Karrod Niac

Everyone's a critic Great scene guys, I'm glad everyone is having as much fun with it as I am!

As our community has evolved so to have the relationships between players across ships, and I've been delighted to watch the friendship evolve between these two writers both on the page and off. Oh, and speaking from my perspective aboard the Thor - Alieth's new bodyart is 100% accurate. Great work! And now there's going to be so much groundskeeping.

Beat me to it, I enjoyed this one myself. Great job you two!

Iron Captain Geoffrond Tel will purify the enemies of the Imperium with the holy flame of the Emperor's might. Extermanus Guaranteed.

In The Grim Darkness of the Far Future, There is Only War, and the loyal crew of the Overlord class heavy cruiser Thor are all the stand between the Imperium of Man and the endless flood of heresy that besets humanity on all sides. Purge The Heritic. Burn the Xeno. For the Glory of the Emperor! If you haven't guessed by now, the theme for the USS Thor this year is Adeptus Astartes, also known as the Space Marines from the Warhammer 40k universe. Each member of the crew has taken on a Marine persona thanks to the talents of our resident graphics genius, @Sister of Mercy Alethionus, and has a name that is befitting of their rank and position within the great chapters of the Astares. Happy Halloween everybody!

((OOC: This was a lovely and wonderful gesture, delivered just when I needed a bit of good cheer. @Alieth continues to set the bar higher and higher, and the fleet is luck to have her as a member. )) [[Executive Officer's Office, Deck 1, USS Thor]] With malice aforethought, Alieth made her way from the Great Hall through the bowels of the ship to the upper deck, concealing her secret cargo. The few crewmen who had not been able to abandon their duties to attend the party in the lounge gave her astounded glances, not due to the fact that her presence near the bridge was somewhat unusual, but rather because of the quality of surreptitiousness that the minute Vulcan conveyed, even while preserving a perfectly neutral expression. The code she had exchanged with a security crew member gave her access to the first officer's office and, with utmost care, Alieth secured the door behind her so that no one would discover her business there. Once surpassed part of the ever-present mess on the office and the pile of pads that seemed to be multiplying besides on Teller's desk, the Vulcan opened a small space in the middle of the chaos, putting aside a couple of empty coffee mugs and what looked like a half-drunk cup of Vulcan tea. And there, with great care so that it would be the first thing seen as the door swung open, she placed the box. The box was small, barely 6 inchs of black lacquered wood, which seemed to absorb the dim light from the office like a black hole might. On its top cover, a complex design of spirals and circles that she had drawn with delicacy and golden ink stood out on the dark surface, like a solar flare in the solitude of space. Securing the lid was a complex lock. A game of logic that would keep the former engineer's mechanical interest busy for many hours, if Sern did not provide him the trick to open it. Inside, three perfect and delicious golden gummy bears. Gummy bears that Teller would probably never get out of their captivity except with the force of a hammer. The sugary delicacies had been wrapped in a small silk piece, with the same pattern as the lid, a phrase that the ensign Katsim had helped her to embroider on the fragile fabric, raising so many questions and getting so few answers. Rom ar'kadan titaya . The phrase circled twice around the initials of the newly promoted Commander. Pleased with the display, Alieth allowed herself a minute smile, just before she sneaked out of the office with the same malice aforethought with which she had entered. [TBC] OOC: Rom ar'kadan titaya → aprox. Good job guarantee ================================= Lt. JG Alieth Medical Officer USS Thor NCC-82607 Fleet Captain A. Kells, Commanding Author ID number: E239702A10 =================================

This was a lot of laughs to work on and I can't wait to see how it makes a mess of our upcoming mission! Thanks for sharing it with the fleet, @Alora DeVeau and my sincerest thanks to @Alieth & @Quen Deena for helping make this story come alive!

I knew the dame was trouble the minute she walked through the door. Her goodie-two-shoes smile said 'trust me' but her razor sharp gaze screamed 'I'm watching.' The pay was too good, the job sounded too easy, and I knew I should've said no....but then I remembered that the only thing in my pockets was lint and a lousy crushed cigarette. Something told me right then that I'd be the one paying for this.

@Quinn Reynolds & @Jo Marshall - Bravo you two. You managed to make a roadtrip in the family minivan into a nuanced, complex and emotional narrative that works for a lot of reasons. It's well paced, beautifully invoked and has a great balance of humor and heart. Well done

It has been an absolute pleasure bringing this saga to an uplifting conclusion, and a wonderful opportunity to write with the exceptionally talented @Wes Greaves. All of this started with an idea of his making, and I cannot thank him enough for letting me build upon his start. Experiences like this are exactly why I enjoy 118!

Why am I not surprised Sevo punched a dinosaur. Very on brand. great sim!

((OOC: I find one of the most interesting challenges in our format to be creating 'small moments' within the bigger arc of a plot that's going on, and it's why I think this sim deserves particular praise. Alieth has, in a few exquisitely poignant lines, established the simple lives and tragic deaths of nearly half a dozen characters, adding enormous emotional resonance to a scene and using a facet of her Vulcan character in a way I've rarely seen executed so beautifully. Bravo!)) ((Sickbay, Deck 10, USS Thor, Five Hours & Fourty Seven Minutes until QSD Overload)) The patient's breathing was laboured, difficult and arrhythmic inspirations with a wet murmur underneath. His eyelids fluttered like frightened birds, but the few times his eyes opened wide, his empty gaze didn't focus on any particular thing, just minute pupils wandering through a ceiling he couldn't see. Alieth didn't need to check out the data that the biobed was screeching. Instead, she just sat on her bedside, placing the padd in her lap. She took his only hand between her tiny ones. And waited. First, she felt his pain, a searing, excruciating sensation that no modern medication could entirely mitigate. And then, there was the fear. oO I am here. I am with you. Oo oO You are not alone. Oo She held his hands until his chest dropped one last time. Until the last swirl of his mind faded into nothingness, the spark of what had been him gone forever. His name was Raphael Watanabe. He was twenty-six years old. He loved dogs. Four days ago he had managed to convince his roommate to adopt one. Since then, he had spent most of his free time looking for the perfect pup. Eventually, he had decided in favour of a sad-eyed white adult with an even sadder past. He wanted to call her Cheesecake. She let her rigid fingers slip through hers and recovered the padd from her lap. With a mechanical gesture she had performed too many times in the last few hours, she introduced his profile info in the database. And the stardate and hour of the demise. The Vulcan's shoulders sank an extra micron. She wouldn't forget Raphael Watanabe. Just as she wouldn't forget any of the others. All the minds she had last reached out to, to give them some comfort in the very last moments, when there was nothing else she could do. As Thiri zh'Poltal, Petty Officer, 2nd Class, Operations. Today was her day off, but when the disaster struck, she had run to help. Or like Astrid Wethern. Fourteen years old, she was part of the civilian contingent. She had joined the crew in Ferenginar to accompany her father to find out if she was going to be an astrophysicist or a holonovelist when she grew up. For the brief time that the two had shared their minds, Alieth was sure that she would have excelled at both activities. Or like T'Lar, an assistant in the xenobiology department, whose name meant "lady blue desert bird". Alieth had arrived too late, and when she had checked her status, she had already passed away. She was 115 years old and her katra had been lost forever, the experiences of a lifetime vanished in an instant. At homeworld, she had 3 children and 8 grandchildren. Cammy Jackstadt would have been 43 in 78 days. Warrant Officer in Engineering. She had suffered major damage to the back of her head and her last thoughts were very disjointed. For some reason, her injured mind repeated over and over again a memory of a summer in Idaho. It had been so intense that Alieth had almost felt the breeze caressing her skin and still had in her mouth the flavour of the fruit that Cammy had shared that day with her best friend. Porter Solari, a nurse, had died just minutes before Jackstadt. He was 23 years old and his maternal grandmother had been a Romulan. During shoreleave, Alieth had issued a recommendation for him to go to Starfleet Medical School. He could have been one of the finest doctors in the fleet due to his selflessness and compassion. He had died in the belief that everything that had happened was a nightmare and that he would soon wake up and be able to take the shuttle back to Earth. Alieth had been unable to comfort him, and he had died scared and confused. Alieth halted her steps and leaned, for the briefest of moments, on the sill of one of the windows. The strange blue light from the sub-space travel bathed her hollow-eyed face, rendering her visage strange and tired. Her fingers clasped the padd tightly. Much more than needed. But this way her hands didn't shake. That brief quiet moment evaporated with the hissing of the door, which heralded the entry of the two red-collared officers. Alieth pulled herself together as best she could, stretched out her wrinkled uniform by grabbing the hem of her jacket and stepped closer to them with strides more resolute than she really felt. Her left hand kept gripping the padd firmly, but otherwise she wore the hieratic Vulcan indifference façade. She couldn't afford to let her unemotional mask crack. Not at that moment. Alieth: (nodding sternly) Acting Captain Geoffrey John Teller, Lieutenant Commander García. Quen: Response Teller: Doctors - have you made any progress on the...::Geoff shrugged over towards the isolation lab::...mass? Quen: Response The Vulcan kept silent and listened to her colleague's explanations. The Bajoran woman had spent all her time on that case, while Alieth attended to those left behind after the evacuation, so she knew little to nothing about the.... mass. Garcia: Response Teller: I see. Ensign Wilkins, you were orchestrating the first Marine team that was attacked - what are your impressions of the device we're dealing with? Anything could be useful at this point. Wilkins: Response Quen: Response Once again, Alieth listened and said naught. Her eyes wandered from her feet to the stasis field and from there to the padd she was holding in her hands. She unlocked it one more time, moved the report of the fatalities to the background with a miniscule grimace and logged on to the medical database. For a short while, the only sound that came from the Vulcan-shaped shade was the faint tap-tap-tap of her fingers on the screen. Garcia: Response Teller: That's helpful, thank you. I've got Lt. Cmdr. Brodie working with Lt. Lovar on a way to disentangle the mine from our innards, and our Security and Marine personnel are attempting to reinforce the QSD core, which appears to be this devices ultimate objective. Our goal is to neutralize, hinder, harass or otherwise annoy the biological components of this device enough so we can excise it from the hull without being attacked again. This is an open forum - no idea too crazy, so speak freely. By my count, we've got just over five and half hours left - so lets get into it. Wilkins: Response Alieth: The closest thing I find in the computer memory is an encounter with Quasi-energy microbes in 2369. These are life forms that exist simultaneously as matter and energy, sir. Quen: Response Garcia: Response Wilkins: Response Teller: Response Alieth: (with exhausted voice) It is possible, sir, but it seems much more complex to the eye. Quen: Response Garcia: Response Wilkins: Response Teller: Response Tag & TBC ================================= Lt. JG Alieth Medical Officer USS Thor NCC-82607 Fleet Captain A. Kells, Commanding Author ID number: E239702A10 =================================

I think this situation highlights where our format can produce some incredible and dramatic storytelling - @Wes Greaves invoked these very accessible and believable newlywed officers in his first sim (The Cost, below) and I was immediately struck by the personal nature of the storytelling within the context of a larger disaster aboard ship. I spoke to him over Discord and, with his blessing, built upon his start. Lets hope things work out for these two

Congratulations to all the exceptional people from around the fleet who show us, through actions and attitude, how to be the best there is. To my fellow vikings, @Wes Greaves, @Addison MacKenzie & @Ben Garcia I offer the heartiest congratulations - in the short time we've been a crew I have gotten to see greatness from all of you. I cannot wait to see what the year ahead brings for all of us!

My sincerest congratulations to each and every one of you. The amount of work you do, born of your generosity and desire to build something wonderful, is truly staggering. As a fleet, we're tremendously lucky to have you. As individuals, it's a pleasure and an honor getting to write with you. Yours is the example we're proud to follow. Thank you all!

I am humbled and staggered to be honored in such a way, and count myself lucky once again to have found such an incredible community. To everyone who is taking a ribbon home, you have my sincerest congratulations. Your contributions to the fleet are enormous and I can only hope to keep up with the incredible example you've set. To me, an award like this is a reminder of how vital and vibrant our community is, and the awesome opportunity I've been given to help people from all over the world tell their stories. It is, truly, an honor. Thank you all for continuing to be the most wonderful community I've ever found on 'net.

I'm flattered - I'd absolutely love to write with you as well - we might need to have the Thor stop by Ops for some shoreleave in the near future!

Absolutely fantastic to see such an incredible group of award winners this year! Congratulations to everyone, you’ve brought yourself and your ships great honor!

((OOC: I think this small, personal scene has a tremendous amount of warmth and heart. The characters are wonderfully familiar and the whole tone of the thing is pitch perfect to me. Great job, @Ben Garcia)) (( Ben calls home from his quarters 05-1202, U.S.S. Thor. )) Samantha: Where are you? The room looks smaller? Ben? Garcia: Hi mama. Samantha: (Shouting over her shoulder.) Thom! Thoooaaaaaom! Thomas: (Muffled in the background.) Always the rush! (Shouting.) Coming! Samantha: I read the email Ben – is there two ships now? Both named Thor? Garcia: I’m on the Thor now. The crew got reposted from the Embassy to the Menthar Corridor – we took the Thor with us. The posting is ship bound now, ma. Thom cut across the frame, blocking the screen with his hip. Thomas: I’m here, I’m here. Samantha: (To Thom.) He’s on the ship, it’s moved. They’ve left the planet behind. Oh the beach Thomas … we’ll have to plan something else now. Ben craned in towards the screen. Garcia: Hi? Samantha pulled her husband onto the settee. The surprise of the weight nudged Samantha’s pillows making her head wobble. Thomas: Alright Ben, I’m here. Samantha: (To Thom.) He’s in a corridor, that’s why the room is small. (To Ben.) Right Ben? Garcia: No, we got re-assigned to the Thor permanently and we travelled to the Menthar Corridor. Thomas: Which is …? Garcia: A region of space between the Cardassian Union, Breen Confederacy and Tholian Assembly – Samantha: (To Thom.) Is he at war – is our Ben at war?! (To Ben.) Is this war Ben? Garcia: No, nothing like that ma. Thomas: (Shaking his head.) Let him speak Samantha. Anger and worry crimped across Samantha’s face. Samantha: I knew this would happen. I said – I don’t want Ben in a war. Garcia: The Thor is an exploration vessel. There’s no more trouble here than where you are ma – don’t worry. (Ben laughed.) It’s busier and there’s a lot going on – but it’s just folks going about their business. Samantha clasped her hands on her knees. She was less agitated now, but the worry of combat had unsettled her. She shuffled to the edge of the couch and then stood up. Samantha: I need a drink. (Nodding to Thom to keep the conversation going.) Thomas: So, how has the reassignment gone? Settled in? Garcia: It’s a gear change from being planet side. (Beat.) For all my uncertainties about being stationed on a planet right out of the Academy … I sort of miss it. Thomas: Understandable, son. Garcia: We’ve got the hollo-deck. But. Before, I had the gardens, the beach, the forest (Ben’s eyes widened.) continents. Thomas: We’ll it makes sense, it’s a planet Ben. Ben huffed in amused exasperation. Garcia: Paps. Thomas: So, you’re not settled? Ben shook his head and touched the back of his neck. Garcia: It’s not that. I wanted a ship, I got a planet. (Ben shrugged.) Now I’ve got the ship Thomas finished the sentence in unison with Ben. Thomas: -- you want the planet. Garcia: I want the planet. The pair laughed. There was a warmness. Thomas: It’s just change, Ben. It’ll settle. Garcia: I know. Cheers pa. Samantha’s voice could be heard from off in the background. As she got nearer, the hmmm and duuumm of her tune came into focus. Garcia: (Loudly, with a wink to his dad.) There was some news, pa. Samantha: (Calling from the back of the room) News? Ben –what news? Hold on – Thomas shook his head and wagged a finger in feigned rebuke at Ben. Now Thomas’ head wobbled as Samantha surprised the couch with her weight. Samantha: (With arched eyebrows.) News? Come on! Let’s hear. Ben ran his finger along his collar, stopping at the new half pip. Samantha: (Her eyes widening.) Promotion?! Thomas cusped his ear as Samantha screamed. Thomas: Well done Lieutenant ... There was a pause and Ben filled in the blank. Garcia: … Commander pap. Samantha: (Punctuating the sentence with her hands.) Lieutenant Commander Ben Garcia. Samantha clasped her hands together and kissed Thomas on the cheek. Thomas gave her a squeeze back. Samantha: We need to organise a celebration! Let me pull the diary up. Ben sat back in his chair. Thomas smiled. End. ---------------------- Lieutenant Commander Ben Garcia Second Officer/HCO USS Thor NCC-82607 Author ID number: G239102MR0 SB118 News Team

((OOC: A splendid tale of piracy on the high space seas courtesy of @Wil Ukinix & the Veritas!)) ((Bridge, SS Somershire)) Tygin: ::smiling her wicked smile:: Octotriticale...::holding up two fingers:: 400,000 tonnes of it...plus enough equipment to start our own farming colony. Marths: They’re carrying *what*? Tygin: ::raising a brow:: ...grain...::placing her hands on her hips:: it makes the flour you fry your chicken in. ::taking a breath:: it's 3 bars a ton. A rare open mouthed smile slowly presented itself on the poultry-fanatic’s face, before he chuckled. “Octotriticale” was the cutting edge successor to Quintotriticale. Long transportation times in the Shoals along with a lack of suppliers made it a highly valuable commodity. Marths: ::Pointing at Elliot:: Finish what you’re doing! ::Looking back at Peregrine, smiling:: No wonder Captain Vodka was protecting it so well. Fill up as much of our storage areas on the ship as you can. As quick as you can! Beam it, carry it, I don’t care, just get it done. He walked over to Bonus, and then firmly patted him on the shoulder. Marths: My sources weren’t kidding when they said “juicy cargo”. Tygin: ::Rubbing her hands together:: Juicy! Cap'n if Chek can give us our standard rate, you could retire. Marths: oO You are part of my retirement plans, buttercup... you just don't know it yet Oo Manstead: :: sarcastic. :: Yippee. Tygin:::Hooking a thumb over her shoulder:: I say we strip this sucker down to the plasma coils, make for Eagle station and live like Kings for a month or seven. Marths: I’m not sure about retirement just yet, but… this will go a long way. ::To Peregrine:: Strip whatever will fit into the Wildfire, if we have room. Manstead: You only have so much cargo space on the ship, captain. Marths: ::Wicked smile:: Then we’ll put whatever we can into engineering. Tygin:::offering a mock salute:: Aye Cap'n, number 32 with Chintapa Sauce, coming up. Manstead: Don’t even think about it, Pear. Tygin:::smirking:: Relax bubble boy, I'm not gonna hurt anyone, much, just throw a few people into some life pods. ::smiling:: ill intimate where I can and only bruise who I have to. Marths: Hey! ::Walking closer to Tygin:: This haul is going to attract attention as it is. *Don’t kill anyone*. Tygin:::growling:: Cap'n, come on let an artist work, you would tell a rainbow to stop being a rainbow or tell a tiger to color in their strips, ::spinning:: such is the Erinyes! Marths: ::Pointing at Peregrine:: You are as beautiful as your deadly, but don’t think that will stop me beaming you out into space! Manstead: Oh shut up... The Marth, without taking his eye of Peregrine, smacked Elliot perfectly on the back of his head. Tygin:::crossing her arms:: Don't be a punch of party poopers, come on Cap'n this is what we do, we are Pirates. Marths: “Pirates”? Don’t use that word! We’re “brokers”. With an anarchic supply chain methodology. *That do not kill unless absolutely necessary*. If any of the crew tells me that you critically injure or kill someone? Well, you’d better hold your breath when the transporter cycle starts, buttercup. And he meant it. Peregrine already had a black mark next to her name. Beautiful or not, and as infatuated with Tygin as he was, he only had one *real* true love – his ship. She came first. Tygin:::sulking:: No, I want my share of the loot...::clenching her fists:: Fine...I'll be nice ::holding a finger up:: but if one of them back talks me... Marths: …then slap them in the face. ::grinning:: Works for me. Manstead: Just do what he says. Tygin: ::mock saluting:: Aye, Cap'n! I'll go see to our guests and make them feel all warm'n'safe. ((Galley, Deck 4, SS Wildfire – three hours later)) The fully loaded SS Wildfire was stationary in a harmless, partially obscuring spatial anomaly, and thanks to The Marth’s special CCMS “friend” (in a latinum in a brown paper bag kind of way), no-one would be looking for them anywhere near their location for at least 10 hours. It gave them time to repair damage to the ship made by the new cloak. It also gave them time to celebrate… While tying up the knot on the bandana that The Marth wore on his head (with very small cartoon like chickens imprinted on it), he walked into the packed Galley. Most of the crew were assembled, talking loudly, eating (crumbed chicken pieces) and drinking from bottles of rum pilfered from the Swishbuckle. Chef Donovan was madly handing out plates of finger food (chicken Cordon Bleu bites) to several crew, who were distributing them to tables. There was a raucous, happy atmosphere that could be cut with a phaser. The Marth stood up on one of the tables, to the cheers of the crew that were sitting at it. He picked up a piece of food (chicken puff) from a plate below him. Taking an exaggerated bite, he then kept walking, moving from table to table until he was standing on a table in the centre of the Galley. Having quickly *demolished* the chicken puff, he clapped his hands together, then placed his curved palms together over his mouth, speaking through his makeshift megaphone. Marths: Crewmates! Crewmates! … ::Loud whistle using teeth:: Tygin/Manstead: Responses The noise in the room died down to a silence. Marths: Crewmates…. We are the misfits from the ::finger quotes:: “society” that forgot about us, judged us, exiled us, enslaved us. But today, we’ve proven… THAT THEY SHOULD UNDERSTIMATE US AT THEIR OWN PERIL! The sound of a loud cheer with the thumping of tables filled the room, before The Marths lifted his palms to quiet everyone down. Marths: Some of you are new, and, you know, some of you have been with me since the start. It’s amazing to think it’s been eleven years since I got my hands on this ship. We’ve had triumphs, and troubles. Today has been a busy day. But after our two raids, not only are our storage areas *completely* full… on both decks... our estimates indicate that, this is has been… ::inhales:: THE MOST VALUABLE HAUL IN THE HISTORY OF THIS SHIP!!! RECORD PAYMENT TO EVERYONE!!! The cheers and table banging noises of the crew became ear splitting. Tygin/Manstead: Responses He held up his palms again, to quieten the crew. Marths: However, ::walking over two tables while speaking:: it’s not been without incident. ::Standing on table in front of Tygin:: Everyone knows the rules on this ship. If you have a problem with someone, report it to The Marth, and then between the parties, to resolve the dispute… we organise a fight in this room during supper. So that everyone can watch and bet on the winner. There was a short, loud cheer once again from the crew. For many, watching and gambling on the crew fights were the most enjoyable activity on the ship. Marths: But… unfortunately… ::crouching down, eying Tygin, while crew begins to jeer:: someone took matters into their own hands today. The jeering from the crew turned into a combination of boos, high pitched whistles, thrown chicken bones and several thousand curse words, all directed at Peregrine. Manstead: Response Tygin: Response Marths: ::Ignoring Peregrine:: What Buttercup must understand is that non-compliance with the rules cannot go unpunished. ::turning to next table:: Zaphoid? The young crewmate who had been stabbed in the hand by Peregrine made his way over to the table that Marths was perched on. In one swift move, The Marth unsheathed the small but very sharp cutlass that he always had stowed in his right wrist band. He threw it up in the air, allowing Zaphoid to catch it by the handle when it fell back to the ground. The crew around Peregrine forcefully held Tygin in place, making sure her arm and hand couldn’t move. Tygin: Response In one quick movement, Zaphoid thrust the cutlass into the top of Peregrine’s hand, which caused the loudest cheer of the night yet from the crew. Zaphoid: ::To Tygin:: Now we’re even, ya bloody mongrel. Tygin/Manstead: Responses The people that were holding Tygin down all enthusiastically patted her on her shoulders – signalling that she had paid her debt and she was “forgiven”, and to thank her for an entertaining spectacle. Marths: Baby. Transport Tygin to the First Aid room. Tygin/Manstead: Responses “Buttercup” vanished from the Galley in a swirl of sparkles. Marths then looked at Zaphoid, and punched him as hard as he could on the jaw, sending him to the ground. There was another loud enthusiastic cheer from the rest of the crew. While flexing his hand open and shut, Marths stood back up on the table and addressed the room. Marths: ::Holding out palms:: Wildfire! Let’s eat and drink into the small hours! We’ve earned it! A crewmate in the corner of the Galley began to sing loudly. Crewmate: ::Singing:: In-Sha-dow’s-Edge I-was-born… Marths began stamping his foot on his table in time with the tune. It wasn’t long before most of the crew enthusiastically joined in, banging their drinks and fists on their tables, and singing a shanty that was brought to the Shoals and adapted by some of its early Terran settlers. Marths/Crew: Heave a-way, haul a-way! Crewmate: In-Sha-dow’s-Edge, a-round An-tor! Marths/Crew: And-we're bound for Sha-dow’s Eeee-edge... Crewmate/Marths/Crew: Haul a-way your roll-ing king, heave a-way, haul a-way, HAUL A-WAY, YOU'LL HEAR-ME-SING! And we’re-bound for Sha-dow’s Eeee-edge… The singing continued as The Marths bent down to retrieve a bottle of rum that was next to his feet. He took a big swig from it, before smacking his lips together. There was nothing like “free” rum. Especially from Bonnie and Clyde. ________________________________________________________ Henley “The Marth” Marths Captain and Rum Thief SS Wildfire V239511WU0

((OOC: The first of two incredible JP's establishing an antagonist for the Thor's current mission, The Lost Colony. Fantastic alien characterization and perspective work @Alex Brodie & @Alieth!)) ((Underground Caverns, Vel Maijan)) They moved through the tunnel of the serrated stalagmites. It was a narrow passage they rarely followed, their resources long ago exhausted. But there was something new, something strange there. The youngest of them halted at the front, rested on his forelegs, and tested the air with the tip of his long tongue. He let the essence pass through the specialized organs inside his mouth during the time it took for the water to drip from the distant roof three times. Then, and only then, did he emit a series of high-pitched clicks that expressed his excitement They were on the right track, what they were looking for was in front of them. The larger of the two followed behind, their ponderous movements slow and deliberate in comparison to their companions more excitable energy. The plates of mineralized skin flexed as they shifted through the network of tunnels that spanned the subsurface. Shifting through the narrow gaps between the rock formations. Moving into the larger cavern to join their young cohort they were able to stand and stretch - their frame unfurling as they tested the air - familiar, stale. It was unmistakable though, there was something new in the atmosphere. Something rich and powerful...something they hadn’t tasted before. It had been many cycles since the Scourge had befallen them - though after all this time there was little point in concerning themselves with the past. The present crisis was the priority for the colony. He emanated a series of clicks as he dragged a claw across the exposed rock-face, scaring the surface and sampling the dust that remained. It wasn’t the most nourishing but would provide some sustenance in the short term. A second clawed swipe dislodged a larger clast, and he broke it in two, passing one to the youngling. He gnawed at the stone delicately, paused the gesture for a brief moment, and then resumed it shortly, his movements less enthusiastic than they had initially been. A questioning murmur rumbled deep in his throat. A question. And a complaint. The older Azcou looked at the younger and understood the reaction - but it was all they had. The smaller one leaned his head to the side and clicked his jaws briefly. The tunnel in front of them sang in reply, its nooks and crannies repeating the older's rhyme. And there, almost at the edge of the echo, was the oddity. The novelty. The slender creature wriggled a few strides forward, his slender limbs carrying him swiftly and efficiently in the direction of their objective. However, soon he halted, bristling with the thin mineral deposits that covered his body. The older creature came close behind the younger one, sniffed the air...yes...he could smell it too. It wouldn’t be far now… The two creatures continued down the dark path - their scales hardening and changing for what was to come. They knew the unknown was a risk...and they also knew there was little alternative. They must have travelled miles - not that it mattered. The larger Azcou took another sample from the wall and lashed it with his tongue. The marked area began to effervesce and the material began to turn to an amorphous gel. He clicked and hissed as he saw the look on his fellows face. Orh’am: Are you going to feed a young baby, Cth'am? ::The younger one's clicks rang out cheeky, but with the playfulness that comes with acquaintance.:: Cth’am: I’m not as young as I once was…neither are my teeth. Orh'am produced a low, rumbling sound in the lower part of his ribcage, and pursed his lips gently, revealing the sharp set of needle-like teeth that embellished his jaws. Orh’am: You still have many cycles left in you, my old friend. The colony needs you. The younger one's gurgling had sounded reassuring, but as soon as the silence thickened among them once more, it grew increasingly serious. That was not an expedition for leisure, but rather for need. Cth’am: How far do you think to the source? The smaller one turned his head forward, and repeated the sound again, showing the intricate skein of corridors in front of them. The reverberations built up the complex image in the frontal part of his brain, as clear as if he were seeing them. He knew that Orh'am saw the same thing as him, his echolocation senses as sharp as his own and attuned to the same frequencies. Orh’am: Half a cycle if we follow the tunnels. ::He tilted his head and pursed his lips again::. About a quarter of that time if we open a new one. The larger Azcou turned his attention to the cave wall...it would take some effort but it would still be faster. Cth’am: Then we dig. Orh'am said naught and just wagged his long tail swiftly. The whistle it produced expressed his acquiescence to the plan. Cth’am unfurled his large frame, his tail extending out behind him as he bent forwards to face the cavern wall. He pulled back and brought a driving slash down across the rack face - the stone splintering and shattering under the blow. The younger Azcou lingered behind, sat on his hind legs while he monitored the progress of his more robust and muscle-bound comrade. Once Cht'am had worn himself out, he would take over, progressing quickly through the stone outcropping that stood in their path. There was no time to spare. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Written By Ensign Alieth (Orh’am) Medical Officer USS Thor NCC-82607 Writer ID: E239702A10 & Lt. Cmdr. Alexander Brodie (Cth’am) Chief Counselor USS Thor NCC-82607 Writer ID.: A239005BM0

((OOC: A fantastic JP establishing one of the MSNPC 'factions' the Thor is going to encounter during their current mission, The Lost Colony. My sincerest compliments to @Ben Garcia & @Quen Deena)) (( Structural technician team delta completing authorised duties near Vel Maijan Subterra Development Zone )) Air hissed, and the aerosol splattered the wall with blue specks. The hiss expired, the can rattled and out shot a thick, crisp stream of blue. The circle was sprayed first. Imperfect, but functional. A stroke left and then a stroke right. That filled the circle with a cross. It had been marked for further measurements. She stood back a moment, checking her tag. The cross was tight and streak free. The circle disappointed her, like always. Her supervisor called out. She glanced over, held up her free hand and stumbled on the workbag. That’s when the canister fell and rolled. She was always diligent. She always took it slow and followed the protocol. They’d done a good job though. They’d worked hard. It was break, and the sup’s joke had made them all laugh. Later, when she’d unravel the bandages and pull back the gauze, she’d guess the laugh had made them all careless. She lent down, like anyone might, and grabbed the canister. The pain wouldn’t hit her for a few seconds, for there was still her gloves to peel into. It was panic that made her scream. The panic of seeing the canister choke and smoulder as she held it in her hand. She threw it back down - there was not much else she could do now. The second scream was pain. She passed out before the third. (( CD’s office, primary medical unit, Vel Maijan Subterra. )) Rick bit his stylus as he read the report back. Attending: Rick Armiger, Chief Doctor. Patient: Kassy McBill, Senior Structural Technician Summary: Patient came into contact with biological substance echo-charlie-thirty-one during authorised duties. Rick tapped the end of his stylus on the desk as he gulped a mouthful of water. Signs of activity this close to Vel Maijan Subterra was worrying. Rick continued to proof read his report: Contact resulted in the destruction of the patient’s right thumb, index finger and middle finger. In line with current medical protocol the right hand was amputated to control substance echo-charlie-thirty-one and prevent contagion. Samples have been collected from the contaminated appendage prior to its transport to the disposal site in line with protocols for managing contact with substance echo-charlie-thirty- .… A knock at the door flicked Rick’s eyes up from the screen. Outside, Ellen pulled the door open just enough to poke her head in. Flynn: Now a good time? Rick pushed his chair back and smiled. It was good to see a friendly face. Armiger: Grab a seat. Ellen shifted a heavy box labelled ‘EC-31’ to the floor and sat herself in the newly-vacated chair. Flynn: How’s Kass? Armiger: Sedated. (Rick raised his eyebrows.) One conversation I’m happy to put off. Ellen pressed her palms against her knees, breathing a gasp of equal tension and relief. Finally, a survivor.. Flynn: Alive… (beat) I don’t envy you. She won’t take it well. Armiger: No. (Rick rolled the stylus along the table.) No she won’t. (Rick took a breath and looked at Ellen.) She’ll adapt. She’ll pull through. She has to. Flynn: I’d like to talk to her when she wakes up. Maybe she saw something that can give us a clue... Armiger: Of course. (Rick spoke with compassion.) Let’s give her another hour or two before … (Rick paused.) … before we turn her world upside down, eh? Ellen tucked a lock of ginger hair behind her ear. She leaned forward in her chair until her elbows met her knees, forehead pressed against her palms as she stared at the floor. She was tired. Tired of fighting something they could not detect, could not see until it was too late - something that took life and limb faster than anything they’d ever seen before. Flynn: Six fatalities in twelve weeks… (She sat back up after a moment with a heavy breath.) I’m putting the project on hold. Elbows on the table, Rick cupped his forehead between his hands. He squoze at the temples. There was no relief. It did not come. Pausing the project would stoke discontent and fan the flames of fear. The project had been a unifying force for the colony. It was something to be hopeful about. Rob them of that and … Rick took a breath and rubbed his forehead. He sat back now, one hand over the armrest while the other ran through his choppy black hair. Rick rested the hand on the crown of his head as he looked at Ellen huddled on her chair, and then out past her at Kass through the observation window. Pausing the project bought them time. Maybe Ellen could distract them by upping preparatory work and manufacturing. She’d pulled off such sleight of hand before; she was a shrewd leader and that might buy her enough leeway to weather out this storm - for all of them to get through it. Armiger: There’ll be some resistance, Ellen. The project. (Rick paused.) It means a lot. Flynn: I know. There’s no right answer here, Doc. We’ve managed so far, we’ll be fine without the expansion for a while. Have to tighten up the rationing - break up more fights… Ellen stared at a chunk of quartz embedded in the rock wall behind Rick. What had been a population of eighty when their grandfathers first went underground now numbered nearly two hundred. Just enough to start outgrowing the cavern they’d originally settled in. Over the past year, teams had been heading deeper in - scouting the best possible route for expansion. It had been going well, until they’d encountered the substance. Three died on the day they first discovered the foamy, gelatinous, rock-like substance lining the walls of one of the caverns being surveyed: their bodies burned and disintegrated nearly beyond DNA recognition. Subsequent encounters had not yielded better results. Amputation could spare a life, when contact with the substance was limited. Although, with fewer victims living than dead, the longer-term effects remained to be seen... Flynn: But we can’t keep losing people. There aren’t enough of us to keep fighting this … (gesturing toward the box) thing. And I know you’ll agree with me there. (Beat.) Any closer to figuring out what it is? Rick followed Ellen’s glance towards the containment box and shook his head. Armiger: Beyond the last report? (Rick shook his head sharply.) No. We know it’s highly acidic and contains two distinct bacteria. Jury’s out on the bacteria. (Rick made a humming noise.) The team is of the opinion that whatever the substance is, it’s not excreted by the rock - it’s being deposited by something. Flynn: Keep at it. Sam’s got the transmitter working - still can’t change the message. Armiger: The team is analysing samples from Kass. We’re pushing hard on this Ellen. We’re trying the experimental procedures on these samples. (Rick shifted in his seat.) We’re going to unpick this. Rick paused at the thought of Sam; the last time he saw Sam, that transmitter was getting a kicking. Rick laughed. Security had stepped in at one point citing charges of vandalism. Armiger: (Laughing.) Sam finally kicked that thing into submission then? Flynn: Kicked, slapped, threatened to sell it for scrap… No idea who he was planning on selling it to - (laughing) he’d have to get it working first! It was good to see Ellen smile, if only fleetingly. Rick smiled and nodded. Armiger: Someone might hear it. Let’s hold onto that hope for now. Ellen raised her eyebrows. Flynn: And let’s hold onto the hope that whoever hears it is friendly... Rick exhaled audibly at the thought of them attracting more hostile attention. It was a scenario that had been chewed over by the department heads at the colony steering meetings for months. Their repeated cautions had delayed the activation of the transmitter. In that delay, lives had been lost until finally the argument for sending the distress called outweighed the concerns. Rick changed the subject. Armiger: What time is the debrief? Flynn: Eight. Sam’ll patch you in if you can’t make it. Rick looked out at Kass. The sedation kept her unawares of the horror she had yet to wake up to. Eight, Rick repeated it to himself. That only gave Rick the best part of two hours. An hour to check in on the team’s experimental analysis of the EC-31 samples, and then an hour to speak to Kass. That assumed there would be no more inbound incidents to the primary medical unit (PMU) between then and now. Armiger: I’ll try Ellen, you know that. (Rick noded in the direction of Kass.) I might miss the start. Ellen pushed herself up out of the chair with a long look out at Kass. Flynn: Let me know, Doc. I’ll be over at Sam’s. Armiger: (Rick mustered a smile.) Tell Sam congrats. (Rick paused and clarified.) The transmitter. (Rick’s smile dropped.) Ellen - they’ll understand the pause. They’ll have to. Rick watched as Ellen left the office. In several paces, she was gone from sight, eclipsed by the ward partition. Rick sat and took a minute. Tonight’s debrief would be tough. The department heads would need some shepherding; it’d be a strenuous meeting. Rick decided to make sure he had as much data available to help Ellen as he could. That meant getting down to the containment lab and checking the team’s progress. Out in the corridor, Ellen leaned against the wall. Two hours. Two hours to come up with a solid way to break the news about the expansion delay, while simultaneously trying to get the transmitter to broadcast something, anything, other than a seventy-year old distress call. The call was already coming from a man who was long dead - and for all they knew, it was going to a government that no longer existed. End. ========================================== Ellen Flynn Colony Leader & Rick Armiger Chief Doctor Simmed by: Lieutenant Quen Deena (Ellen Flynn) Medical Officer USS Thor NCC-82607 E239602QD0 & Lieutenant Ben Garcia (Rick Armiger) Second Officer/HCO USS Thor NCC-82607 Author ID number: G239102MR0

Snapping awake with a painful groan, Lt. Cmdr. Geoffrey Teller tried to re-orientate himself inside the darkened runabout. With no internal illumination and only faint starlight filtering through the viewports, the scene slowly resolved as he tried, and failed, to stand. The runabouts emergency restraints had engaged at some point and, he realized as a loose padd drifted past in zero g and clattered against a dead console, were the only things keeping him from floating freely around the cabin. Something had gone terribly wrong. With a deep breath of air that was already tasting stale, Geoff tried to clear his throat but ended up setting off a series of wracking coughs. “Report...Tomlinson...J’shon…” his words came out as a rasp and elicited no answer. After a few moments, it became clear why. Both officers, strapped to their chairs and still at their stations, weren’t moving. From where he was, Teller couldn’t tell if they were unconscious or...something worse. “Oh, Geoffrey. Did you hurt yourself playing again?” A woman's warm, lilting voice seemed to fill the cabin. Teller’s eyes went wide as they focused on the impossible sight on the viewscreen. Too shocked to be afraid and too confused for anything cogent, he only managed to croak out a single word. “M...mom?” For a moment, he was again seven years old, having skinned his knee after failing to climb the large oak tree near their home. It had been a childish bet with his older sister, whose longer limbs and superior coordination meant she had been climbing the tree successfully for several years already. Never one to back down from a challenge, even at that age, Geoff had made it halfway up before losing his grip and sliding back down, painfully scraping his skin. His mother had been watching the proceedings from a nearby picnic blanket and had rushed over with kind words and a small civilian dermal regenerator. That had been more than twenty years ago, before he’d joined Starfleet, and before his parents had been lost. Somehow, that thought helped ground his thinking. The face on the screen remained placid and calm, the picture of maternal compassion. “But...you died. Years ago….your ship…” He was cut off by a very familiar and very maternal clucking. “Oh, don’t worry yourself about that, Geoffy,” The voice, and the face, were perfect. Every inflection, every mannerism, even the way she brushed her hair to one side were exactly as his mother, June, had behaved. “I’m here now, don’t worry, everything is going to be alright.” Teller felt himself slump back in the runabouts chair as globes of moisture floated away from his eyes. Nothing about this made sense and, in the back of his mind, Geoff began giving serious consideration to the possibility that he was critically injured and just imagining the whole thing. He tried to turn his attention back to the inert console in front of him. There had to be a way to get some power back on. After several failed attempts to bring systems online, Teller thumped his fist against the uncaring composite as the voice gently chided him. “Geoffrey, what did I tell you about letting your frustrations distract you?” His mother had crossed her arms and pursed her lips. She was clearly expecting him to respond. “You’re not real...you’re not real...this is just some kind of...weird brain injury...I need to get back to the ship…” Teller tried to ignore the voice as he struggled with the seat restraints. “Oh, Geoffy, I wouldn’t do….” The warning came a moment too late as he successfully released the restraints and was nearly catapulted into the ceiling. He flailed without purchase for a few moments before colliding with the roof of the cabin. “...that.” “Well if I didn’t have a head wound before…” Teller rubbed his skull and inspected the cabin as his mother's face looked on, concerned. Finding a grip, he rotated and pushed off towards the inert form of Lt. Tomlinson, their helmsman. Without a tricorder he couldn’t tell much, but at least she was still breathing. He pulled the emergency aid kit from beneath a console but found the equipment inside as inert as the rest of the runabout. Whatever hit them seemed to have a devastating effect on all their technology. Geoff spoke aloud, mostly so he could hear something other than his own breathing in the increasingly claustrophobic interior. “That’s alright, Tomlinson...you just take it easy...I’ll get us sorted….That’s a Good Job Guarantee…” Geoff tried to work some hope or vigor into his voice but found it lacked for both. His assurance didn’t impress his other audience either. “Are you still using that ridiculous catchphrase, Geoffrey?” With a smirk, his mother seemed to be needling him slightly, as she so often did when she was alive. Teller ground his teeth in irritation. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but if you can help, now’s the time. I’ve got two injured crewmen here. I’m not sure how long we were out, but the air recyclers aren’t running and what’s in the compartment won’t last. If you can’t help, kindly shut up and go haunt someone else, I’m busy.” “Geoffrey John Teller, that is no way to speak to your mother!” The image on the screen looked genuinely hurt and, on some emotional level, Teller felt a very real pang of guilt. He turned, sheepishly, to face it. “Uh...sorry…it’s just...I’m not sure what to do right now. I’m not sure what you want...hell, I’m not even sure any of this is real. For all I know, you could be a symptom of hypoxia and I’m just blathering to myself in a broken ship.” Oddly, this admission actually helped Teller calm his racing mind slightly. On screen, his mother was the very picture of maternal concern. “It’s alright, Geoffrey, it’s alright. I’m here for the same reason as always - my son needed me. Now,” the woman clapped her hands before interlacing her fingers and cracking her knuckles loudly, a habit that had always turned young Teller’s stomach, “you, young man, have to start thinking. I bet you can find something in that spaceship of yours to take apart. Just like you took apart everything in the house. Hopefully this time there won’t be as many parts left over when you put it back together.” Geoff was again transported back to childhood, sitting on a kitchen stool and being scolded by his mother for his antics while behind her, his father painstakingly reassembled the home replicator while trying not to grin too openly. “The replicator…” With a flash of inspiration, Teller pushed off the console and floated towards the runabouts small replicator. Like everything else aboard the system was dormant, but Teller was unconcerned. The model on the runabout had a small shielded power cell for emergencies, and while it seemed like the rest of the system's delicate electronics had been destroyed, the power cell itself appeared intact. There was no external indicator and no way to check the remaining charge but it was something. He hoped. “Oh, and what do you intend to do with that, Geoffrey?” By the gentle, suggestive tone in her voice, Teller realized it wasn’t really a question. It was as if an infant had just brought her a light pen, and she was encouraging them to find something to draw upon. There was something obvious he was missing, and his head was beginning to throb. The cabin's air was growing worryingly thin as he exerted himself. He considered the questionable power cell, and the small metal tube he was trapped inside. There were dozens of redundancies, backups, failsafes and emergency systems, but somehow nearly all of them had been rendered useless by this calamity. He wasn’t going to repair the ship with what he had on hand...or with the time he had left. “Remember, Geoffrey, it’s always ok to ask for help when you need it.” Once again, his mother seemed to be prompting him, but it was getting harder and harder to concentrate. The cabin, already darkened, was growing more clouded by the minute. Tugging at the collar of his uniform tunic, his hand brushed against his comm badge and the edge of an idea pushed in against the haze. Removing the communicator from his tunic and disassembling it with shaking hands, Teller could see that whatever had damaged the ship had wrought its destruction on the fragile components inside the communicator. The only element that still seemed intact was the micro-crystalline subspace antenna, a hearty mesh fused with the outer casing of the communicator itself. “That’s my clever boy...but you’ll have to hurry. We don’t have much time left.” There was an unmistakable tone of urgency in her voice and, as the air continued to sour, Teller was certain why. At best he had minutes until he blacked out. Teller let the useless bits of the comm badge drift away in the cabin as he gripped the precious antenna in his teeth. He needed both hands to pry the end cap off his reclaimed power cell, leaving only the exposed power leads. If he was quick, he could tap the housing with the antenna against the leads without destroying it, giving him a brief and very weak subspace pulse. On his first attempt, he forgot the basics of electricity and shocked himself badly, eliciting a loud and colorful expletive. “Geoffrey, language! You’d think I raised a klingon with that mouth of yours!” His mother's chastisement was entirely genuine and he felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment. “Sorry mom.” He no longer cared who or what was on the screen, too fixated on what he was doing to give it another moment's thought. Pulling off his uniform jacket, he wrapped the sleeve around his hand several times to provide whatever insulation it could, and then began laboriously tapping the comm badge against the leads. He could see a small electrical arc lighting up the cabin, which gave him some hope that his call was going out. Short Tap short tap short tap….oO Please hear me. Oo Long Tap. Long Tap. Long Tap. oO I need help. Oo Short Tap short tap short tap...oO Or we’re so screwed. Oo “See Geoffrey, I told you everything would be alright. Now just you rest for a bit and when you wake up, I promise everything will be ok.” The voice was dreamy and far away, but Geoff felt reassured and calmed, as he always had when his mother tucked him in. She began gently humming a wordless lullaby from the furthest corners of his memory, filling his chest with warmth even as the rest of him grew cold. His eyes grew heavier and heavier. His hands still worked, continuing the sequence of taps against the leads, not even noticing the electrical arcs had all but disappeared. Eventually, his hands stopped and his eyes closed, and Geoffrey Teller drifted towards the darkness, comfortably aloft on the sound of his mother's voice. === “Sir...sir! Sir are you alright? Commander Teller, sir, can you hear me?” Snapping awake with a painful groan, Lt. Cmdr. Geoffrey Teller tried to re-orientate himself, expecting to find the inside of a darkened runabout. Instead, he was nearly blinded by bright searchlights directed at him. His mind felt sluggish and confused, but he could fill his lungs again and the air had rarely tasted sweeter. “Mom…?” Squinting against the harsh light, Teller’s eyes were able to focus on the startled officer inside the environmental suit. It took him an overlong moment to work out that they were being rescued. It had worked. “He’s alive! They’re all alive, sir. Advise sickbay to standby for emergency transport.” As the officer passed along an update back to the Thor, Teller blinked and turned his attention back towards the view screen. It was blank and inert, like everything else aboard the runabout, but Teller could see the bits of communicator he had cannibalized floating nearby, bouncing harmlessly off the display. “God damn sir, I don’t know how you pulled this one off….we barely picked up your signal…” Teller blinked again and realized the lieutenant was speaking to him. A warm, kind voice echoed in his mind and he croaked out a response. “Language, Lieutenant.” Geoff smiled and closed his eyes once more before the transporter beam took hold and brought him home. The wordless lullaby went with him. [End] =============================== Lieutenant Commander Geoffrey Teller Executive Officer USS Thor Fleet Captain A. Kells, Commanding V239509GT0

((OOC: I had a blast writing this JP with Lt. Cmdr. @Krindo Pandorn! It was originally meant to be a fun curveball for folks during shoreleave, but the reaction has been so strong we've decided to use these events to build into a full scale mission! Great writing with you, Krindo!)) ((Talisin Forest, Outside Lokesh City)) Hidden in the underbrush and wrapped in a sensor dampening shroud, Subcommanders V’Tak and Sojot were into the third week of their mission on this hateful world. Through a set of high powered optics, they could see their foe in the distance - the outlines of their stolen structures, grotesquely covered with the insignia of Starfleet. Somewhere on that base, their target was blithely going about their day, completely unaware they had been marked for death. These fat, lazy Starfleet people had no idea why their mothership had been recalled at the last moment. Their communications to the homeworld had been monitored, and quite naturally ignored by the high command. As far as they were concerned, things were going precisely to plan. The arrival of the Klingon battleship had served the Tal Shiar’s ends perfectly, creating a moment of confusion when their operatives beamed to the surface, completely unnoticed. Now, their patience had nearly been rewarded. Communications from the Embassy, easily intercepted from the planets traffic control network, indicated that their quarry was about to leave the protected confines of their installation aboard a small craft traveling north. It was the perfect opportunity to kill an Admiral. V’Tak: It makes my blood burn to think of those Federation people inhabiting a structure that rightly belongs to the Romulan Republic. Perhaps when we’ve succeeded in our mission, the Praetor will give it to us as a reward for our service? Sojot: And don’t forget the revenge we will have after Jorok Three and Thendara Two. The reward will be substantial I would gather. V’Tak: The Federation has much to answer for, brother. We are fortunate to have been chosen for this mission of retribution. Have you inspected the canon? Nearby, sitting on a complex mechanical mount, hidden beneath a holoshroud, was the instrument of their vengeance. A surface to air disruptor battery, stripped down to its minimum size and weight for portability. It would only give them a few shots before the power supply was depleted, but that would be more than they needed. Sojot: We’ll get one or two shots from it then it will most definitely burn out. It wasn’t made to be stripped down this much. V’Tak: Then our aim must be true, or we should not bother attempting to leave this place. Better to be killed fighting Starfleet. He shuddered briefly, thinking of the torments he had seen dispensed to those who failed the Tal Shiar. Men and women with shattered bodies and shattered minds to match. It was not to be his fate. Sojot: Should we fail to shoot them down, I’ve rigged a self destruct charge to detonate on command. We won’t be taken by those Starfleet veruul. V’Tak: Very well. There must be no trace of our presence here. Either we are successful, or we cease to exist. For the good of the Romulan people. Jolan Tru. Sojot: For our people. Jolan Tru, my friend. Through the optics, V’Tak saw activity at the airfield. Crewmen moving with purpose, and landing doors being retracted. It was nearly time to strike. V’Tak: Ready the weapon. The honor of the kill shall be yours. Sojot tapped a few commands on a side panel and watched as power levels rose indicating the weapon is charging. When the panel was green, he nodded to V’Tak. Sojot: The weapon is ready. We will show our people what real Romulans are.They will remember what we do here. V’Tak: Your zeal is to be commended. So many of our brothers and sisters have grown weak these past decades, listless and docile...a lost race. They must be reminded that to be Romulan is to be feared. Our names should be spoken in whispers, by those who fear to anger us. That day will come again. Sojot: ::::lifts the weapon to his shoulder, exhaling at the weight of the launcher and facing the Embassy:: Let this be our mark in our struggle. From the Embassy grounds, several small craft took flight. Two appeared to be standard shuttlecraft - unremarkable except in how small and vulnerable they were. Starfleet - always so arrogant. Always so trusting. Fools. A third ship took flight and V’Tak’s lips curled back into a feral grin. The Admiral’s personal yacht, an obscene and garish vessel easily three times the size of the shuttles, alighted and fell into a lazy formation with the shuttles. They were heading directly towards their position. Sojot: ::scoffs:: They make it so easy. What is the human expression...sitting goose? V’Tak: ::Hissing slightly:: Don’t dirty your tongue with human turns of phrase. Focus on our mission. Our target comes. Sojot: My apologies. Been on this rock a bit too long. ::takes aim at the yacht:: They will be dust soon enough.. V’Tak: This assignment has been a difficult one, brother, but it will soon be worth our efforts. Hold the target lock until the last moment, I don’t want to give their pilots a chance to react. Sojot: Almost here. They are closing quickly. ::an soft audible beeping indicated range:: As the three craft drew near, V’Tak could hear the whine of the canon’s power pack intensifying. The barrel articulated on its mount with a worrying grind and V’Tak’s eyes narrowed. V’Tak: What is the problem? Sojot: Power pack is overloading. Auto fire is not responding. Have to take the shot manually. V’Tak ground his teeth in frustration. There were an ancient set of rules in their profession, handed down from time immemorial to assets and agents like him. Always among them was the reminder ‘Technology will always let you down.’ V’Tak: Very well. Fire when ready. Sojot listened as the beeping got more and more rapid. When the beeping was almost a steady whine, he pressed the fire button and two bolts of green disruptor energy flashed their way to the approaching craft. One bolt was a clean miss, while the other struck one of the smaller craft in its port nacelle, causing it to smoke heavily and veer off course. It was going down. Sojot: ::cussing in Romulan:: One of the support craft was hit. It’s going to crash. V’Tak: FOOL, that was not our mission! I have seen better shooting from a Ferengi garbage merchant! Quickly, fire again! Frantically tapping on the controls, the canon ground to a halt, its power pack expended. The still aloft Starfleet vessels began darting erratically and picking up speed, quickly moving out of their reach. V’Tak considered the magnitude of their failure and considered his sidearm...first for the fool who had doomed them both, and then for himself, but the sound of a screeching engine coming closer stayed his hand. One of the shuttles was pitched over, yawing violently as a nacelle belched smoke and flame. The shot had missed the crew cabin, but the vessel was picking up speed on its descent. It would hit the ground near their position. Perhaps there was a chance to still salvage something from this disaster. V’Tak: If any survive the crash, we will take them back with us for interrogation. For both of our sakes, pray their pilot is more competent than you are. Sojot: We’ll need to find them first. This forest is very thick and some of the locals say it’s haunted. I will make up for my failure, I swear it. V’Tak: The only spirits trapped here will be ours if we fail again. Quickly, destroy the weapon. We must get to the crash site before a Starfleet rescue team arrives. As the burning shuttle collided with the nearby treetops the two Romulan assets set off, leaving behind nothing but a large scorched area where their useless equipment had burned. Their only hope now was to capture someone valuable enough to offset their failure. Desperation added speed to their steps as they crashed deeper into the dense forest. =============================== Subcommader V’Tak Tal’Shiar Field Asset V239509GT0 (AKA Geoffrey Teller) & Subcommander Sojot Tal’Shiar Field Asset Z239308KP0 (AKA Krindo Pandorn)

Heyo! A 118 fleet sounds like a great idea, but I'm not sure about the game in its current state. I had played years ago before it went F2P, and even then it was pretty grindy for little reward, but now it seems like the entire game centers around microtransactions or extreme grinding to make any substantial progress. If that isn't the case, or if it's mitigated by being aligned with an active fleet of players, I'm certainly happy to jump back with a fresh character to start climbing the ladder again!