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Anthony Meeks

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Anthony Meeks last won the day on February 10

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About Anthony Meeks

  • Birthday 06/20/1971

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  • Current Vessel
    StarBase 118 Operations
  • Current Post
    Marine

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    North Central Oregon
  • Player's Pronouns
    I'm a guy, so...

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  1. Marine Division check in! Oohrah! Meeks' quote: "I don't have to be faster than the bear that's chasing me... I only have to be faster than you. If that doesn't work, I'll just shoot you in the leg."
  2. Congratulations to everyone earning these awards. I started swimming back in 2011 with Rear Admiral Turner who was a real inspiration to greatness. Ann gave a lot to the group, and she will be missed. When I came back, being assigned to SB118-Ops is a change of pace from before. I am enjoying being part of Fleet Captain Taybrim’s crew and I am looking forward to making as many new memories and connections here. All of those awarded these accolades are part of what makes this group so enjoyable!
  3. Welcome, Joey! This is an amazing group of writers and people. There is nothing you can't ask, nor is there any mistakes that can't be fixed. Enjoy your academy cruise and I look forward to seeing you in the fleet!
  4. Welcome, Clev! Nice to see another Oregonian in the group! This is a great bunch of people and I know you will enjoy yourself! Also, welcome to the group to James and Patrick!
  5. ((Embassy Ground, Marine CIC)) ::Both Marine and Engineer had been working for a few hours on the implant. Progress was being made, but as Jaxon had thought, the micro power source was proving tricky. The tiny shield that separated the two alloys wasn’t breaking down fast enough; it was taking too much time to generate enough power:: Mc Ghee: ::lowering a tool:: Okay, we’ve got it down to 8.4 seconds between activation and enough power being generated for your communication. ::Lex let slip a frustrated sigh.:: Menar: It's playing hard to get. 8.4 is too long. We can do better, we just have to persuade it. What if we change the orientation of the power cell... like this? That might increase pressure on the division slightly. Mc Ghee: You’re right and I was thinking, if we place the break fault line between the separating layers here instead… ::They changed a few parameters to simulate their new suggestions. Looking at the screen they watched the newest simulation unfold and the how the energy levels rose far more rapidly.:: Mc Ghee: A good idea. 6.2 seconds. I think with our time limit this is the best we can get for now. Still, it means you need be left alone for almost a minute near this communication terminal. ::sounding casual:: I’m guessing here that others won’t be present. ::Lex's joy at watching the simulation run more smoothly was once again replaced with apprehension as Mc Ghee's natural curiosity took hold.:: Menar: ::Shrugging theatrically:: Who knows. It depends on exactly where and why it gets used. Mc Ghee: oO Not giving an inch are you. Oo ::Before Mc Ghee could answer, the doors to the room opened and Isaac walked in. Jaxon nodded a greeting and turned back to his work. Lex's eyes rose from the screen of the PADD and lingered a while.:: Green: ::Smiling:: Don’t let me interrupt. I was just checking on your progress and the condition of that cup of raktajino. Mc Ghee: ::lost in thoughts:: I don’t drink coffee, Isaac Menar: ::Reaching for her cup.:: Well, I do, and the last one I had ran out... ::She was aware that she had been using Isaac as a glorified waiter for the whole time that she had been working on this project, but it seemed that he didn't mind. Still, she would have to make sure that she made it up to him some time in the near future.:: Green: Well, let me get you another. Jaxon, can I get you anything? Mc Ghee: I cup of black tea would be great Isaac. Green: ::With a wink:: I’ll be right back then. ::Green left, lights flickering on as he walked towards the dark offices. Now they had tested and simulated the power source sufficiently on a computer screen, Mc Ghee thought it was time to begin assembly. Jaxon began to place all the individual parts they already had on an anti-static cloth before him. He wasn’t sure whether this Romulan work station was automatically shielded against such a charge and thought it best not to take chances. Looking at the blueprint on the screen he frowned.:: Mc Ghee: ::thoughtfully:: Lex, you’ve got a micro data chip listed here. What do you need that for? oO With a high end upload port. Oo ::After enduring several attempts to glean information about the mission, and feeling that she was getting to know Mc Ghee a little through working with him on this project, Lex decided that the best way to handle the confidentiality issue would be to take the bull by the horns and resort to her usual smoke and mirrors tactics.:: Menar: ::Smiling disarmingly:: I've heard a good magician doesn't give away her secrets. Mc Ghee: Are you sure you need it? ::She nodded, confidently.:: Menar: Completely. Are you worried that I don't know what I'm doing? ::Her tone was pleasant, almost nonchalant.:: Mc Ghee: I’m only asking because I didn’t know. I was running the simulations without knowing a data point was drawing energy. No wonder it took so much time to build up enough power. oO Pretty strange data storage at that. Oo Menar: Trust me, it's staying put. I think we've done well to get the response time on the device down as low as we have, and it should be fast enough now for the data chip not to become an issue. :: The was a sound behind them and Isaac arrived carrying steaming mugs. The Marine wordlessly placed them on the table and left. Lex couldn't help but feel a little bad for him; she was deep into the realms of her specialism and on a tight timescale. Had she not been, she would have asked him to stay, and explained what she was doing, step by step. Mc Ghee took up the note of coffee mixed with black tea though he refrained from taking his mug. Now it came to the construction he decided to take all the fun for himself. :: Mc Ghee: I’ll begin assembly now. Please ready the bio matter for the casing. ::Jaxon slipped an ocular over one eye and began work. The tiny device had a minute internal skeleton to hold the individual components. Now they had to be installed onto this frame one by one. He heard Lex working beside him, no doubt getting the casing ready. Lex allowed him to work, but casually disregarded his request about the casing. After all, the device wasn't for her use, and she had no intention of revealing the identity of its intended owner. The bio-casing would have to be prepared later.:: Menar: ::Attempting to divert the engineer:: How long do you think this will take to build? Mc Ghee: The assembly shouldn’t take long. Three or four minutes, 20 minutes altogether with the bio-casing. ::adjusting his eyepiece:: I still don’t get why this has to be such a secret. ::It was time once again for the direct approach.:: Menar: It's not important that you do. Only that it is. ::He couldn’t react to her answer right away, as he had to concentrate while connecting the components. Instead he let her continue, while he took up the tiny ‘nonspecific uplink terminal’ with a fine tweezer.:: Menar: It would probably be best if you try to stem your curiosity for now... ::Before he installed it he stopped his work and looked up, not to her, but to the screen before him. The tiny device hovered over the implant in a steady hand..:: Mc Ghee: Lex my curiosity is normal and my annoyance is nothing personal. I don’t like shadowy, secret stuff when I’m not in on them. ::She took a deep breath, and then sighed. She didn't want to be even more direct and bluntly tell him to stop asking; such a course of action would not have been outside the bounds of normal behaviour for her, but in this case it wouldn't really be conducive to the mission.:: Menar: I've already told you that I can't give you any information. Why do you have such a problem with this? Mc Ghee: Because I don’t know what this is intended to do. ::Lex's reply was accompanied by a resigned shake of the head. There was something about that last statement... something that sounded like Mc Ghee was questioning her motives. In a heartbeat, she stopped caring about his pride. She was following orders, and ultimately, they had to be the most important consideration.:: Menar: ::Leaning back in her chair.:: That's the way things are going to stay. Trust me or not, I don't care. I'll finish the job from here if that's how it is. ::There was a pause which the chief used to make some final connections. The room seemed a little colder. Jaxon had not intended to imply she would use the device illegally, after all she was a Marine and they had their own list of laws. He made the final connections and sealed the unusual battery.:: Mc Ghee: ::getting up:: Well I’m done. ::absently ordering the tools before him:: Lex I truly hope you get whatever you are trying to get onto that terminal without you getting caught in the process. ::His comment confirmed her suspicions that he would be able to work out what the device was designed to do. With her professional pride wounded, she made no attempts to sugar the pill as she effectively passed on her orders of confidentiality.:: Menar: ::Frostily:: Look, Lieutenant, I'm sure I don't have to spell out that if I can't talk about the reason why this was built to anyone then you can't talk about the fact that it even exists? Or do you think you're onto something now because you worked out what we were building? ::Mc Ghee considered this. It was obvious enough that he had to keep his mouth shut, but the question was easy to enough to answer.:: Mc Ghee: Lieutenant, I doubt I could hand you weapon without you figuring out what it is and that ::pointing at the probe:: is just the same. An interface for computers isn’t necessarily needed to talk. Combined with a large data point and upload link and you’ve got a transmitting device that can send information. :: catching her look :: We’re both not fools and have been doing our jobs long enough. You only called me because you have no time; if you had, you would’ve solved the problem yourself. ::She edged towards him, her eyes locked with his, and no hint of a smile on her face.:: Menar: You didn't answer the question... ::Mc Ghee suppressed a grin. She was right; he hadn’t answered her and her tone was serious with the hint of a threat. Things were afoot and he wasn’t going to find out what.:: Mc Ghee: oO Always Alert. Oo Normally I would remind you of my oath to Starfleet and consider this enough. In this case however; I have no idea that this device exists, its intended purpose or who created it, you have my word. Does that suffice? ::The Ktarian smiled like a jackal and took a few steps backward. The irony of the moment was delicious. His word was to be good enough, and yet hers wasn't?:: Menar: The word of a Starfleet officer always suffices, Mr. Mc Ghee. For me, anyway. ::The Chief left the work station and made for the door. Keying his code the doors parted and he paused:: Mc Ghee: Lieutenant I unintentionally insulted you a few moments ago by inferring that you may be acting illegally. Please accept my apologies. I am aware you would do nothing dishonorable to the fleet or your unit. Goodnight. ::Lex raised an eyebrow as the engineer pulled a rapid U-turn. Her scathing comment had apparently made him aware of how unreasonable she felt he was being. After all, the situation was difficult for her as well, and had she any option other than to request his help and drag him into a pit of mysteries, she would have taken it. She hesitated for a moment before answering him; it was just for long enough to let her irritation disperse.:: Menar: Think nothing of it. Goodnight. TBC A JP by Commander Tallis Rhul First Officer Federation Embassy Duronis II USS Thunder NCC-70605 and Lt.(jg) Jaxon Mc Ghee Chief Engineering Officer Embassy Duronis II USS Thunder NCC 70605
  6. Anthony Meeks

    MAY/JUN Fire, Giver of Live

    ((Some God Forsaken Rock in the Gamma Quadrant)) Lightning flashed, illuminating the parapet which stood above the gaping canyon. The rain fell in sheets, drenching the world around him in cold water. He shielded his eyes from the sudden flash in the darkness to lessen the sharp pain he felt from the bright light… Then it was dark again. Lieutenant Commander Michael Davis stared into the blackness, as he had for so many nights before. He couldn’t remember how long he had been there. He had lost track of the days, and he stopped counting a long time ago. The marks on the inside walls of the runabout had merged together after a while, and Michael had given up on trying to find space for more. Shaking his head, he turned away from the edge of the pit and ducked back inside the makeshift shelter. “Another day of rain.” He said as he pushed the door shut. The wrecked runabout that was his home was without power, and he had gutted the mechanisms to make it easier to operate the door by hand. The flicker of the candlelight from the single candle illuminated the interior of the cabin and provided a little warmth. Michael huddled around the flame, taking in as much heat as he could from the tiny flame. He stripped off the drenched uniform he was wearing and hung it over one of the chairs that used to be for the pilots. He returned to the rear compartment and slipped himself into a dry outfit. Collecting one of the ration packs, Michael sat down near the candle and peeled open a pouch of amber paste that would be his meal. Talking to no-one, “Mmmmm, meal number…” he held the pouch up to the light so he could read the lettering on the side, “…31. Bon Apetit.” He placed the open end of the pouch into his mouth and squeezed. He swallowed the goo without chewing it, but chewing wasn’t necessary because the paste slipped down his throat with ease. The taste of the stuff was enough to gag a man anyway, so the less time it stayed in his mouth, the better. When the pouch was flat and empty, Michael carefully folded the pouch and placed it into the drawer with the many others. He pushed open the door a few inches, and piled a stack of papers on the steel plate. He keyed the setting into his phaser and took careful aim at the base of the small pile. Pressing the trigger, the glow of the beam lit the papers ablaze. Michael quickly piled more flammable material on the fire, absorbing the warmth for as long as the stuff would burn. The life giving fire warmed him, giving him one more night of comfort. Leaning back, he pulled a blanket over himself and closed his eyes. Before long, he was asleep. The night went by, just like every other night since the crash. The dreams came to him like a video recall of the fateful day that brought him to the planet. He, and a crew of four, had left Deep Space 9 on a diplomacy mission to Chumanus, in the Gamma Quadrant. The voyage was to take three days at warp in the runabout, and everything went well for the first two days. On day three, the worst they could imagine happened. On the morning of the third day, the runabout encountered a spacial anomaly that disrupted their warp field. The runabout shot through the disturbance, which distorted their course to an unknown heading. To regain control of the ship, they dumped their antimatter and jettisoned their warp core, leaving the ship without the means to return to Federation space. What little fuel they had left brought them to the first planet they could find that would support life. Unfortunately, their fuel supply was so low, the entry into the atmosphere was a near freefall. The crash was horrendous, and two of the crew died in the impact. The other two were injured, and died days later. Michael had survived with only a broken leg and some bumps and bruises. It took him two weeks before he was able to put enough weight on his leg to allow him to drag the bodies of the crew out of the runabout so he could dispose of the bodies. He had tried to bury the first of the bodies, but the constant rain and the hard pan made digging a grave impossible, so his last recourse was to push the corpses over the edge of the canyon into the abyss below. He had stripped the bodies of anything he might be able to use, before committing them to their grave, knowing he might be there for quite a while. The power systems of the runabout had been damaged beyond repair during the crash. The fuselage had survived intact, but the nacelles were destroyed and the batteries had drained within days. Michael saved the phasers, mostly for protection, but there didn’t seem to be anything on the God forsaken rock to protect himself from. Never the less, they were there for a purpose and he wouldn’t compromise that until he absolutely had to… Michael woke the next morning to the sounds of the rain thrumming on the hull of the runabout. He yawned and stretched, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked around and saw the candle had burned out, leaving the runabout in a dull halflight, only illuminated by the gray light from outside coming through the main window. He could see the sky outside was the same as it had always been, without definition. Pushing himself to his feet, he walked to the pilot’s console and stared out at the world. “What I would give for a cup of coffee.” He said to himself, as he had every morning. He shook his head and turned away from the view. He dipped his hand into the crate of emergency rations and withdrew another silver pouch. This time he didn’t bother looking at the writing on the side. Instead, he just opened the pouch and squeezed the contents into his mouth, swallowing without tasting it. When it was empty, he folded the pouch and slid it into the drawer with the others. Taking a seat in the command chair, Michael picked up the transponder that was laying dark on the floor. He looked over the circuitry and wished he had paid better attention during the engineering classes at the academy. He poked absently at the device, hoping something would happen. He told himself it wouldn’t matter in the long run, because he was parsecs away from anywhere, and nobody knew where to even start looking. Frustration overcame curiosity and Michael tossed the device against the wall. The unit bounced against the duranium and slid under the bench. A small flash of light from the device went un-noticed. The routine continued, day after day, week after week. Every day the supply of food pouches became fewer and fewer, and the rain accumulating in the puddles grew. Michael entertained himself by humming tunes from his childhood, counting the supplies, and taking walks to the edge of the canyon. The nights were spent huddling around the candles, which were growing fewer and fewer as the nights passed. Material to burn was becoming more and more scarce, and he knew the warming fires would have to be fewer as time went on. This night, he hadn’t gone outside to get wet, so he decided to forgo the warmth of the fire for one more night. He lay his head on the pillow and tried to count the rain drops that hit the hull of the runabout. Pulling the blanket up around his head, he continued to count the drops until he fell asleep. The dreams came again, as they had every other night, except in this dream came the chime of a Federation transporter. It took some time for his mind to register the new element of the dream. His eyes fluttered open, and he caught movement in the darkness. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, and he heard the delightful sound of a voice… “Just lay still, Commander, you’re safe…”
  7. Thank you Tracey, for the prompt response. I'm always happy to defer the answer to a question like that to those who have the experience.
  8. I'm sorry your question has not been answered yet. I don't have an answer for you, but I will endeavour to find one. Please check back and I will forward an answer to you as soon as I have an answer either way.
  9. Welcome to the fleet Sky. Glad to have you aboard, mate!
  10. "I was searching for something Taken out of my soul, Something I'd never lose Something somebody stole." ~ Billy Joel, River of Dreams ((Saveron's Dreamscape: The An’ahyaes Valley, T'ralorian Plains, Han-Shir, Vulcan.)) ::The blades of red grass that stood forth from the ochre soil were wilting. Where normally the milder breeze off the southern ocean blew across the T'ralor Preserve and brought the life-giving mists to the An'ahyaes Valley at the end of the day, only the hot breath of the Go'an Desert blew, drying and dessicating, giving nothing and taking everything away.:: ::The Go'an itself was an inhospitable place, though not entirely lifeless. The dark-skinned tribes made it their home, their genetic heritage protecting them from the merciless wind and sun, but they were nomadic, moving from place to place, always in search of water. The land could not sustain them for long.:: ::But the Nel-Gathic peoples were not nomadic, had never been. They were agrarian and had been the keepers and caretakers of the southern, temperate parts of Han-Shir for as long as any could remember. Their pale skin and eyes were an adaption to the frequent overcast, their pronounced ectomorphism allowing them to lose heat quickly to adapt to the changing temperatures of the region. They were a people who had been one with their land for millenia, tending it and nurturing it, fighting for it and dying for it.:: ::The butt of the rauh-uhrozjhitao dug into the light, friable soil and turned a clod over. There was not even a trace hint of moisture. The distinctive farmer's staff was a long, slender rod of very hard wood, one end carved into a flattened blade that was used for making shallow furrows in the soil, and for removing weeds. It was a characteristic tool of the region, and it was wielded expertly in long-fingered hands. Three ribbons hung from the top and floated in the hot breath of the Go'an; one white, one silver, one black.:: ::It was the same here as everywhere, the land was drying up. He had walked in from the edge of the Go'an itself, representing the outer edges of his consciousness where he'd been flung. Almost, Saveron could have believed himself to be home, but he knew where he was. He had created this dreamscape as an aid to meditation; now it was his prison. The valley represented his physical presence and most basic level of consciousness. There was nothing that he could do from here however, so he kept walking.:: ::Bare feet trod the dying grass and the parched soil as he walked, clad only in grey trews and a tunic such as any T'ralorian farmer might have worn in ages past, the barest hints of simple embroidery evident at the collar and cuffs, more visible in where it had worn away to leave darker fabric beneath rather than where the tattered threads still showed. The original pattern was impossible to discern.:: ::Long black hair stirred in the hot breeze, and a faint green flush rode his cheeks as he fought the unaccustomed heat; two brilliant green spots showed at the nape of his neck as capillary beds expanded to emit more heat; ozhider t'Ny'one; Ny'one's fingerprints, where according to ancient legend the now long-disreguarded Goddess of Fertility had marked the Nel-Gathic people as her own.:: ::Bare feet and the butt of the rauh-uhrozjhitao left the only marks in the soil; in reality this valley was filled with people and life, the bread-basket of a world. But in Saveron's mind the valley was dying. He knew he was dying.:: ::Feet moved from soil to stone as Saveron finally reach and climbed up into the foothills at the head of the valley; there lay his destination. Here in his dreamscape a tower rose from these hills. On Vulcan there were the remains of an ancient fortification that had been a key site in battles long past. Now there were only the stone foundations, carved into the hills themselves, an ancient stronghold of the Ayein Clan. In his mind however Saveron had used those foundations, representative of all that had gone before him and all that his people had achieved, as a basis for his own stronghold, the mental stronghold that every Vulcan learned to build.:: ::On the foundations carved into the native stone Saveron had set cut stones of will and determination, and upon those built with the bronze and glass of reason and logic. Atop that, rising to a pinacle that reached for the stars, were philosophies and aspirations shaped from duranium and transparent aluminium, polished walls and windows of a thousand facets that gleamed in the light of Yel. It was his bastion of thought from which he could protect and nurture his valley and keep invaders out; only now he was on the outside of it.:: ::The hot, drying wind sighed about the tower, drawn by the one who now dwelt within it, but it's soughing was not the only sound. Through the walls of stone at it's base Saveron could hear a crashing, a howling; something was loose in the tower. There were locked rooms in the basement of it, places where he kept his most violent emotions tightly chained amongst their breathren, and others where he stored those memories that were best kept at a distance lest they affect one's composure.:: ::Such things need constant maintenance however, and just as no one had cared for the valley, the tower was being used but not maintained. Even as he watched, a pane of transparent aluminium fell from the upper reaches and smashed on the rocks like so much glass, each tiny shard sparkling like diamond spray as they hung in the air a moment before falling like mist. The laws of physics didn't have to apply here. There was other debris strewn about as well, pieces of bronze and shards of ordinary glass, the odd stone. And plainly something had not been kept shut in it's prison inside.:: ::Leaning on his rauh-uhrozjhitao, Saveron contemplated the tower. It was designed to be impregnable, of course. Remembering their violent history his people trained to resist and repel mental attack. He just hadn't been prepared for the sheer power of his attacker. Even as he watched a beam of pure, firey energy shot from the facetted transal dome at the pinacle of the tower and up into the heavens. The Pah-Wraith was using his own structures against him, and against everyone else.:: ::Concentrating for a moment, Saveron could hear voices, shouting, the sound of phasers, but they were at a distance, like a half-remembered dream. The tower was real. But the situation was untenable. He had been able to interfere at certain key points, but it was a subtle interference only, and was grossly insufficient. His crewmates were out there, in grave danger; perhaps they did not even realise how much danger. And he was the only one on the inside.:: ::If the Pah-Wraith was using the structure of Saveron's mind as it's defence and it's seat of power, then there was only one logical conclusion; it had to be deprived of the ability to do so. Unfortunately he had never designed the tower to be taken, that was largely the point, it was a defensive seat. There was only one logical alternative. This was Saveron's mind, the rules were his; he had built that tower; he could take it down.:: ::Sticking the blade of the rauh-uhrozjhitao into a tiny crevice between two large cut stones, Saveron applied pressure to it like a lever. In the real world the wood would have simply snapped, but in his world the simple farmer's tool was a symbol of his care and his control, here it was stronger than duranium. After a moment's resistance the stone slid from it's place in the wall and fell down the slope to the valley below with a solid thud. A second application of pressure and a second stone followed it.:: ::Above him, the tower began to list...:: ((USS Thunder, High speed turbolift)) ::Leaning against the wall as the car raced down through the decks, long fingers reached up to pinch the bridge of a narrow nose right next to an impressive black eye. The headache was getting worse.:: Pah-Wraith: oO No matter, this will be over soon. Oo ::The door of the lift slid open and the wolf in sheep's clothing stepped from it, consulting the photographic memory it had stolen for the layout of this deck, then heading unerringly for the hanger that housed the Captain's Yacht.:: Ensign Saveron Kosst Amojan Federation Embassy, Duronis II USS Thunder
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