[SB118 Ops: Quotations of the Week!]

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Madison nodded her head once in acknowledgement. oO Yeah, because I did not just join the crew and I am actually leading a mission that has already altered course once. You got it Lieutenant, I will hack into Commander McLaren's PADD next time to read the team's roster. Oo

Love this one from Ensign Marsh ❤️ 

[SB118 Ops: Quotations of the Week!]

Only on Ops do you get OOC trigger warnings like this @Lt Aine Olive Sherlock

 

((OOC: All opinions and feelings of scotch versus whiskey are PURELY IN CHARACTER. They do not reflect the opinions of the writer...as are other things.))

 

[SB118 Ops: Quotations of the Week!]

another one from @Corey Wethern❤️ 

 

The turbolift pinged and swished open to exposed the gleaming bridge of the USS Narendra. There was what appeared to be controlled chaos in a sea of consoles, lights and panels overshadowed by a large view screen. 

Wethern was in awe of the sight and the planet displayed in an orbit on screen. No one even hesitated at the turbolift opening. He watched as Commander Dal left the turbolift but was slightly stuck to the spot at how different and alive the command deck it was a contrast to what is captured in the holovids. Wethern was always amazed at how much individualism was in each ship despite it being the same class, for example the Narendra had enhanced armour as part of it's station and crisis response role. Each ship was almost a crew member unto itself. Working in tandem with the crew to achieve the mission. 

As the sensation returned to his body and he was able to close his jaw slightly Wethern took his first step onto the bridge following Commander Dal to what he presumed was the briefing room. 

[SB118 Ops: Quotations of the Week!]

 

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McLaren: Guess we'll find out shortly.

Aine glanced back and forth over the other officers.
 

Sherlock: Anyone wanna take bets?

 

Of course Aine was only joking...mostly...maybe.

 

 

[JP Lt. Cmdr. Foster & Lt. Cmdr. DeVeau - "Shared Trauma"]

This JP is a continuation of an ongoing scene between DeVeau and Foster, and I really enjoyed how much context and history it gives, particularly about Wyn. What makes it particularly interesting is that most, if not all, of this actually occurred in sim within the past eight or so years, and I think it highlights not only the importance of realism but also of IC consequences for IC actions. It was a heavy read but I appreciate the effort that was put into it! Well done @Alora DeVeau and @Sal Taybrim

 

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((Alora DeVeau’s Quarters – StarBase 118))

Everyone had a story.  Alora had a story.  Rue had a story.  Even Wyn Foster had a story.  Before that night, all that she knew was that Wyn was a snarky doctor who cared far more about his patients than one might think when they first met him.  Pretty quickly, Alora had seen past that and to the heart that lay underneath it. 

Why did he have that snarky outer layer?  It very well could just be who he was.  Perhaps his parents - or in his case, parent - had a similar attitude, and it was simply his upbringing.  Alora wouldn’t be surprised by this - Cade Foster was his father, after all - but there might be more to it than that.  It might be that this exterior hid something deep inside, a past that was full of hurts and pain that he kept close and didn’t speak about much.  That wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

DeVeau: Just because you didn’t have control doesn’t mean it’s not your story. 

Alora had learned long ago that much in life was out of their control.  People liked to think they might have some influence, and surely they did - to a point.  No matter how much people tried to direct their lives, there would always come a point where something would happen, and that choice was taken from them in some form or fashion.  

He drew in a long slow breath, steadying himself.

Foster: Ok, so Holiday party.  Captain insists we need to have our holiday party and awards ceremony before the funeral.  Why?  I have no earthly clue.  Well… it’s the most depressing, morbid, unhappy party you can imagine.  People drinking to wash away the pain, awards given out because Starfleet said so rather than any sense of accomplishment or camaraderie.  It was bad.  Nobody was happy.  The Captain left early, the new first officer left early, the acting first officer left early, most of the crew left early - there was just a few of us left sitting around drinking, commiserating and generally washing away the sorrow.  ::he paused:: Stage is set, you with me?

A holiday party.  One that had come after a heartbreaking event.  Alora couldn’t understand why a captain would plan such a thing right after something like that.  Maybe it wasn’t so much that it was planned, but from what she could glean, it was done so without any sort of acknowledgement of the events that had transpired, and how it might affect the other officers.  It was a heartless decision in her opinion.

DeVeau: I’m with you. 

He held up a hand.

Foster: Let me be clear, at this point I am drunk.  I am sitting with and chatting with the Chief engineer.  She is drunk.  We are in the holodeck of our ship, sitting at a table, drunk.  We think this is a reasonably safe place to get drunk and wallow in some misery, right?  But… you know who didn’t attend the party thus far?  Yeah.  The assistant chief engineer.

Could you see where this was going?

Oh yes, the set up was clear.

Alora lifted her head a little.  The Vulcan who was showing signs of entering into a rather…intense state due to their physiological clock.  Was that why he didn’t show?  And why did she have a feeling he was about to enter, stage left?

DeVeau: I see. 

Foster: He barges in, crazed, in the throes of Pon Farr and demands the chief engineer come with him because she’s gonna be his mate.  He is not subtle about this and he is extremely physically aggressive about this.  ::he paused.:: She is terrified.  Pure unadulterated terror.  So what does my drunken stupid ass do?  I stand up to him.  I figure that the rest of the crew will back me up.

Wyn was in the right.  Like a good officer…no, like a good *person* he took the time to stand up to someone who was obviously not in his right mind and trying to force someone to do something they didn’t want to do.  But what he said and how he said it made her think that all didn’t work out like it *should* have.

DeVeau: But they didn’t.  

He held up a finger as if to draw a connection between two important points.  And they were indeed important, because it also explained why the antagonist in the story had an advantage, and it was necessary to understand.  

Foster: He programmed the holodeck holiday party.  He can control it.  I can’t.  The rest of the remaining crew can’t. Sure, they want to help.  Sure, they try to help.  They can’t.  He challenges me to combat for his mate.

Wyn Foster.  Scrawny little Wyn Foster verses a young, virile Vulcan in the midst of Pon Farr.  Unless the Vulcan was a genetic anomaly and a complete waif, that would hardly be in Wyn’s favor.

And no, his foe was over a foot taller than him and muscular.  Very much not in his favor.

Even though Alora didn’t know all the details about the Vulcan, she could imagine it.  Likely he was bigger.  Despite the fact that Andorians were very strong, Vulcans were too, so what would have been a level playing field was negated by the likely advantages the assistant chief had over someone who was smaller.  

DeVeau: What did you do?

He gave a short, tense, unfunny laugh.  She didn’t like the sound at all.  It was the sound of someone who had been resigned to an undesirable fate and had seen the other side of it.  And it wasn’t a pleasant consequence.  

Foster: I thought I might have had a chance.  I had a hypospray full of sedatives in my boot, you know keep it there in case I need it.  ::Another biting laugh:: I mean I was drunk and a hero.  ::And a more tense, frayed laugh:: And what other choices did I have?

He could have run like a coward.  But that wasn’t Wyn.  Especially when someone else was threatened.  Alora might have thought of some, but did it matter?  This all happened in the past ,and trying to give him options on what he *might* have been able to do wasn’t helpful at all.  It would only hurt, and she wouldn’t have necessarily been right *anyway*.  No, that was not the point.  Wyn had done the right thing - he’d stood up to protect a fellow officer and friend.  She didn’t have to hear the rest of the story to know that he suffered because of it.  

DeVeau: You didn’t. 

Because in the end, that was a fact.  He didn’t have a choice.  He couldn’t just let the other man get away with forcing someone into that type of situation.  Taking a deep breath, she shifted to draw a little closer to her friend.  She could see the road ahead, and it wasn’t pretty.

He gave a tense, unfunny little laugh again.  It twittered between them, becoming more and more unhinged.  He was grasping at control as he tried to form the words for this.

Foster: I didn’t.  

He sucked in a breath in between small bits of shattered chuckles that only served to help bleed the tension in his taught little form away just enough so he could keep breathing.

DeVeau: It’s okay.  You’re okay, you’re safe.  And nothing you say goes beyond this room.  I promise. 

And she would keep that promise.  Alora wasn’t going to go gabbing about Wyn’s past to others.  It wasn’t her story to tell.  

He locked eyes with her, and he took in a long, slow breath.  The only other time he had talked about this to someone he had laid his resignation from Starfleet on the table between them.  Well, almost resignation - it would still need his thumbprint.

He had been talked down then, and he only told half the tale.  But it allowed him to actually talk now without crawling up the walls.

Foster: So he attacked me.  And I almost sedated him.  Almost.  But I didn’t.  And I lost. ::He waved a hand towards the antenna he had recently had surgery on.:: Because he grabbed my antenna and … ripped.

He made a horrible tearing motion, jerking straight downwards

Alora winced.  The story was a horrible one.  Poor Wyn.  Poor everyone who had to deal with the situation, but especially him, because he had been the one to put his health and safety on the line to help someone.  And the story wasn’t over, that much she could tell.  Oh no, there was much more to it. 

DeVeau: What happened then?

Foster: Well… I dropped like a sack of wet cement.  He grabbed the girl and used the transporter to get out.  Thirty seconds after he left the holodeck reset and the remaining crew was freaking out.  And I don’t remember much after that.

And then he raised a finger.  Straight into the air and he made a gesture as if to say he remembered one thing.  One very important thing.  Just one.

Not much, but something, that Alora understood from the gesture. Nodding, she remained silent, but that small motion was silent indication he should continue.  

Foster: I woke up once after surgery, because my body metabolizes anesthetic very quickly.  And the Captain was there.  He was yelling at my aCMO.  He was angry.  And I mumbled something that was probably unintelligible or maybe slightly intelligible.  And I remember that he told me to suck it up, that I was fine.  And that is seared in my brain.  And you would think that I hallucinated that.  I thought I hallucinated that.  The reasonable explanation is that I hallucinated that, right?

He stared at her with big wide eyes.  That was the reasonable answer to the story he was telling.  Because Captains didn’t do that.  They weren’t supposed to do that.  

Until they did that.

Alora’s face darkened, her teeth clenched as a shadow ran over her brow.  Suck it up?  Really?  What kind of Captain was this guy?  Obviously a horrible one, and Alora couldn’t understand how he had managed to remain in Starfleet as long as he had.  

DeVeau: It’s…hard to imagine someone in that position doing something like that.  

Hard and terrible.  Aron would have never done such a thing.  Nor would Cassie, nor Nara.  Not even Joseph Washington, the strictest of all her commanding officers, had the health and well being of his officers in mind, especially after they were sick or injured.  

Foster: And yet when I woke up for real, my aCMO was gone… because she was removed from the ship with a mandatory, immediate disciplinary transfer.  Half my staff was gone.  The Captain was gone - at Emerson’s funeral.  His new First Officer was also gone - at Emerson’s funeral.  And literally no one was there except for Mark.  Who was the ship’s EMH, but he’s sentient and like a puppy dog, and my son.  ::he waved a hand in the air.:: Don’t ask, it’s weird.

Wait, what?  That was an interesting tidbit into the whole ‘who is Wyn Foster?’ question.  The problem was, Alora *wanted* to ask…but maybe she’d do so at a later time.  She definitely wouldn’t forget that little comment.   

DeVeau: So…you were abandoned. 

She hated to say it, but that was what it sounded like, and it just needed to be said, because there was no other word for it at all.  

His antennae curled downwards and he sighed.  A long, deep soul-suffering sigh.

Foster: Yeah, pretty much.  There were people on the ship, but everyone avoided sickbay like the plague because something was up.  I was like a persona non-grata, recovering in my own little private hell.

Maybe it wasn’t quite that bad?  He didn’t know.  He was pretty out of it.  But he also knew that with a majority of the staff gone. There were very few people around.  Sickbay had been like a ghost town and nobody came to visit.

There were probably reasons he couldn’t possibly understand.  Because he had lived this out from a position of pain and loneliness.

DeVeau: And after they came back? 

She doubted all was hunky-dory.  First, they had just returned to a funeral, but that was after all the absolutely horrible stuff that had happened.  And Wyn?  He’d been left alone in a sickbay with an EMH after suffering physical trauma - severe, especially for an Andorian. 

Foster: Well, we were supposed to get ready to ship out, again.  They promoted the HCO officer to First Officer - for like a day - and then made him second officer and the acting first officer became first officer, and the Captain acted like everything was fine and the Chief engineer acted like everything was fine, and everyone acted like everything was fine.

Except things were absolutely certainly not fine.  The waver in his voice gave that away loud and clear.

Foster: And I was off duty so I had time and so I started doing research.

DeVeau: And it went downhill from there? 

Foster: Well, yeah.  I don’t know why everyone was thinking that somehow because the Chief Engineer had a smile on her face that a Vulcan in the depths of Pon Farr would abduct her to eat ice cream and watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s.  Because that is not what happened.  You know what happened.  You are a rational adult who can put two and two together.  And she had come in that night to be treated for all of the medical issues that go along with that sort of assault, and the only medical officer available was Mark - the hologram.  So what she did was try to reprogram his memory so no one knew what happened.

He waved his hands in the air as if to say he couldn’t even begin to fathom how bad that was.

A rush of breath escaped as yes, that two and two did come together and the answer was certainly horrific to consider.  The victim had just tried to make out like nothing had happened, and with a smile on her face.

DeVeau: I’m guessing it didn’t work.

Foster: Mark’s a sentient creature!  ::he sounded outraged on the EMH’s behalf.:: So yeah, it didn’t work, and so I have this terrified little puppy dog of a newly born sentient hologram telling me the details when I can’t even see straight.  So I check and see that the Vulcan Engineer… is still on active duty.

By this point his hands were gesturing as if he was trying to catch all the thoughts and get them into some semblance of control.  But like the rest of his story, everything was chaos.

The emotion crowded into a little body and then thrust in the back corner of the mind had suddenly broken open and Wyn’s body was caught in the throes of the rush. His limbs flailed and everything in his entire form, from the expression on his face, to the waving of his hands, to his antennae broadcast his distress.  Distress he’d never been able to let go of.  

DeVeau: Ugh. 

The idea that the engineer, the one who had assaulted the other, was still on active duty made Alora’s stomach churn.  Even if he was in the middle of Pon Farr, that was no excuse and there were other ways to take care of that that didn’t involve violating someone.

 

Foster: ::His voice was thin and trembling:: He’s not in the brig.  He’s not confined to quarters.  He’s not in sickbay, nothing!  He’s walking around like nothing ever happened!  And the chief engineer is being complicit in this lie because she thinks she’s going to get into trouble if she tells anyone the truth!

 

Outrage mingled with pain and confusion.

 

Alora closed her eyes.  She knew that all too well. Victims were often afraid because they blamed themselves.  But it hadn’t been her fault - nor had it been Wyn’s.  Alora shifted closer and clasped one hand in hers, then slid her arm around the Andorian’s shoulders.  

 

DeVeau: But you knew the truth. 

 

Foster: Yes, I knew the truth.  I knew the whole, terrible, awful truth.  All of it.

 

And just like that, he was caught up in everything, because Wyn Foster was not the sort of person to let injustice prevail. 

 

DeVeau: What happened then?

 

Foster: Before we had the chance to ship out… I pressed charges.  With the JAG officer on Deep Space 26.

 

That was a standard procedure, and Wyn had done exactly as he ought to have one.  

 

DeVeau: But…things didn’t go as you expected, did they?

 

He shook his head a few times in a short, jerky manner.  HIs voice was as tight as a frayed bowstring ready to snap.

 

Foster: Oh no it didn't go as planned.  Yes, the Asst. Engineer was moved to the Brig.  Yes there was an investigation.  But before that investigation could get started the Captain marched into my office, and in response to my concerns said - and I quote -  “Oh.”  “I do.” and "Higher authorities will be contacting you directly. That’s all I can say at this point. Have a good day, doctor.”  And that was it.  

 

That made absolutely no sense whatsoever, and the only thing Alora could think was the Captain was hiding something.  He had no reason to be so dismissive about what was obviously such a horrible event.

 

DeVeau: And…then what? 

 

Foster: Ten minutes later I lost my medical commission, was escorted off the ship by security, and was transferred to the USS Apollo as a diplomatic attache.

 

He fixed her with an azure gaze.  Wyn Foster, a man with zero diplomatic training, and a myriad of medical accolades.  Lost his position and his license for daring to call in the JAG.

 

It wasn’t just pity that Alora felt, though that emotion was certainly quite strong as she listened the story.  But as every dropped from his lips, every moment of his past recounted in their conversation, her expression became darker, and darker.  And with that final piece of information, her eyes flashed, and red filled her face as well as her vision.

 

DeVeau: And no one did anything?

 

Foster: On the Atlantis?  Nope.  Not a damn thing.  Some were afraid.  Some were angry at me.  Some told me that I ::He drew in a tense little breath:: That I… betrayed the family.  Because I called in the JAG.  I betrayed the family.

 

Which, to Wyn, made no sense.  How could the perpetrator of a crime be in the family, but the victims of the crime were only allowed to stay in the family if they didn’t question what happened.  Why wasn’t he considered a member of the family to be protected, but the Assistant Engineer was?

 

DeVeau: Did you go higher up?  Above the Captain’s head?  Surely *someone* *somewhere* would have listened to you.

 

He sighed and hung his head.  In the immediate aftermath he had been in no shape to keep fighting.  He had just gotten on the long range shuttle and broke down incoherently.  The only way he knew he wasn’t crazy was that two other officers decided to leave the Atlantis over the incident and they ended up on the same long range shuttle.  That was some support.

 

And he had taken Mark with him. Because he didn’t know how else to ensure the sentient hologram would stay safe.

 

Foster: I didn’t have the wherewithal to look, or the time.  I had to pack and leave and make sure Mark was with me.  And then I just sort of collapsed, exhausted.  It took a few days before I had the energy to make some inquiries and by that point we were halfway across the galaxy and due to dock with the Apollo.

 

Again, nothing made sense.  The entire situation was stupid, absolutely ridiculous and completely unfair.  And who was the one who had to endure the consequences? Sweet and sassy Wyn. He had done nothing to deserve any of what he’d suffered, and yet he was the one had to deal with it. 

 

DeVeau: That’s completely full of shit.

 

He blinked at that.  It wasn’t the response he expected.

 

But it wasn’t a bad response either.

 

Foster: Admiral Jaxx was… confused about the whole thing.  I didn’t serve under him long.  Maybe two weeks?  He was recalled to Starfleet command to help get the Andaris Task Force launched.  And we followed Jalana Rajel to the Constitution.

 

It all seemed so plain.  But he had never trusted Jaxx and he had never trusted Jalana Rajel either.

 

Never trusted sweet, supportive, friendly Jalana Rajel.  That wasn’t Jalana’s fault.  That was Raj Blueheart’s fault.

 

Jalana was familiar to Alora, although maybe not as familiar as she would have liked.  Once upon a time, she had suggested going on a cruise with the red headed Commodore, evidently a popular colour among those of her rank, but somehow, their schedules just hadn’t ever matched. Wyn had served under her for a  time.  Somehow, in the back of her mind, Alora though she knew that, for it bore an inkling of familiarity.  

 

But all that he had endured up to that point?  It was untenable. It was stupid. None of it made sense.  Poor, sweet Wyn had been through the wringer and all because he’d had enough moral code to do what was *right* while a Starfleet commanding officer, the very person who should have protected him as well as the others involved, turned his back and actually condoned thee actions by taking no action at all. At least, on action against the people who had deserved such treatment. 

 

Wyn hadn’t deserved that.  Not by a long shot.  Instead of a commendation, or at the very least a pat on the back, he’d suffered.

 

DeVeau: But…you’re a doctor currently.

 

Oh yeah.  Clearly he was a medical officer now.  Clearly he had gotten his license back somehow.  And actually that had been a sooner rather than later thing.

 

He would have expedited that at the time, but how?  He, too, had been injured and was recovering.  He had a holographic child to protect, a massive change to weather and a missing antennae which - at the time - had made the entire world feel like it was in a blender.  Sometimes he was surprised that he actually survived the trip and made it to the Apollo without a complete mental breakdown.

 

Foster: When I had the time and the clear headspace to make some calls, I contacted one of my Dad’s friends in Starfleet Medical about what happened.  And he agreed to do a full investigation.  It took about two weeks… and my medical license was reinstated.

 

Which seemed like a win.  But it was a small bandage on a massive wound.

 

DeVeau: But you should have never lost it in the first place. 

 

Alora’s tone hardened at the thought.  Why had no one else come to support him?  Why had Wyn been the one to fight alone?  She could follow that trail even further and ponder over the what ifs, but what good would that too.  He’d dealt with it, and the scrappy little Andorian had fought, even after a harrowing battle, even after all that abuse, he’d fought back. 

 

And he’d won. 

 

DeVeau: And your former commanding officer?  Was he discharged?

 

He shook his head.  His voice turned tense and bitter once more.

 

Foster: No.  The Captain was allowed to continue on after the JAG proceedings.  A year or two later he retired to the civilian sector.  The Assistant Engineer was relocated to a Starfleet rehabilitation center.  The chief engineer who was violated… she was killed three months later, docked at Deep Space 26, while running routine engine power cycles.  

 

The more he went on, the more taught his frayed voice became.  The words being forced through dry lips as if he was afraid he would lose them if he didn’t keep going.

 

For a moment, Alora only blinked at Wyn as she tried to process it all.  Everything had happened, all like that, and it seemed almost…what? Futile?  His suffering had een unnecessary.  It wasn’t fair.  It wasn’t right.  He’d been the one punished, and the Captain kept his commission and got to *retire*.  At least the Engineer went into rehabilitation, though that hardly seemed enough.  And the woman who’d been violated?  That was the worst of it all, wasn’t it?

 

DeVeau: While doing something so routine?

 

Foster: That’s the kicker, isn’t it?  The files read 'accidental.  User error.'  You tell me what genius level chief engineer doesn't recognize an overload in a console in main engineering during routine maintenance.  You tell me what Starfleet officer ignores or cancels the multiple layer safety locks and alerts.  ::His voice was wavering, close to breaking and to combat that the words kept coming out faster and faster as if to rush out before they collapsed.:: The file says accident.  My gut says suicide.  ::Pained:: She should have been watched!  She should have been in counseling!  But they said she was fine...  ::Shaking his head, no longer looking at Alora, more looking through her:: Two days to get back to duty, before shipping out to the Piktar system.  Two damn days.  Fourteen weeks on.  Then six days of downtime and she was dead.

 

He sighed and his shoulders slumped, spent.

 

So much life destroyed by an event that should have never happened the way it happened.

 

And here he was, still trying to live through it.

 

It was unfair.  Completely unfair.  Unfair for the chief engineer, yes, but just as unfair for the man beside her who had struggled to make things right.  To do things right.  It was unfair that, for all intents and purposes, the real culprits got away scott free while the victim and the man who stood up for her suffered injury upon injury.  It wasn’t fair.  

 

But it also wasn’t something else…

 

DeVeau: It’s not your fault. 

 

Wyn shook his head.  It wasn’t nervous movement anymore, just a slow motion of disbelief. 

 

He had played this through in his mind, in his office, in his quiet thoughts, in his active thoughts and in his nightmares, so many times.  And it had always felt like it was his fault.

 

How was it his fault?  He couldn’t even begin to grasp how this situation became his fault.  Maybe he wasn’t good enough or smart enough.  Maybe he was wrong in disobeying orders.

 

Maybe fate just hated him

 

Foster: No it was… I don’t… it… no…

 

Gingerly reaching out, Alora allowed her fingers to lightly brush over the short, scraggly white hair.  It was a gesture used with Alain, for though he was older, there had been times when he was young enough to need such reassurance.  Her nieces, her nephews, those she had known before running off to the stars, such caresses had sought to soothe the aches and wounds, whether emotional or physical.  She could not heal them, she could not bind up the scars and cause them to disappear, but she could be at the side of those that suffered, to offer her shoulder and her support. 

 

DeVeau: None of it was your fault.  It never was.  You did the right thing.  

 

The tension he had been carrying this entire conversation suddenly snapped like a frayed band pulled too tightly, slowly fading against the tension until it broke.  He slumped downwards like a marionette with all its strings cut and struggled to get a long breath in and out of his lungs.

 

That was what he wanted to hear.  Hoped to hear.  Had cried into the darkness for too long to be able to hear, and yet when he actually heard in an entire eight years later it felt unreal.  Disconnected.  As if he was waiting for something to happen that made it all change.

 

And he waited.  And she repeated it.  And with the repeat it seemed more tangible.

 

And he wanted it to be real.

 

Foster: This is real?

 

Did that sound dumb?  Probably.  Wyn was pretty committed to always sounding dumb.

 

But if she thought it sounded dumb, she didn’t let on.  Truthfully, she knew it wasn’t.  Alora was well aware of what years of lies, even lies from one’s own mind, could do to a person.  She smiled, nodding. 

 

DeVeau: Totally and completely.

 

Foster: You start waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know?  Even though something academically tells you that there is no shoe, there is a lizard brain deep inside screaming in fear that something bad will happen.  And most days I can kind of drown that scream out, but sometimes it still gets through…

 

And when it did, it was a terrible thing.  

 

DeVeau: Do me a favour?

 

His snowy brows knit in unison with his antennae.

 

Foster: A… favor?  Like… file a report?

 

Alora shook her head.  It wasn’t for herself, it was for him.  For far too long, Wyn had suffered, not only at the hands of others, but at the hands of his own thoughts, thoughts that came out of what others had told him.  She had a feeling none of it was from his father, but when you had a multitude of people telling you the same thing, it was hard not to believe them.  But she wanted him to believe *her*.

 

DeVeau: Not that sort of favour.  When the screams get through, call me?  Let me know?  I’ll scream back, and I guarantee you, I can be a lot louder. 

 

He blinked and for a moment he wondered what that would sound like.

 

Foster: … ok.  I… think I can do that.

 

He thought he could do that, but Alora hoped that he *would* do that.  She understood that sometimes those dark moments hit when one least expected it, and that was when she could use someone the most.  She suspected he was the same. 

 

DeVeau: Only ‘think’ you can do it?  

 

Alright, true, ‘think’ was pretty weak.  Wyn took in a long deep breath and tried again.

 

Foster: Alright.  I can’t promise I will.  But I will do my best.

 

DeVeau: And I promise that I will be there.

 

Because she cared about him.  He was her friend.  And she knew how important friendship was, especially with the darkness and doubts and all those voices in the head tried to close in. Sometimes, it took another person to drown them out.  

 

Wyn took in a long deep breath and held it for a while.  When he finally let it out he clenched a fist and slowly let it relax.

 

Foster: Ok.  I… I’m not good at trusting people but I’m going to try.  I promise I will try.

 

She couldn’t blame him after all he’d been through.  How could he trust when someone who was supposed to be trustworthy had so utterly betrayed him?  But he wasn’t in that situation anymore, and she hoped Wyn would come to realise that there were people who would never betray him there.  

 

DeVeau: And I will try to make sure I never give you a reason to not trust me.  

 

He paused and looked towards her, a soft expression hidden behind his generally guarded gaze.

 

Foster: And… thank you.  I’m sorry, I … thanks.  For listening.

 

DeVeau: Any time my friend. 

 

Alora smiled and extended her arms, then drew Wyn into an embrace.  After all he’d been through, and after having to relive it there in her living area, she was sure he could really use one.  And as she clung to him, enveloping him in the warmth of that hug, made a silent promise that she would always, aways look out for him.  No matter what. 

 

 

[Day Four: Duty Post Awards]

Well done, everyone!! 

@Vitor S. Silveira Thank you for being my go-to for any kind of tactical questions ❤️ 

@Haukea-Willow you have done such a fantastic job with your new character, its an absolute pleasure to read your scenes and interact with Willow 

@Prudence "Rue" Blackwell and @Anthony Meeks I am very much looking forward to writing with you again

@Talos Dakora and @Gogigobo Fairhug you two are just amazing and I will absolutely keep stalking Denali and Artemis to read your sims  an eye out for your contributions. Ahem. Yeah. 
 

 

[SB118 Ops: Quotations of the Week!]

Quote

Unless one like the aesthetic of ‘well-read young historian who should be teaching lectures’ he was a relationship of benefit and interest and not fanciful romance

I am pretty sure there are enough people who are into exactly that. 

[Lt. Cmdr. Alora DeVeau - "Son...and Father"]

Well done @Lt Aine Olive Sherlock! You made me care about Rinascita more than I care to admit

#RememberRinascita 

[pNPC Nacien Rixx - Take Your Pick]

Rixx has become one of my favourite characters, and I find myself refreshing my inbox every few minutes when I know one of his sims are due. I think it's a great example of turning a somewhat faceless adversary into an actual (if morally grey) person. What I really enjoy are the changes he experiences in this midlife crisis of his, and the opportunity to explore the culture and customs of Rodulans as a species. 

[Ensign Obsius Sill-con - on the rocks]

I enjoy writing Liz, but I absolutely adore reading Sill-con in this constellation. This sim is exactly my kind of humour and adds an amazing nuance to a very duty-focussed character. Well done! ❤️ 

Quote

 

((Promenade - Miranda VII))

 

 

Liz: 'Sup?

Well. What was rather... unexpected turn of events. It seems that thot target came right to them instead of the opposite, but he was not sure as to why she was staring at him so strangely.

McLaren: Tea please. Earl Grey, if you have it.

Liz: Yeah I guess. ::beat:: If not, I know for sure that we have whiskey. Basically the same thing.

His gaze remained on her. A contrast to the mellow and calming ray of sunshine that Solaris was, he was the stark contrast. A stone cold face. one that did not show aggression but was rather mute.

Liz: What about you, On The Rocks?

Sill-con raised a brow at that suggestion, and became even more confused when the lieutenant commander began to try and muffle out a laugh. Perhaps he should make his order with this... On the rocks.

Sill-con: I shall order what you call coffee... on the rocks. 

He added intelligently... well  intelligently  to himself.

McLaren: Thanks.

He looked to the direction she went after taking their order.

McLaren: I don't know what I was expecting, but that wasn't it.

Sill-con: ::eyes still looking away:: To bring fairness to this... She was not prepared for a presentation of her capabilities. but rock related humor was not on the list of skills.

 

He said assuming that her use for "on the rock" was for the sake of enacting humor at his expense.

McLaren: She is 17, so I'd expect the nicknames to continue...

 

It took a moment but surprisingly the orders came and were placed on the table.

 

McLaren: Your name is Liz, right?

 

Liz: ...No.

 

What was the start of what Sill-con would call an interesting interaction was worthy of his attention if he wasn't looking at his order... It was hot coffee... with ice. hot. coffee. With. Ice.

 

McLaren: I heard you had information. Valuable information.

 

Liz: Maybe?

Why? WHAT... was the purpose? Was this on the rocks? But ice is not a rock let alone an actual mineral, why call it on the rocks? What ridiculous terms do these people use!?

 

McLaren: If Im mistaken thats no bother-- I'll be on my way, but if not, Im sure we can negotiate.

 

Liz: Yeah. I do. It's a PADD but I don't have it with me.

 

Sill-con would lift the glass close to his face, analyzing the cup... Indeed. It was the fabled coffee. But with ice. But how could society come to this level of degradation? This spaceport's corruption culminated into this depravity of a beverage. Sill-con realized that the degradation of society caused the lack of sophisticated knowledge to know that putting cubes of ice in hot coffee was incaity. 

 

McLaren: response

 

Liz: For example, I know where Terra Prime had their weapons from. And I can prove it.

 

Sill-con realized something... this place was not a place for a person to grow. this place takes away from you. A place to fester walkness from within and manifest into horror. Genetic humans? The dim and toxic air? He was unphased by such things, to him it was a display of weakness to realize yourself. but this? how could he allow such things to exist in this world?

 

McLaren: response

 

Liz: We took some log-files. ::she paused:: But some of it looks Klingon-ish ::she paused again, realizing that perhaps this was already giving away too much:: But Terra Prime is gone, why do you even still care?

 

Sill-con: Because to live in a world where hot coffee is served with ice is a world that does not deserve to nurture people of your talend. ::he said with great conviction::

 

McLaren: response

 

Liz: response

He blinked a few times before he realized it. That is indeed true... Why did he not just ask what "on the rocks" meant? His shoulders slumped slightly as his eyes looked down at the cup.

Sill-con: Ah... That is. Yeah that's true. ::Pause for a moment as he realizes he ignored the entire conversation... He may as well get to business:: Regardless of that. Would you like to join starfleet?

 

McLaren/Liz: response

 

why... were they looking at him in such a manner? 

 

Sill-con: pardon? Have I said something to offend you?

 

McLaren/Liz: response

 

-- 

[Ensign Obsius Sill-con]

[Security Officer]

[StarBase 118 Ops]

[O239908OS4]

 

 

[SB118 Ops: Quotations of the Week!]

Quote

 

A pause.  Hesitation.

And then he felt a spike of curiosity.  His empathy was like a dog thrashing at a gate to be let out, and every once in a while it got a paw through.  

Not a snarling, biting dog.  A hyperactive friendly dog that wanted to lick you to death.

But behind it was a very shy dog that had been locked up for far too long.  He needed to keep his empathy at bay if he wanted to develop his telepathy to any sort of usable degree.

 

I love this metaphor 

[Commodore Taybrim - With a Whimper]

Ops has dealt with Terra Prime for more than one and a half years, and it's incredibly satisfying to see that storyline brought to a conclusion. I loved seeing Sal in this capacity and I absolutely adore the very fitting end for Naystrim. This was a great mission and I am excited to see what's next!

 

Quote

 

((USS Narendra, Stardrive section, Battle Bridge))

With the last fighter’s violent end to a pair of Starfleet torpedoes, the Farussi was venting plasma and their power levels were failing.  Naystrim would have to make the decision to stop charging her doomsday weapon, or completely change her tactics.

But while she made that decision there were still teeth on the board.

Taybrim: Keep an eye on that Scuttor…

Teeth, but smaller and smaller teeth.  The stardrive section of the Narendra was the biggest dog in the fight right now, doubly so if Naystrim’s superweapon was disabled.

Tito: On target Sir.

The Scuttor limped back towards its mothership and Naystrim made her move.

She retreated.

Sal blinked and considered that.  It was a rational move if she was carrying all of the people of the movement she wanted to live and carry on with her on her ship.

Nayavi: They are getting away.

Taybrim: They’re buying time.

Tito: They are going into the cloud. They're too damaged for that.  We have to get them before their warp core breaches and we have a massive explosion.

Sal felt his jaw clench.  Tito was right.

Sure Venetta Naystrim knew about the Jenatris Cloud.  She knew that it would obscure sensors, and throw off her instruments.  That going too far in could get one lost forever.  

But all of this was common knowledge based on common flight paths and common situations.

Warp core breaches were not common sitiations.  Overcharging doomsday weapons were not common situations.

On the other hand Sal Taybrim and his crew sat upon literal decades of Starfleet research into the Jenatris cloud.  Sal Taybrim himself was a Starfleet science officer.

And right here, right now, was the point where those scrawny, nerdy little science officers became the biggest piece on the playing field through the power of knowledge alone.

Her energy signature would trigger an ion storm.  And ion storm would trigger a warp core breach.  Her retreat would start a chain reaction into a horrific explosion that would consume her entirely.

Taybrim: She’s on a slow overload.  It will take minutes, maybe even half an hour before her systems reach critical and the ion storm starts.

Meaning that if they wanted to just let her go… she would get deep enough into the Jenatris cloud to contain the explosion.  Yeah, the shockwave and some nasty, nasty ion storms would still hit Miranda VII, but overall she would quietly go kill herself.

That was a solution.

But it was a solution that didn’t sit well with Sal.

Was it a deserved end?  Probably. 

But here he stood, now with an upper hand and safety mostly ensured, bolstered by the armor of scientific knowledge (of all things) – Sal realized that he was no longer fighting for his life.  Now he was making long reaching command decisions.  Decisions that defined who he was as a person and as the sector command officer.

Nayavi: We will deal with the Scuttor. ::she looked at the more experienced officer for confirmation::

Tito: Commodore, we could try and catch the Farussi with our tractor beam before it goes too deep into the cloud. 

He gave a nod, his mind still churning on the final answer.  Exhaustion was creeping into his brain.  He reminded himself that he was still on a recovery timer – and thus far he was extremely proud of how well he had managed his energy, and bolstered himself with vitamins and adrenaline.

But now the fatigue nipped at his thoughts and nibbled away at his decision making process.  He was coming to the end of his energy.

Which meant it was even more important to make the right decision.

So he chose a proactive option that gave him a bit more time to deliberate.

Taybrim: Follow them.  Keep us in range, fire with opportunity at the Scuttor.

Take the shots that presented themselves, without going out of the way to get any further shots.  It was a standard containment maneuver.

Tito: Scuttor and one of the Drussi targeted. We need to get closer to the Farussi.

Nayavi: ?

He gauged the distance and then gave one affirmative nod.

Taybrim: Take the shots.

The Scuttor was not retreating very carefully and as it took a few pot shots towards the looming Narendra, Tito returned fire and caught the Scuttor in the aft where the shields were weak, and it tore apart in a rolling plasma explosion, which caught the last DRussi-class fighter and sent it spiraling out of control.

Tito: Dammit, I can’t catch them. The Farussi is too far away.

He frowned and made his decision.

Taybrim: Hail them.

Nayavi/Tito: ?

Taybrim: =/\= Farussi, this is Commodore Taybrim of the USS Narendra.  You are venting plasma and if you retreat into the Jenatris Cloud you will start a chain reaction that will destroy your ship. =/\=

He could explain it technically, but there wasn’t time – so he got down to the barest facts to push forward.

There was a pause and the Venetta Naystrim’s hot voice came through, pointed at him.

Naystrim: =/\= Lies.  You just want to earn and easy win. =/\=

Nayavi/Tito: ?

Sal considered how he could parse down the science to try to convince her.  But the failing Drussi class vessel that had spun off course did it for him.

The little fighter, venting plasma from the damage had moved far past the Farussi and directly in to the Jenatris cloud, and the start of an ion storm began to brew.  Lightning bolts of charges energy danced between the cloud, fed off the draining power from the Drussi-class fighter until everything reached a unstable climax and the fighter tore apart in a shower of superheated debris, plasma and ion discharge.

The storm did not calm.  It started to roll and grow.  

Taybrim: =/\= Not lies, you just saw for yourself what happens when that level of uncontained energy enters the cloud.=/\=

The Farussi was silent for a good long time, perhaps internally arguing.  The ship continued to retreat, but it had slowed.

Naystrim: =/\=I will not surrender to you.=/\=

Sal frowned, trying to parse whether the emphasis on that was that she would not surrender, or that she would not surrender to him.  A Betazoid.  Her personal nemesis, despite the fact that Sal had done nothing but be that species.

Nayavi/Tito: ?

Taybrim: =/\= If you continue on your course you and everyone on your ship will die. =/\=

At this point he held a hand up for the helm to stop.  The Farussi was far enough into the Jenatris cloud that he no longer felt safe following her.

She really only had three options.  The safest and best would be to power down right now and surrender.  The tricky one would be to absolutely forgo the superweapon, put all power to engines are trying to get to warp.  The Narendra star drive could easily follow.  And the worst option in Sal’s opinion would be to continue to retreat.  With the storms in the Jenatris cloud, he was convinced that there was no chance that the Farussi would survive.

The question was: was Venetta Naystrim convinced?

Naystrim: =/\= We will survive. =/\=

Apparently not.

Nayavi/Tito: ?

He checked the distances.  With the Farussi’s trajectory, it was already at a distance where Miranda VII could weather the storm.  It would be bad, but not horrible.  If she went any faster, the impact would be even less.  All she was doing was hurting herself.

Sal sighed.

He had tried.

But you could not argue with someone who firmly believed a false reality.

Taybrim: =/\= Then go. =/\=

The Narendra just sat there, allowing the Farussi to leave.  He issued the command to watch for a potential warp jump.

Nayavi/Tito: ?

Silence.

More silence.

And then, over the commline came a muffled woman’s voice – not Naystrim’s.

Farussi: =/\= Venetta, I’m sorry… =/\=

And then the unmistakable sound of disruptor fire cut through the commlines.

There was no scream.  It was unceremonious and calm.  A body dropped.

The Farussi completely powered down.

Farussi: =/\= Narendra, this is Farussi.  We surrender. =/\=

Was that a trick?  

It didn’t feel like a trick or sound like a trick.

Now the voices at the other end sounded… defeated rather than defiant.  

The ship drifted, powered down.

The storm started to settle.

Sal Taybrim took in a long slow breath.

Taybrim: =/\= Your surrender is accepted, Farussi.  We will tow you out of danger, prepare to be boarded. =/\=

Nayavi/Tito: ?

And the Farussi complied.  Maybe that was the most surprising thing of all.

Letting his breath out, Sal finally let himself sit back down into the command chair, spent.  Heavy exhaustion washed over him as he considered what all had happened and decided that the outcome was good, all things considered.

~*~
~fin~
~*~

Commodore Sal Taybrim
Commanding Officer
StarBase 118 Ops

 

 

[Lt. Dakora and LtJG. Antonova - Sneaking and Peeking]

This was a great scene and I am very much eager to read more about Antonova   Well done! @Talos Dakora

 

 

Quote

 

((Da'al Ministry of Science - Vdam - Meranuge IV))

 

As Talos waited patiently for the receptionist to return with someone higher up the food chain, he pretended to examine the decorative, large model of the Meranuge System that stood in the center of the room with convincing interest.

 

He had a part to play here and while the blue shoulders of his replicated Science Officers' uniform helped, he had to try to act the part of an infinitely curious scientist. After a few minutes, the receptionist finally returned with a flustered-looking Da'al woman wearing a white linen lab smock. She was tall-- maybe just a bit taller than Talos-- and her skin had the same silvery tint to it that most of the Da'al had.

 

The receptionist pointed to Talos and attempted to make an introduction.

 

Receptionist: Doctor Keyun, this is Lieutenant... Apologies, but your name was?

 

He trailed off, seemingly forgetting the alias Talos had provided him. Smiling broadly, Talos stepped forward grasping the Doctor's hand and shaking it in an extremely human fashion.

 

Dakora: Lieutenant Daniel Calais, but you can call me Danny! ::He finally released the scientist's hand.:: I'm with the Artemis' Let me just say, Doctor Keyun, that I'm very impressed by your facility here.

 

The pair of hazel contacts he wore, a slightly too-large uniform, and some subtle changes to the way he carried himself helped breathe life into the legend that he and Mila had devised for this operation. Talos could feel Keyun's uncertainty about the whole situation swirling around in her mind as she spoke.

 

Keyun: It is a pleasant day to make your acquaintance, Lieutenant Calais- ::She paused.:: Danny. Minister Erbil informed us that members of the Artemis' crew would be visiting various locations here on Da'al, but I'm afraid we were not prepared for your arrival...

 

Talos smiled broadly, a hopeful glint in his eye.

 

Dakora: Oh goodness, I'd really hate to be an inconvenience, but I was hoping to maybe get a tour of your research facility...

 

The receptionist returned to his desk and Talos appeared to wait eagerly for Keyun's response. After a few moments of consideration, Keyun nodded slowly.

 

Keyun: I suppose I have a few minutes to show you around, though we're a bit short-staffed at the moment. ::Her face darkened slightly.:: Some of our personnel were attending a conference in Tecra when... well. ::She cleared her throat.:: Most of them are still unaccounted for.

 

Talos gave a somber nod in response.

 

Dakora: I understand. ::He allowed his frown to gradually dissolve into a more neutral expression.:: I really appreciate you taking time out of your busy day, then.

 

With Keyun seemingly accepting Danny Calais for the planetary sciences specialist his credentials presented him to be, she motioned for him to follow her.

 

Keyun: Right, then let us get started. ::She smiled, seeming to accept her temporary charge as a tour guide and continued.:: We'll start in the exobiology lab.

 

As Talos began to follow along behind her, he heard another voice; one that only he could hear, thanks to the nano receiver that was implanted under the skin behind his right ear. It was yet another piece of Starfleet Intelligence technology that LtJG. Mila Antonova had employed for this hastily planned operation. From Talos' admittedly narrow understanding of the tech, the tiny comms device worked by vibrating the bones of his skull near his ear in a way that allowed him to hear incoming messages clearly while remaining undetectable to anyone else in the room with him.

 

When she spoke, her characteristically nervous voice seemed to come from within his head and Talos thought it felt oddly reminiscent of a telepathic conversation.

 

Antonova: =/\= Good. It, um, seems like she's buying it. Next stop after Exobiology is the Advanced Materials Lab. You'll need to get her to let you into the Planetary Sciences Facility so you can plant the R.A.T. =/\=

 

Talos looked down and to the right in response, the pre-determined non-verbal positive reply, which she was able to watch from the live feed streaming from his contact lenses.

 

As they entered, Doctor Keyun began to give him the tour and Talos did his best to pretend that he understood most of what she was saying. After showing him several pieces of complex-looking analysis equipment, to which he had responded with some variation of "Oh wow" it seemed that Keyun had come to the most important piece of gear.

 

Keyun: And this ::She pointed to a huge console that dominated most of one wall.:: Is our state-of-the-art subspace mass spectrometer. This technology was critical to our exploration of our system and remains one of our proudest achievements.

 

Dakora: Very Impressive.

 

Keyun's lips pursed just a little and Talos could feel a growing unease starting to take root. Mila's voice broke in over the implanted receiver.

 

Antonova: =/\= She's expecting more of a reaction than that. Um, ask her what distances they are able to measure mass-to-charge ratios effectively, then act very impressed by whatever she says. =/\=

 

Dakora: How far out are you able to measure mass-to-charge ratios effectively?

 

Her expression shifted into a broad smile as she clasped her hands together in front of her like she was about to blow his mind.

 

Keyun: This unit represents our latest generation model and has a readable range of up to 1000 light-years!

 

Talos let his jaw fall open in shock, despite the fact that he knew practically nothing about anything either of them had said in the past few seconds. 

 

Dakora: That's incredible... I... I think that may even exceed the Artemis' range!

Her smile turned just the slightest bit smug as she motioned for him to follow her through the next set of biometrically coded doors.

 

Antonova: =/\= You're welcome. =/\=

 

Glancing down and to the right to acknowledge her comment, he followed behind Doctor Keyun as she showed him around the advanced materials lab and eventually with a little more help for Lieutenant Antonova, they'd made it to the doors of the Planetary Sciences lab.

 

Keyun turned to face him, an apologetic look on her face.

 

Keyun: Unfortunately, our tour is going to have to end here. As I mentioned before many of our Plan-Sci personnel are still unaccounted for and we've been urged by the Ministry of Security to minimize unnecessary disturbance to the space.

 

Talos willed his face to appear crestfallen as he opened his mind to her thoughts.

 

Keyun: oO and I'd have to get permission from Director Denofa and he's been rather volatile as of late. Oo

 

He let his artificially hazel eyes find hers, trying his best to employ a bit of charm.

 

Dakora: Oh my, that's a shame. ::He sighed a little.:: When the Artemis' Science Chief spoke to Director Denofa, he mentioned that it wouldn't be a problem for me to look around. So long as I didn't touch anything.

 

Her eyes narrowed for a moment before she replied.

 

Keyun: You spoke with the Director? And he said it was alright?

 

Talos nodded.

 

Dakora: My superior officer did, yes. And that was my understanding.

 

She seemed to think about it for a moment before shrugging and placing her hand on the biometric panel.

 

Keyun: Well, in that case I don't see the harm. ::She turned back to him, her face turning a bit severe.:: But really, DON'T touch anything.

 

Talos nodded enthusiastically and followed her through the doors.

 

Antonova: =/\= That was smooth. I, Um, hope you don't read me like that, Sir. =/\=

 

Quickly, he glanced down and to the left as he approached their ultimate target.

 

Doctor Keyun gave the tour as he'd asked, but she seemed intent on watching him carefully, presumably to make sure he followed through on his empty promise to keep his hands to himself. 

 

As the tour neared its end, Talos felt a bead of sweat form at his temple as the whole operation hung in the balance. The console was right in front of him, all he needed was a distraction.

 

Rapidly running out of time, he hooked his toe under a thick loop of cable that lay on the ground behind one of the workstations, and fully committed his body to a trip-and-fall, intending to sell the whole thing as convincingly as possible.

 

Dakora: Whoaaaaa!

 

He stumbled forward, dragging whatever was attached to the cable with him as he crashed in the general direction of the Central console, aiming his body for the knee space under the large terminal.

 

Keyun called out in alarm.

 

Keyun: Lieutenant! Please be careful!

 

The effect was more dramatic than he intended, as the cable managed to pull a piece of medium-sized equipment off a desk and send a stack of padds that had been resting on it skidding across the floor, but it had worked. In the moment after his body had crashed down under the console, he slapped Mila's R.A.T. (Remote Access Tool) onto the underside of the console, a single blink told him that it had made a positive connection. 

 

Sheepishly, Talos crawled out from under the console and dusted off his blue uniform.

 

Dakora: I'm ok! ::He moved to help pick up the PADDs:: Terribly sorry about that... I didn't see that cable...

 

Clearly distressed by his clumsy display, Keyun simply raised a staying hand. She took a deep breath before gesturing for him to follow her out of the lab.

 

Keyun: It's fine, Lieutenant Calais. This area is clearly hazardous. Let me walk you back to the lobby.

 

Mila chimed in his head once again.

 

Antonova: =/\= That wasn't exactly orthodox, but, um, well, it worked. We're in. Pouring over the data now. =/\=

 

Relieved that his pratfall hadn't been for nothing, Talos followed Doctor Keyun back out to the lobby. Her annoyance with him registered plainly to his empathic senses and he couldn't help but feel sorry for her unknowingly finding herself in the middle of all of this. 

 

Once they had made it back to the lobby, she turned to face Talos but he spoke first.

 

Dakora: Thank you so much for taking time out of your busy schedule to show me around, Doctor Keyun. My colleagues on the Artemis will be--

 

He trailed off as Mila's voice came through over his embedded commlink.

 

Antonova: =/\= Sorry to interrupt, but we may have a problem here. =

 

The silver-haired Da'al scientist shot Talos a funny look, waiting a moment before interjecting.

 

Keyun: Indeed. I really must get back to work. ::She offered him a forced smile.:: It was a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant.

 

Trying to process the two disparate conversations occurring inside his head and out, he returned her smile, bowing his head slightly. His mind scrambled to try and simultaneously think of what Danny Calais might say in this situation and worry about whatever problem Mila had uncovered.

 

Dakora: And you as well Doctor. Farewell.

 

He turned and began walking at a very brisk pace towards the exit. As soon as he felt safe to do so, he spoke quietly to himself.

 

Dakora: Ok Mila, what's wrong?

 

The Tech Ops specialist's voice came through slightly more nervous than usual.

 

Antonova: =/\= Ok, where to start. Um, we're still processing everything, but it's looking like there was a command override that specifically excluded the approach vector of the asteroid, specifically. ::She paused.:: We're still working on it, but from what we can tell the override seems to have come from the Office of the Interim Security Minister... =/\=

 

Scowling at this new development, he stepped out onto the street outside the Da'al Science Ministry, looking for a safe place to finish the conversation. Again he spoke aloud, seemingly to himself, letting her live feed from his smart lenses pick up the audio.

 

Dakora: Ok. Lets work on firming up that lead. I'm guessing that's not all?

Antonova: =/\= No, Chief, it's not. There is, um, one other location that they seem to have specifically blocked out as well. ::She paused.:: La'sko Canyon. =/\=

 

Talos closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his right temple against a headache that was trying to form. Jovenan had mentioned La'asko canyon as a possible lift-off site for the ship that had diverted the meteor. It was now looking to be a bit more serious than that.

 

Dakora: Shit. ::He gritted his teeth.:: We need to warn Ensign Jovenan before she goes on her trip.

 

A moment passed and Talos felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

Antonova:=/\= They, um, they left several hours ago. I just checked. We can't raise them on Comms, possibly because of the kelbonite... or... =/\=

 

She trailed off. 

 

Talos had heard enough and tapped his badge immediately.

 

The fact that he would be delivering more bad news to MacKenzie was the least of his worries. There was a gaggle of Ensigns that might be unknowingly walking into a very dangerous situation.

 

Dakora:=/\= Lieutenant Dakora to the Transporter Room, I need you to beam me to the bridge, right now. =/\=

 

TBC

 

======//////======>
Lt. Talos Dakora
Chief Intelligence Officer
USS Artemis-A
O238811CD0

 

 

[Lt Commander Foster - Critcal]

I was trying to think of a clever text to describe how much I love this scene, but instead I'll just stand over here, hold up my 'I ❤️ Foster'-sign, and let y'all read the sim 

 

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((ISS Koh’la’Shamuu))

Wyn Foster hated brain damage cases.

Hated them.

Haaaaa-aaaaa-ated them.

He had done too many brain surgeries, and too many of them had long lasting unintended consequences.  Because brains were fragile.  Brains were delicate.  Brains, even when you saved the person, could be irreparably damaged.

Foster: Life support is almost in place… once it is he needs to get directly into surgery.  And I need to work on draining the intercranial hematoma and fixing the skull fracture before he suffers irreversible brain damage.

Maybe the only good thing here was that he didn’t know this kid at all.  So if he saved the kid’s life but his brain was damaged, Wyn would never be the wiser.

Zumagi: ?

Foster: Life support will be a whole lot more effective if the rib fracture is removed from the lung and that is stabilized.  Forcefields can hold the flail chest in place until the brain is fixed.

He looked over towards Ivin hoping that he could manage the rib alone.  He was a competent trauma surgeon, he had proven that already in the case of Praetor Taron.

Trovek: If you say that's the best call, I trust your judgement. 

He tipped two antennae down towards her in recognition.

Foster: OK, going quiet.  I have to get a pool of blood out of a skull before we get a stroke situation.

He said it almost casually.  Almost.  All of his words had an underlying bite that said exactly how much he did not like this situation.

Zumagi: ?

He pulled up the surgical hood with an automatic locked in series of movements, bringing the scanners into position and his tools into the same array that he always had them.  He was a creature of habit and he had trained himself to do certain things on autopilot so he could reserve the main amount of his brainpower for critical decision making during surgery

Trovek: Doctor Zumagi, while Doctor Foster gets John Doe into the surgical suite, I need your help here. 

Zumagi: ?

Trovek: Give me an assessment on Jane while I figure out what exactly the little guy is. 

He tried not to listen as he focused on making a primary micro-incision where the first tool could be inserted to draw off the pooling blood, disintegrating the dead cells at the cellular level.  That was the least invasive way to remove the blood without damaging the tissue.

Ok, technically an intercranial micro-transport was the least invasive way.  If it was calibrated properly.  If it worked.  But if it wasn’t and if it didn’t it could destroy large parts of the brain and Wyn didn’t trust it.  A micro-incision was a smaller opening than the skull fracture he would have to fix next and a good tradeoff in terms of safety.

Especially on an armored medical ship that was docked in a hostile zone. 

Zumagi: ?

Trovek: ::calling out to Foster:: Update?

He paused and it took longer than was truly comfortable for him to speak, but since he had his head down and his hands in the middle of a procedure, he hoped that would be forgiven.

Foster: Hematoma is drained.  ::He said it with a grim sort of satisfaction that he accomplished the first task.:: The intercranial swelling is markedly improving with the reduction of the pressure from the hematoma.  Skull pieces are in place and I’m applying an osteo-regenerator.

There was a bit of silence and Wyn continued working as Arys turned back towards Zumagi.

Trovek: Let me see those readings. 

Zumagi: ?

Trovek: That's good. It's something we can work with. 

Zumagi: ?

Meanwhile Wyn adjusted the tool to fit one of the cracked skull pieces into a better position and then with the same technology that drew off the pooled blood, he drew off the tiny shards of bone fragment acting like shrapnel and dissolved them into a harmless organic goo that was easily drained off.  

Harmless Organic Goo was going to be his Andorian Blues cover band.

And for a moment he almost chuckled.  But he didn’t because this was serious and his brain was stupid.

And the sull looked like a tightly fitting jigsaw puzzle he fitted the osto-regenerator cap onto the young man, and let the device do its magic, accelerating the healing process to allow the broken bones to fuse together correctly and reset.

He withdrew his tool and let the regenerator also work on the tiny incision. 

Trovek: Foster, as soon as you are done there, I need you. 

He drew in a breath and did not make an off-color joke, even if he wanted to.  Fortunately he was not yet so tired as to let his mouth run freely.

Foster: One moment, I need to lock in life support.  ::He finished up with the young man and waved Zumagi over to work on the broken ribs.:: All yours, Zumagi.

He almost said Ivin.  But he was understanding that first names got him in trouble, so last names it was.  Which was funny.  He hated being called ‘Doc’ but didn’t mind being called Foster or Wyn in any given situation.

Oh, but he hated Shar’Wyn.  At least the sound of it.  Especially when pronounced correctly.

He turned and moved towards Doctor Trovek and her sedated patient.

Foster: What’s going on?

Trovek: ::shaking her head:: It's difficult to say for sure, he's tiny. But those genetic markers :: she jutted her chin towards the diagnostic screen:: look Kriosian? Valtese? 

He drew a breath in through his teeth and doublechecked the genetic markers.

Focusing in on a specific pairing he tapped the screen and then found what he was looking for.  A small receptor that could develop into empathic ability.

Foster: Kriosian.  It has the metamorph receptor.

Not that the child was a metamorph, or was likely to be one.  Not in the slightest.  It was merely that the one receptor was the main physological difference between the Kriosian and the Valtese.  The Kriosians all genetically had the potential (however small) to develop into a metamorph.  The Valtese simply didn’t.

Trovek: ?

Foster: I agree.  The mother has lost a lot of blood and the child is already a drain on the mother’s physical resources.  Now they’re both in a downward spiral.

The mother was in worsening condition and the unborn child was draining the reserves of strength the Mother had, trying desperately to stay alive itself.

A bitter and vicious cycle.

Trovek: ?

Foster: We can do an infusion, but with the mother’s condition I’m not sure if that’s too little, too late.

They had to stabilize the mother and prevent the child from draining her life away from her as she tried to stabilize.  Or they would lose one – or both.

And for a moment Wyn paused and started to feel the chill down his spine that they may have to make a difficult decision.  They might not be able to save both.  They may well have to choose one over the other.

Trovek: ?

Foster: That is possible.  ::He drew in a breath:: You’re the expert here.  I can do the surgical work, but your call is the call to go with.

Trovek: ?

~*~
tags/tbc

~*~

Lt Commander Shar’Wyn Foster
Chief Surgeon

StarBase 118 Ops

 

 

[Lt. Tito & Lt. Cmdr. DeVeau - Change Of Focus]

I will admit I was surprised by how this JP played out - I guess I expected Tito's cold stare and DeVeau to be lenient   I very much love that this wasn't the case, and that Tito gets to retake Diplomacy 101 AGAIN. I'm looking forward to seeing him in Science, and I enjoy that slightly stricter side to our beloved FO 


 

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((Starbase 118, Hub, First Officer’s Quarters)) 


Tito requested the meeting with Commander DeVeau and entered her office 
when she gave him permission. He offered her a smile, but there was 
something wrong. 
Usually there was a certain brightness to her, like a powerful inner 
glow that transpires to the outside. Not today. He nodded and waited 
until she offered him to sit down. 

Tito: Thank you for seeing me Commander. 

Alora nodded and motioned toward the two chairs that sat on the other 
side of her desk, facing her.  Though she was on modified duty, she was 
grateful for the time she could and did work.  It kept her mind 
occupied.  It was good to have that, something to do, something that 
forced her to think about other things, other people. 

When Tito had requested a meeting, she was rather surprised. Alora had 
no idea as to the subject matter, but she would find out soon enough.  
She watched the man settle into his seat, then inclined her head a 
second time. 

DeVeau: What can I do for you? 

He wondered what could be troubling her. There were too many possibilities. 

Tito: I would like your opinion and insight if you are up for it, 
Commander. It’s about my posting here. 

Her opinion?  That alone intrigued her, her interest manifested by a 
canting of her head and arching of her eyebrow. 

DeVeau: I’m up for it. 

Tito leaned forward. The recent events had made him think about his 
future, and what he truly wished to achieve. As he saw DeVeau’s 
expression he felt a bit selfish about it. 

Tito: I don’t know if it’s possible, but due to… Some things I am unsure 
if I am in the right place. ::He tipped his head:: But we can have this 
conversation another time. You also seemed troubled. 

Alora hadn’t expected the conversation to turn toward her.  He had come 
to see her for her opinion, not to ask how she was doing. Still, she was 
grateful for those who took an interest in her wellbeing.  She truly 
was. A small smile flickered to life, though it was flat in comparison 
to those given in the past. 

DeVeau: Recent events have been…heavy. 

Tito: Anything I can help with? 

He was not the first to ask that question.  The truth was, unless 
someone could turn back time and negate what had occurred in the 
original event that had taken Kalin away, the answer was no. 

DeVeau: I’m afraid not, though I am grateful for your concern. You said 
you’re uncertain you’re in the right place?  Why do you feel that way? 

Tito nodded. Whatever it was that troubled her he respected her privacy 
and didn't push forward. He allowed himself to lean back. 

Tito: I fear I may not be… How can I put it? I am uncertain if I am 
being an effective Intelligence Officer. And recently I feel a little 
lost in the way I contribute to the crew. 

Alora leaned forward and rested her elbows upon her table, then laced 
her hands together as she regarded the intelligence officer.  It was not 
necessarily unusual for someone to question their line of work or their 
purpose in a given assignment.  But that begged another question. 

DeVeau: If that is how you feel, what do you think you would wish to do 
about it? 

Tito: To put it simply I wished I could move to something less… Direct. 
Something that might not require such an involvement into things. If it 
makes sense. 

It didn’t, not really.  Alora tried to imagine what he meant, but she 
couldn’t.  The only thing she could think of would be to leave 
Starfleet, but she had a feeling that wasn’t exactly what he meant. 

DeVeau: I think you’re going to find that difficult, but tell me what 
you’re thinking. 

Tito smiled. He entered the Academy under pressure. He had served long, 
but as time went by, and as rough as the road had been he wished to take 
a step back, and found himself on the back seat instead of the front row. 

Tito: I would consider a change in duty post. Maybe I am more useful in 
another field. But the problem is that I fear I don't have the 
qualifications for it. 

DeVeau: That depends on your background and training.  What duty post 
are you looking at? 

Such changes weren’t the norm, but they also weren’t as uncommon as some 
people might expect.  In the academy, people often chose minors, which 
gave them options in the organisation. 

Tito shrugged, let himself fully at ease. After his last encounter with 
Arys he could use a friend to listen to him. 

Tito: I always loved Science. 

That brought another hint of a smile, just a flicker and she nodded.  
Alora had been a scientist before she’d become first officer, so of 
course she was rather fond of the field. 

DeVeau:  I see.  So you’re interested in moving into the Science 
department? 

Tito: If that was possible. 

Alora had to admit, she’d seen some of Tito’s interest in science before 
and the man did seem to have a knack for it.  But a knack was far 
different than education in the field. 

DeVeau: And your qualifications? 

Tito: That might be the issue I have. You are not going to like this, 
but I took extra credits in a few disciplines. 

Alora had no idea why he thought she wouldn’t like that idea.  If the 
man wanted to extend his education, who was she to speak against a thing? 

DeVeau: Really? 

Tito lowered his eyes, avoiding facing DeVeau as he spoke. 

Tito: When I was taking that boring class you made me do, I was studying 
Astrophysics and Stellar Cartography, during class. 

DeVeau: During the Diplomacy class? 

Tito straighten himself, and nodded 

Tito: Yes. 

Well then, that was not expected.  At all.  And not really the point of 
going to the Diplomacy class - and that was why he had mentioned hse 
wouldn’t like what he’d done.  No, she didn’t like that at all. 

DeVeau: So you were learning something, but not what you were supposed 
to be learning. 

So truly, he hadn’t really learned anything at all. 

DeVeau: How far are you from a secondary degree? 

Tito: There are a few credits that I need, but I have enough of an 
equivalence to get them. Also I might need to attend a class or two. 

Well then, that answered the question of whether or not he was 
qualified.  There was just one problem; he probably thought he was off 
the hook.  He wasn’t. 

DeVeau: I think we can approve a move to science.  I’ll talk with Sal 
about it. 

Tito smiled. He feared it wasn’t going to be that easy. 

Tito: Thank you Commander. 

Alora lifted a hand, her expression severe and she levelled her gaze at 
the man. 

DeVeau: And you will take that boring class.  Again. 

Tito raised an eyebrow. Even if he was half paying attention in 
Diplomacy class he did attend as ordered. 

Tito: I am sorry, I don’t understand. 

DeVeau: The entire point of you taking it has been missed, Tito. And 
when I give an order, I expected it to be obeyed to the fullest.  That 
means not only taking the class, but focusing on it and doing well in 
it.  Giving it your all.  Ignoring one study in favour of another is not 
justified here. 

Tito was about to argue over that. But DeVeau was right, he had 
neglected it, not focusing his full attention on it. 

Tito: I assume you want a high grade in it? 

DeVeau: An extremely high grade.  And if I’m not satisfied, you’ll 
repeat it until I am. 

Anger flared up in her breast, the first real emotion she’d felt in 
almost two weeks.  Why it was so hot, she wasn’t sure.  Yes, he’d acted 
unacceptably, yes, she’d had to enact consequences, and yes, he’d 
halfway ignored her orders, but that anger still felt a little extreme.  
Gritting her teeth, she tamped down the desire to smack him. 

Tito nodded. Leaning back he offered her a smile.  And she had tightened 
the grip on that desire. 

Tito: Understood Commander. Considering I might need an extra class or 
two to properly get a Science degree it shall be included in my classes. 
My apologies for that. 

DeVeau: Then I expect you to do so.  Take your credits, both old and new 
to a school advisor and speak with them about what you need left to 
supplement. I’ll talk to Sal about placing you into science while you’re 
still working on the degree.  Since you do have some courses behind you, 
it may be possible to do so while enrolled.  But that’s not a guarantee, 
so don’t count on it. 

Tito nodded. Commander DeVeau was that sweet kind of First Officer that 
took care of her crew. 
But she was also tough when she needed to be, and this was the second 
time he saw this side of her. He would do his best not to face her like 
this a third time. 

Tito: Understood Commander. 

DeVeau: Good.  Anything else? 

She was in no mood to chit chat, his dismissiveness of her orders still 
irritating. It would be better for him to leave rather than try to have 
any sort of further conversation. 

Tito: No Commander. 

DeVeau: Then you’re dismissed. 

Tito stood up and straightened himself into attention. 

Tito: Thank you Commander. 

He turned and walked out quickly and quietly. Well at least he was 
allowed to change his specialty. Even if it cost him another run at 
Diplomacy classes. 


End scene. 



***** 

Lt. Vitor R.S.Tito 
Intelligence Officer 
Starbase 118 
O238907VS0 

& 

Lt. Cmdr. Alora DeVeau 
First Officer 
Starbase 118 Ops 
al...@blar.net 
M239008AD0

 

 

[Fleet Captain Oddas Aria: The Voyage Home]

I adore reading well-written solo sims that give an insight into the character, and highlight history and personality traits that aren't emphasised on in other interaction. I liked this one in particular for choosing the style of a Captain's personal log - I hope we get to read more of this!

 

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((Runabout Nulato))

 

The autopilot was set and she was watching the stars fly by through the warp vortex, leaning back with her arms folded in her lap.  The breakfast in front of her was half-eaten - a cheese danish, and a side of toast with melba jam.  A lot had happened on her trip to the station.

 

Oddas: Captain's personal log, Stardate 240004.14, aboard the USS Nulato - en route to Denali Station.  I think R&R did me more good than I care to admit.  There was a lot of time to walk around the shops and, visit a place or two where no one knows who I am, and just listen to some music - remind me of being a teenager again, of being young.  

 

She paused and raised her coffee to drink, but stopped.

 

Oddas: The Spike's administration is worried commerce will start pulling away to Denali and I cannot say that, on a personal level, I would be terribly upset if Denali ended up more ::pause:: dynamic, like the Spike.  If we attracted more civilian traffic, more commerce, more entertainment, it wouldn't be the worst thing.

 

Aria finished the sip of coffee she started.

 

Oddas:  The upcoming race will be a good start, maybe.  ::beat::  So was catching up with Nian, even outside catching up about Jazz, I forgot how much she reminded me of Alea - not in big gestures.  Nian is a great pilot, business oriented, Alea interested in science and Archeology, but they share a bit of mischievousness - a lot of "I don't care what others think" and a way to make it rub off on others.  ::frowning:: I should have kept in better touch with Jazmine, even if she didn't care for it.

 

Aria looked out the window several long minutes, watching the stars go by.

 

Oddas: I wrote a long letter to Cada and Katya - I should have done better, for Irina's sake, but I hope she understands.  Still Katya is doing well, getting along with her classmates, adjusting well, "raising hell" as Cada put it, and the Ijos love having her around.  I would offer to move Katya here to Denali, but reading between the lines, it seems she would rather not move from her classmates.

 

She took several bites of the danish - an Earth concoction she picked up at the academy that satisfied her sweet tooth and had become a staple of her diet since.

 

Oddas:  I think I got most of the Annex situation sorted out - but I'm recommending to Command we increase our presence for a while, both civilian and Starfleet.  I've also initiated a regular diplomatic channel between the Annex and the Denali consulate offices, which ::sigh:: is just more work from me, I guess, but hopefully we can get an actual consulate staff at some point.

 

Oddas: So, overall, a good trip.

 

Fleet Captain Oddas Aria

Commanding Officer

Denali Station

E239305OA0

 

 

[Denali Station quotes that have a nice Ring to them.]

Loving that whole scene, but this commentary in particular:

 

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Kettick: Someone with hierarchical authority should probably inform the neighbours that we are going to throw radioactive dust onto explosive rocks in their vicinity.

Freck: Oh, have we not put “Slight Chance of Explosions” on the meteorological forecast for the day? Really, that ought to be on the calendar all week.

 

[SB118 Ops: Quotations of the Week!]

Loving this intro from @Lt Aine Olive Sherlock

 

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Thinking any mission in Starfleet was easy was a mistake. Of course everyone said it, but there were no easy days. This is space. And space is dangerous.But they were Starfleet. They were trained from day one to be the best. One common thread among the officers and enlisted throughout was their willingness to go wherever they were needed. To sacrifice it all, that others may live. There were few things out in the vastness that made them scared, but groups like Terra Prime were one of those things.
 

Aine was no exception in that regard. She'd heard of the terrible things Terra Prime did to further their eugenics-like philosophy. It had even nearly taken the life of a friend. Throughout the history of her own people there had been many like them. Some even would find ways of sympathizing with those groups, something she didn't understand...and didn't want to understand. When she had first joined Starfleet the Academy psych board had done their initial evaluation like it is done with all cadets. They had found she had what they told her was a "grey morality." The first time she'd heard it she wondered what exactly it meant. If she was capable of horrible things or that she could be influenced towards those ideologies. What she eventually learned was that it meant she would be able to do the hard things, but that her sense of right and wrong in the universe was clear to her. Once she had deemed, in her mind, something to be wrong, she would be able to fight against it at all costs. Over time her fear of what she might be subsided. Now all she feared was losing more of those she cared about.

 

 

[Denali Station quotes that have a nice Ring to them.]

So relatable 😩

 

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Raimor: ::letting out a sigh:: Well then, we have an agreement. I think that we should have somebody fetch coffee while we get to work. You may not need caffeine Doctor Garev, but non-Vulcans sometimes need the little things in life.

 

[Lt. Commander Solaris McLaren - New-Old Director.]

I love seeing players step outside their comfort zone and try something new! This is a really well-written sim by @Solaris that gave a nice ending to MSNPC Richard Barlowe and served as a great way to re-introduce McLaren as Director of Intel (Congrats btw!) ❤️ 
 

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(( Black Tower - Section Beta-3 - Starbase 118 ))


Sol stood with her arms crossed, staring at the large marble wall that took up a sizable portion of one of the Black Towers only public facing areas. A PADD was tucked under her arm, as she watched the Engineer phaser away some of the marble, carving a Starfleet delta into the wall. It sat alongside many others, the inner surfaces painted black. Each represented a operative that had fallen in the line of duty. All had names associated with them, though only a few of them were publicly known. Above the rows of deltas read an inscription: "In honor of those members of the Black Tower who gave their lives in the service of the Federation".

The Memorial Wall had its origins in a similar memorial from an old Earth intelligence agency. Like its origin, the Black Tower's had a pedestal in front of it, though instead of a book, it contained a terminal. Separate from the towers network, it contained a list of each delta. Most just had a year associated with them. Some had names and full dates, if the operation had since been declassified. Tapping on a name would cause a pair of hologram projectors to highlight the associated delta, and display the available data on the operative, if it was available.


Sol stepped up to the terminal, and set the PADD beside it. She tapped a few controls, adding a new entry. It simply read '2400' with a golden delta next to it. The first of the year, and likely not the last. Richard Barlowe had been put in a situation that was messed up from the beginning, and had paid for it with his life. Sol was only glad she wasn't adding two entries to the wall; Nestira had been far luckier.


She nodded to the engineer, who had finished up his work and collected her PADD. She stepped around the marble construction, looking out over the balcony it was constructed on. While level 3 served as the main entrance to the tower, level 4 held the tower's large arboretum and several large holographic windows that cycled through different views on a daily basis. There were several people milling around in the arboretum, it was a lovely place to take your lunch, or meet up with friends if you didn't want to make the long journey from the tower to the commercial sector. She glanced down at the PADD, flicking the screen on, the list of tower personnel scrolling by slowly. Many names, and faces. All assigned there during her time away. One of whom had put her operatives in bad situations on purpose. One of whom would be dealt with severely. No one was going to use the Black Tower like that, not if she had anything to say about it.


She tapped the PADD gently on the railing, before pushing herself off of it, making for the lift that lead deeper into the tower on the opposite side of the area. She hit the call button and cast one more glance back at the wall, before stepping in. She had work to do, and her target, who ever they were had no idea just what was coming after them.

 

 

(( OOC: I don't normally do pure narration sims... but well... I did... hope you enjoy.

 

The memorial wall is actually based on the real life CIA Memorial Wall at the CIA HQ in Langley, VA. ))

 

 

~~~

 

Lt. Commander Solaris McLaren

Director of Intelligence

Starbase 118 Ops

C239210SM0

 

 

[[sb118-ops] Isaac Green - Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs]

It's Friday evening and you're a little sad because you've read all your ships sims already? Read THIS. Honestly. It's awesome.  Well done! ❤️ 

 

 

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(Starbase 118, Commercial Sector, The Beehive Inn))

 

For all of Isaac's adult life, he had been part of something greater than himself. He had always been a part of a team, part of a process, and he hoped, part of a solution. He had been asked a lot about what it was like to be shot at, or what it was like to shoot someone, usually by people who had never experienced either. His answer had always been the same. He had always played it down, avoiding the question and sugar coating the issue so as to not bring such a harsh reality into their lives. Not this time. She had asked, and he would answer.

 

Green: Have you ever been a member of a team, Jinean? Have you ever held someone’s life in your hands?
 
She had to think about that for a moment. There was teamwork in counselling, yes, but not in the same way other departments depended on each other. She had never truly held someone's life in her hands, unless you counted talking to an individual who contemplated if the galaxy was better off without them around.

Seta: No, I can't say I have.
 
He drained the glass and set it on the table. He held up his hand for the waiter and indicated he wanted two more brought over. He continued, his voice was soft and almost pensive. 
 
Green: I guess, when you go into combat, you don’t get to think, you just do… ::He paused:: …you do what you need to do for your team. If I’d been shot the other day, and it made it so my team was able to get that sonofabitch, then we win. 
 
Seta: Would you do it again?
 
Green: I’d do it again, in a heartbeat. 

Seta: That's... heroic, I guess. It seems strange to me, I think I would be too scared.

He stepped back, leaning his pool cue against the wall and accepting the glass of ale from the waiter. He looked down into the foamy head and contemplated what she just said. He shook his head as he spoke.

 

Green: There's nothing heroic about it. You just do what you have to do. ::Looking up at her, gazing into her eyes:: Do you think it's wrong that I didn't feel scared? 

She shook her head.

Seta: I have no idea how one is supposed to feel in that moment, so I wouldn't say you're doing it wrong. I would not even really know how I would react. I think I would be scared, but I might as well forget being scared and get shot at instead.

Green: I think you'd do what was necessary, just like most people.

Seta: It's the interesting thing about people. You can guess how they will react in certain situations, but that's about it. Did you ever have a situation where you reacted differently than you thought you would, or wanted?

 

He stepped toward her, coming to a stop only a foot or so from where she stood. It wasn't his intention to be intimidating or aggressive, even though he stood a head and shoulders taller than she did. 

Green: Here's how I see it: There are three types of people in this universe. You have Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs. The Sheep; well, they are the ones mulling around in their lives, not really cognizant of what's going on around them. They don't think about the evil that men do, or that they may become a victim. They live with blinders on, really expecting the world will go right on by them and somebody else will take care of 'em. The Wolves, they live to prey on the Sheep. Their whole existence is to do what they can to further themselves, no matter who they hurt along the way. Their lives are very focussed on their own needs, regardless of how narcissistic their actions are to fulfil those needs. Those guys that killed all those people, they were Wolves, and they didn't give a squirt of snot who got in the way of their agendas, and a lot of innocent people died because of that. They wouldn't have shed a single tear about their victims. Then you have the Sheepdogs. I like to think of myself as one of them. It's not heroic, just a mindset. Sheepdogs care for the Sheep, mostly because the Sheep don't, or won't care for themselves. The Sheep never see the Wolves coming, and because of that they are usually really easy prey. It's the Sheepdog's job to protect the Sheep from the Wolves, no matter the cost to the Sheepdogs. Sometimes the Wolves win, and the Sheepdogs don't get to come home, but that's their job. That's what they live for. Does that make sense?

 

Seta: ? 

 

Green: But, you see, that's the point. We do what we do so people can be oblivious to those things. Nothing would make me happier than to go through this world with you never having to experience something like that. If I can be the one to take that hit, instead of you, then you can go on living, thinking the universe is all sunshine and daisies. 

 

Seta: ?

 

He shook his head, then realized his voice had lifted and he was being louder than he would have liked. He brought his voice back down to more of a conversational level.

 

Green: I think you missed my meaning. I want you to live life thinking the best in things. I want  you never  to have to experience the things you are talking to me about first hand. That's my goal in life. That's why I do what I do.

Seta: ?

 

Turning toward the wall, he picked up the pool cue and spun back toward the table. 

 

Green: Are you gonna shoot that ball or what?

 

 

Tag/TBC

-- 

1Lt Isaac Green

Marine Officer 292 TMR

Starbase 118 Ops

R238801IG0

 

 

 

[[sb118-ops] LT Aine Sherlock - One Down]

There are several reasons why I enjoyed reading this scene between @Lt Aine Olive Sherlock and Ensign Mason. It gave wonderful insights into Sherlock's past and the things she struggles with, then turned around and described what joining Starfleet on a second career path is like for Mason. I also really like how Sherlock integrates the fallout of the last mission, and her obligations as department chief. Well done! 


 

Quote

 

((Chief Security Officer's Office, StarBase 118))

 

Aine never imagined at twenty-five years of age that she would be the "old man" in a conversation with another officer. It seemed like only  yesterday, because it practically was, that she herself was nervously rambling about possibilities with Lieutenants Delri'ise and Knight on the bridge of the Resolution. It amazed her what just a couple years could do to a person. Sure, in many ways, she was still the young and slowly (some would say very slowly) maturing woman, but as a Lieutenant in Starfleet and a Chief of Station, she had to be the "big boy." If you'd asked her a year ago if she could fit into that role, she'd have probably laughed. But here she was giving not just career but life advice. My how things could take a turn.

 

Mason:  I knew, when I left Advancing Revolutionary Design, I would be starting over, as a cadet. My education, my degrees, I will always have, but really, they mean very little to Starfleet. I was…advised - let’s use that word – of that when I decided to apply. Oh, they likely meant something, getting me into Starfleet. But that was really about it. Once accepted, and entered into Academy, they didn’t seem to matter much. And that was fine, as it should be, and all that. A first-year cadet is a first-year cadet. I get it I agree with it. And if I heard something I knew didn’t really work in the real world, I kept my mouth shut, because…well, in some ways…this isn’t the real world. This is Starfleet’s world. This is…this is time-travelers. Shapeshifters. And all the really cool things that might be realistic… here. :: he laughed at himself rambling and shook his head ruefully. :: Don’t mind me… that’s the libations talking. Ha! I love it here. Just kidding. But I know I have a decision to make.

Sherlock: Just, unlike me, don't be rash in making the decision.

Mason:  Well, there, see?  I can use that. That is good advice.  I mean, this is more than just having a bad day, this feeling. I’m not going to be rash though.
 

Sherlock: That's good. And, as a counselor, know that wherever you go, you will be needed.

 

There was a small twitch of Aine's eyes as she thought to herself, "Well look at you! The one who hates having to go to Counselors, saying they're needed!" She wondered what exactly was happening to herself. It's like the next thing you'd know, she'd be attending classes at the extension campus to work on her Masters...

Mason: :: nods his head and examines his glass before looking back at Lt. Sherlock and speaking.:: I knew, months before I decided to leave my company and apply to Starfleet. :: He looks away from Lt. Sherlock for a moment. :: Ancient history now.

Sherlock: What do you mean?

Mason: I don’t know why I brought that up. :: he shifts in his chair.:: I’m taking up too much of your time, Lieutenant. I should maybe go...

 

Aine took that as a queue that he didn't want to go "there." And she would respect his wishes. Besides, she didn't have any more "good" advice and she couldn't share all her stories...yet. She stood and set her glass down on the desk then reached out to shake Mason's hand.

 

Sherlock: Well, Ensign, I'm available to talk whenever you need. It's no bother.
 

Mason: ?

 

Sherlock: You too, have a good rest of your evening.
 

She stood for a few moments more as Mason made his way out of her office and she wondered if she'd said the right things. It seemed right, in the moment. But she was never sure. But what she did know was that Ensign Mason's career was in his own hands, much like her own.

 

She sat back down in her chair, slouching and staring at the partial drink left in her glass. She wanted to get back to the apartment, she owed Shevon a movie night. There were many things that she wanted to do though. She sat upright and reached for the glass, pausing as her fingers wrapped around it. The image in her head was that of the dead officers laying on the ruins of the Romulan embassy. Their bodies damaged and mangled by the primitive kinetic projectile weapon the assassin had chosen as his weapon. She had been nearby when those last shots were fired, but was not close enough to do anything.
 

Starfleet had contacted the families of those lost, as was normal. A simple message informing them that their loved one had been lost in the line of duty. Nothing more, nothing less.

 

She lifted the glass to her lips and tilted her head back, taking in the last of the amber liquid.
 

Sherlock: Computer, record message.
 

The confirming chirp of the computer nearly echoed in the mostly empty office. She didn't know what she was going to say, she hadn't planned on this.
 

Sherlock: You don't know me, but I am Lieutenant Aine Sherlock, Chief of Security for StarBase 118. By now, you've likely been informed of the loss of your son. I didn't really know him, just in name and in passing. What I do remember of him was that he was a good officer. His comrades in Security had nothing but good things to say about him. I wish I could tell you how he died, but I wasn't there. What I do know, is that it happened while he was protecting his crewmates. For that, I'm proud of him, as you should be and no doubt are. I'm deeply sorry for your loss. If there is anything else I can do for you, please, do not hesitate to ask.
 

When she stopped speaking, the silence hung in the air. Even the hum of the station ceased to exist.
 

Sherlock: Computer, end recording.
 

One down, six to go.
 

End Scene for Sherlock

 

Lieutenant Aine Sherlock

Chief of Security & Tactical

StarBase 118 Ops

R239712AS0

 

 

[Lt. Commander Dekas - A call home]

I enjoyed this a lot - well done! 

[MSNPC Dusan Tornahd - Unmake What Has Been Made]

I've taken a liking to that MSNPC and am veeeery curious to see when we will see him again! Well done @Talos Dakora

 

Quote

(( Ertas Square, Tecra, Da’al ))

 

The bottom had dropped out of Dusan's life. 

 

Kyin, his partner of 15 years, was dead. As he knelt by her lifeless body where it lay pinned underneath the rubble of the bookstore that had once been her dream, he was surprised by how he felt. There was a distant sadness, an empty, longing feeling that he felt as though he'd always have. Their relationship had been... imperfect in recent years as Dusan had prioritized his career over her and the strain had been reaching a boiling point. He'd intended to do better. He'd planned to change-- To sweep her off her feet with some grand romantic gesture that would remind her of how things had once been-- but, now it was too late. In her last moments had she been filled with regret? Could he even blame her if she had been?

 

He just hadn't been there for her. And now, when she'd lay suffocating under a pile of debris, he'd failed her a final time.

 

No, sadness wasn't the primary emotion that Dusan felt. He felt disappointed and frustrated, but deep within him a primal rage had begun to burn, slowly at first but building in intensity. 

 

He coughed as the wind-driven dust irritated his lungs and eyed the outlanders with contempt.

 

 

Tornahd: Had we not detoured to place the forcefields, my Kyin might've been saved. ::He shook his head, in utter disappointment.:: I fear I made a mistake, aligning with you…

 

The Starfleeters looked surprised, like they hadn't been so preoccupied with securing the crater that they'd delayed his getting to Kyin. Worse, they were puppets of the Da'al Government that had allowed this to happen in the first place.

 

Yalu: We’re here to help. ::beat:: I know what you're going through, believe me. We only want to help.

 

Hearing the calm words of Mister Yogi, Dusan saw through the haze for a moment. They had been nothing friendly and helpful to him. So why was he so angry? Why did he want to scream at them until his voice gave out?

 

He sat there kneeling at Kyin's side, brow furrowed, trying to process his own feelings when one of the other Officers approached Yogi. They had a hushed conversation, the secrecy of which only aggravated Dusan further, before Yogi took a step towards him and spoke in a conciliatory tone.

 

Yalu: Mr. Tornahd, I’m afraid we need to keep moving, but if you’d allow us, we can transport your wife’s body aboard our shuttlecraft until funerary arrangements can be made.

 

He could hear the approaching crowd in the distance and the sounds of alarms and breaking glass seemed to be moving with the large group. Where fear should have been Dusan only felt envy. He wanted to yell. He wanted to destroy. Again, Yogi's calming tone brought him back down.

 

Tornahd: Huh? Y-yes. Go ahead then. 

 

He released her lifeless hand and took a step back.

 

Osuna: response

 

As the shouts of the crowd grew nearer, they seemed to be bent on wanton destruction, breaking the glass storefronts of any surviving buildings and... there was a new sound. It was something Dusan had never heard before; the discharging of energy weapons.

 

His jealousy of the rioters intensified. A little voice within his mind sang for destruction. There was a growing itch that only chaos could scratch. He felt his face twitch as he tried to resist it.

 

Yalu: If things are getting violent, we ought to regroup. =/\= Yalu to Galaktoboureko. =/\=

 

Nothing happened.

 

Yalu: =/\= Yalu to Galaktoboureko. Computer, please respond. =/\=

 

Dusan stared longingly in the direction of the noise as Yogi had a conversation with whomever had commandeered his shuttle. Distantly, he knew he should care about that, but he did not. 

 

Yellir: That fight is getting closer commander. We can’t stay here.

 

The brightly complected Engineer's voice was abuzz with frantic excitement and it drew Dusan's attention away from the riotous crowd for a moment.

 

Jones: Sir, the situation here is getting worse. We should get to safety soon. I'm not sure what it means yet, but those surges are being caused by the compound I told you about ... 

and they're increasing in frequency and strength.

 

He nodded enthusiastically.

 

Tornahd: Of course. ::His voice sounded surprisingly enthusiastic when he finally spoke.:: Don't you feel it? Feel the pull?

 

Osuna: response

 

Yalu: We have to head back immediately. Mr. Tornahd, I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with us.

 

Jones: Mr. Tornahd, I'll beam your wife to the triage center for now until we're sure what's going on with our shuttle.

 

Nodding, Dusan waved acquiescence to the Doctor's plan. The situation with Kyin didn't matter. The Meteor impact didn't matter. The siren song of devastation was ringing out in the streets of Tecra and he needed to dance to it.

 

Yellir: I’ll stick in the middle with Mr. Tornahd.

 

A fresh gust of wind blew even more dust in their direction as Dusan prepared to move with the outlanders, glancing over his should in the direction of the rioters every few seconds as he did. 

 

Tornahd: They're coming now. ::He beamed.:: They're coming!

 

Osuna: response

 

Jones: ::coughing to clear the dust from his lungs:: Can we go now, please?

 

Yalu/Osuna: Responses

 

Dusan began to move with the Starfleeters, but after a few steps his eyes fell on a long, metal pipe, laying discarded in the street. It was surely some bit of debris from the wrecked buildings all around, but his fingers wiggled in anticipation as he stepped toward it. 

 

Conveniently another gust of wind-driven dust blew across them, reducing visibility and Dusan took that opportunity to surge toward the pipe, grasping the cold length of it in his hands like it had been made specifically for him.

 

Jones: Uh ... gang? What the hell is going on?

 

He could hear the others through the howling dust-up, but just barely. 

 

Yellir: We’re out in the open, we need cover NOW! 

 

As the dust storm settled, Dusan held the pipe high overhead and released a guttural howl of animalistic glee. He brought the pipe down as hard as he could manage on what remained of the storefront window glass of the adjacent building and the resulting crash sent shivers of contentment coursing through his body. 

 

Nearby, the Starfleeters spoke.

 

Yalu / Osuna: Responses

 

Tornahd: It doesn't matter. None of this is real. ::He brought the pipe down on an ornate glass door.:: I will right the wrong. I will unmake what has been made.

 

Yellir: If we stay here, we’ll either lose our eyesight or get vaporized by the trigger-happy civilians if we’re lucky. This isn’t the time to push our luck!

 

She didn’t bother to keep herself quiet, feeling her legs carry her further from the weapon’s fire.

 

Yalu / Osuna/Yellir/Jones: Responses

 

The outlanders didn't understand. They didn't see it. Their minds were not open to the beauty in the chaos, but his was. He turned and ran toward the rioters, howling and swinging his pipe at anything standing as he did.

 

Soon the Starfleeters were long behind him and he was among the throng of bodies. Dusan was among them and their rage had become his rage and his rage was theirs. 

 

At long last, the voice in his mind sang the song of destruction as he pried a shop door off its hinges with his pipe and began smashing the computer screens inside.

 

((OOC: Driven mad by the anger-dust, Dusan has split from the group to join the rioters, but we haven't seen the last of him. 😉))

 

TBC

 

=====MSNPC=====

Dusan Tornahd

Middle Manager

Turyon Heavy Industries

Da'al

 

as simmed by:

 

======//////======>
Lt. Talos Dakora
Chief Intelligence Officer
USS Artemis-A
O238811CD0

 

 

[Ens. Nolen Hobart — Making the Mothd]

The signature killed me