobart: ::raised voice:: Aye, sir, not a scrape nor squeak, Commander Bea— ah, Commander Niac. Sir. Hobart kept his back to the ship's Executive Officer, ostensibly to continue to monitor the ship’s systems. Had the ship's lights been dimmed, he imagined that his face, glowing as hot embers, would have drawn more attention no matter which way he stood. In this precise moment, he envied Lieutenant Dewitt a great deal. Karrod straightened up in the Chair and tapped at his commbadge. Niac: =/\= Niac to Shayne. Captain, we're all set up here. =/\= Shayne: =/\= Understood. Standby for our launch. =/\= Niac: =/\= Aye sir, good hunting. You're clear for departure. Arrow will be standing by waiting for you. Good luck, Captain. =/\= Shayne: =/\= Thank you, Commander. =/\= The comm closed and Karrod turned his attention back towards the bridge. The viewscreen showed the barren, pitted surface of broken stone stretched off into the darkness all around them. After a few minutes of relative silence, Karrod spoke aloud, half to himself and half to the bridge as a whole. Niac: Guess I should've brought a deck of cards. This caused Nolen to turn around, his face finally under control and un-blushed. Out the main viewscreen he saw the vast surface of their shelter against prying Sheliak sensors, a slash of barren rock against the dark void of space, and felt for a moment as if he was back home. An Engineer on the Bridge, he realized, if nothing else, got a real good look. Collins/Ayemet/Perim: Response With his eyes finally filled, Hobart turns back to his station, focused on making sure things stayed good and quiet. He tapped, rhythmically, cycling through the different powered down systems, arranging them for reactivation in the most efficient sequence possible. Somewhere from the dark recesses of his mind, antiquated cultural artifacts echoed. Hobart: ::whispering absentmindedly, with a Scottish lisp:: One… ping… only… Any: Response Tags/TBC — — — Ensign Nolen Hobart Engineering Officer U.S.S. Arrow (NCC-69829) A240001NH3

MSNPC's are such a vital part of our narrative structure - they can add so much flavor and gravitas to a mission when done right and I think this is a great example! In introducing their character and the situation, @Quentin Collins III has done a great job of contributing to our missions tone and I can't wait to see what we get next! Also, anybody else getting some Andor vibes? And I mean that as the highest compliment! ================================================================== ((Interior. ???. Sheliak Mining Camp, Hab Block 6.)) Two-thousand, one hundred and ninety-one days read the fuzzy display of Arianna's barely functioning visual display. Not that she needed the reminder. Basic training had all but hammered a finely tuned internal chronometer into her chest. She had felt and clocked every day here since the first. Just like Basic. Then it was Reveille at the crack of dawn, stringent PT throughout the day, insertion and TAC training throughout the night. Up, down, left, right. She had loved it then. Clung to it even, in some of the lowest moments. The routine, the repetition toward something greater. It was everything she had always wanted. But her life now? If one could even call it a life...it had the very same repetition. The very same routine. But it was cruel and twisted. Deadly even to some. She flexed her tired joints and swung her legs up and off the dirty standing cot that she shared with seven other "miners", four of which were already on shift and gone. Wiping a film of dust from her exposed eye and polishing as best as possible the implant ocular display on the other with the tail end of her tunic, she peered up and through the holey, corrugated wall of the Hab. Her flickering display concurred with her eyeballing. It was just about dawn. She had another few hours before she would be corralled with the rest of her shift. She finally stood, placing her aching feet carefully into her boots but not lacing them. Sleep had been but a memory for a while now, but she was really just trying to get through what she considered the worst part of her day. Crossing slowly, she started the day as she always did, trying to will feeling and strength back into her limbs. A nearly impossible task thanks to the meager food and water rations the Sheliak allowed them. But she started her walk anyway. Up and down once more the whole length of the Hab, as she had done many, many, MANY times before since her arrival...wherever this was. She used to do yoga, running drills, and war games with people she loved and respected. Now she had to shuffle up and down a rusty shack to indifferent, almost hostile glances from her "roommates", catching contemptuous looks at herself, from herself in the few mirrored surfaces of the Hab. Usually scraps of broken glass and smooth trisilicate shards smuggled into the Hab from shifts. Most days she figured it was what she deserved. Others, she couldn't even think about it at all. Those days, secretly, were the worst. Because that meant she was getting closer and closer to giving up. Closer and closer to acceptance and apathy. Something that would have been akin to blasphemy two-thousand days ago. A voice from that storied past found her again. Almost starling her as this had been the first thought not in her own voice for...too long she decided. "Nothing wins like time." By that metric...Time had had a stunning victory in sights for a while now. Maybe it was time for Arianna to accept that. Her body clearly had. Her once lustrous and sparkling hand circuitry and the lithe silver filigree that had run from her arm up into her cortex unit had chipped and dulled. Spriggy farm rows of thatched auburn hair had matted across the junction lines of her headpiece while the other side hung dirty and clumped nearly down past her shoulders now. Making her look like a half burned toy. She didn't even bother trying to maintain it anymore. It didn't get in the way of work, so why should- A rusty SHUNK-ing sound frightened her more than she expected it to. A far cry from the woman she once was, a sudden and jangling realization that just pitched her despair darker. The bad feeling continued as she realized who was standing in the now open doorway. Azo. Her "Shift Manager". A hysterically mundane moniker for what he really was. One step down from a slave driver. The equip belt hanging dumbly across his rippling form. The mag-stick was already in his...flipper? Blob? Arianna still didn't really understand Sheliak psyigomy. She just knew their capacity for cruelty and corporal punishment. Azo was...particularly skilled at both. But he was nearly a full two hours early. And seemed...oddly upright for his usually hunched and squelching gait. Sokova: What's- Azo: Out. On ssssshift. Sokova: I'm Second Shift. First isn't even done y- The mag-stick thrummed to life and Arianna felt as if a million tiny needles were prying up her hand circuits, pulling her forward even from her stance halfway across the Hab. This was painful, obviously, but it was also...new? That was...something. Something Arianna immediately filed away. She didn't like the idea of being pulled off of Grumm's shift, her only real contact to the before times... But...Azo not even teasing a carrot this time...and going for the mag-stick instantly to bully her back into the pathway toward the pit, slinking forward behind her like a slug. Old instincts flowed back into her as she darted her eye and optical scanner across the whole of the upper surface of the "mine". That same ripple on Azo was crinkling across the rest of the "Shift Managers", all of whom seemed to be driving their charges just a bit harder than usual. Yet another morsel of new that she filed away. oO They are nervous. Since when are the Sheliak nervous? Oo And then...for the first time in two-thousand, one hundred and ninety-one days, Arianna Sokova felt something else new...something that seemed far away and impossible... She felt something like hope. To Be Continued... Lieutenant JG Arianna Sokova Sheliak "Miner" As simmed by -- Lieutenant Commander Quentin Collins III Chief Science Officer -- U.S.S. ARROW NCC-69829 ID: E239512QC0 -- F.N.S. CONTRIBUTOR (SB118 Forums) ARROW WIKI OPERATOR

May the road rise to meet you, Jansen.

Somewhere old Geoff is smiling.

Ah, look at that fresh faced kid with barely a whisker on his chin.

Deeply appreciate the kind words @Quinn Reynolds & @Kali Nicholotti - means quite a lot. Edit: Additional thanks to @Tony, aka VAiru who I accidentally omitted from my original post! I'm thrilled to see how Wes and the Thor/‘Oumuamua have grown since my departure and I'm so glad you folks are doing well. Best of luck with the new ship!

With all due thanks and credit to the incomparable @Alieth I present - Classy Karrod:

I think First Contact is the absolute best TNG film and with that said - it's still a really bad movie. It starts incredibly abruptly and gives zero transitional time between Generations and the new Enterprise E, or the new conditions of the crew like Geordi's eyes. We very quickly launch into a major Borg action setpiece that could've easily been a major part of the film but it all happens so fast and so arbitrarily that even though the movie talks about it like it's the end of the world the whole thing is setup and over in less than ten minutes of screentime. Those ships that exploded? Who cares. How did the Borg get all the way to Earth again? Doesn't matter. Why do they launch a ball? Also doesn't matter. The whole first act feels like it's high speed setdressing to get us into our wacky time travel adventure which pendulums between antics on the surface and psychological horror and terror on the ship with our new techno-slick (and always damp looking) Borg. It's also the first time we really see the 'movie' arc for Picard - which is rapidly morphing from an elder-statesman and contemplative diplomat into a psychologically unstable action hero. It's baggage that chases the character all the way up to Picard S2 and it's never a good look for the character and it all starts right here. I love First Contact. But it's also terrible in a lot of significant ways that get looked past because it is arguably the only good Next Gen movie. Wrath of Khan this ain't.

hey thanks @Vitor S. Silveira!