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  1. OOC: I got a chuckle out of this. Julien seems like a hoot. IC: ((Dunamis' Quarters, Habitat Ring, Starbase 118)) // To: Ensign Dunamis From: Ensign Julien Lockehart Dear Duney, Heard of your new assignment! Congratulations, by the way. I hear that 118 is a hot place to be right now. You’ve read the reports of their latest mission probably, of course you have, studious bloke, you. You’ve always been. Saving prisoners on Qo’nos while fighting off cultists! Wow. I only wish I had that kind of assignment. Here on the Victoria nothing much happens, we’re stuck on routine DMZ patrol. Oh, well. What can you do, am I right? Captain Kell is a nice guy though which is a bonus. We should meet and catch up sometime, eh? Just the two of us like old times, talking like old friends while you insisted on poring over our textbooks two months in advance for that class test. Just relax, okay? You don’t need to keep on working yourself raw. There’s more to life than your career and you deserve a little space to explore all aspects of it. Including the more fun ones. 😉 Ah ha, you know what I mean. Get back to me when you’ve made up your mind on it, okay? See you, handsome. Don’t keep me waiting with that response. Regards, Jules // Julien Lockehart. He hadn't seen that name in years. The name brought to mind a shortish, blond-haired bespectacled human male who'd been a schoolmate of his four years ago now, and with that recollection came a familiar tale - one that admittedly still embarrassed him to no end to tell. He still remembered how it'd gone down: ((Flashback - Time Index: 3 years ago)) ((Event Hall, Starfleet Academy - Earth campus)) Dune was not a party person. He never had been. Call it a remnant of a childhood growing up as the sole Kelpien child in a class of humanoid children. Too many people around at any one time made him nervous, in fact, a feeling he masked with apparent stoicism. Yet here he was, an hour into the prom, neatly dressed in a light pink dress shirt, tie, suit, pants and even shoes to match, spindly fingers clutching a glass of champagne. Being as slim as a twig sometimes has its perks and this particular time was one of them; he looked absolutely stunning. At the current moment his attention was oh so mercifully occupied by his Klingon best friend, though: Qltlha: Duney, please, for the love of Kahless, let those shoulders of yours relax for once in your life! You have earned the right to party the night away, more than any of us with that lofty degree of yours! Dune: ::sighing:: Qltlha, you know me and my work ethic. I do not normally fully relax. Not when there is more to be done for the morrow. I leave for starbase 23 in the afternoon and my packing is still unfinished. The shuttle leaves at 1300 hours- Qltlha: For the starbase and starship, the latter of which which will only be there next week! Dunamis! You are being ridiculous! I know you favor punctuality and preparedness but that extent of it is too much! ::sighing in exasperation:: You will harm yourself one day with that attitude, my friend, if you do not keep it under control. ::squints, looks over his shoulder and snickers:: Oh, Kahless' blade. There's Julien now! Julien? He'd been told by the human that he'd show with a surprise in store, of course - but not quite the sight that he got as soon as he turned his head. Oh, goodness gracious, that was surely the laciest garish red dress he'd ever seen. Somehow or other it flattered the human male's figure perfectly, along with the blush, lipstick, eyeliner and fake brows and the ridiculous black wig with utterly mismatched bangs - among other features, of course. When Julien had mentioned a surprise the first thing in the Kelpien's mind admittedly had not been to appear at the prom in full drag. Oh, he knew that the human had been head over heels for him ever since they'd met at orientation of course, but this was absolutely flooring each and every (failed) attempt at courtship so far. Strangely? Amidst the silliness of the whole situation Dune found himself thinking that the human actually looked attractive in that getup. Oblivious (or perhaps totally ignorant of) the looks and catcalls and kisses blown his way Julien sashayed his way towards the pair and struck a pose, fingers in a V and all. Lockehart: How do I look? Duuuuuney? ::batting his eyelashes at the Kelpien:: Dunamis: ::choking a little:: Julien. Goodness gracious. Why are you dressed like that? Qltlha: ::smirking:: It was my idea. He wished to make a last impression on you and hopefully earn your arm for the night! Come on, Duney, won't you be a good friend and indulge him? One night? Lockehart: I wore red just for you~ ::giggling:: It's your favorite color isn't it? You look spectacular, by the way. Is that blazer of yours custom made? It fits so snugly- ::places both hands on the arm of the suit:: Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Yes, he could handle flirtation well enough, but in this situation, where he couldn't quite decide what his mind thought of the whole thing his friends' words were becoming quite uncomfortable - and so he took the only other option he could think of. Dune: Um. ::gently brushing Lockehart's hand off:: Excuse me for a moment... And off he went through the crowd in the direction of the toilets, ignoring shouts of "don't keep me waitiiiiing~" behind him. You'd think that for a people so tall and skinny they'd be hard to lose - ha, not really. Blushy, uncomposed Dune was gone in the crowd in seconds even when not running. ((End flashback)) Ensign Dunamis Tactical Officer Starbase 118 - USS Narendra 0239706DM0
  2. @Sheila Bailey writes beautifully and I just love the sweetness of this ending! ((Virixis VI - Beachside)) DeVeau: Unfortunately, we got called back to duty really suddenly and I was so intent on getting to my station as soon as possible, I forgot to take my squirrel costume on. Sheila’s gaze turned longing for a moment as she remembered her friend. It was this particular friend, a joined Trill, that had had a performer as one of her past hosts. She had still been able to carry on the skills of singing, ballet, and acting, though she most often danced. And this particular friend had often invited her to performances, in which she carried a starring role, in Sleeping Beauty, Romeo and Juliet, and Jewels, among many other ballets. Yet since their graduation the two friends had hardly spoken to each other. Thankfully the good memories lasted and were seemingly enough to fill the empty void. Yet Sheila was reminded of her sisters too. Her younger sister, Margaret Anne, had often written plays and stories when she was younger. Oftentimes she had been able to coerce their older sister Cathleen into playing some of the other roles; Sheila never did like to perform in those plays and stories yet she had been willing on more than one occasion to paint the sets. One time however, in the course of a play rehearsal, the scene had had both Margaret and Cathleen running in the yard and up a tree. Cathleen had tried climbing but slipped and tore her skirt and her knee. Since then Sheila was fairly sure her older sister had stuck to wearing pants. It seemed like the only situation in her personal experience that was in any way similar to the one which Alora was describing. Bailey: ::Holding back a laugh:: What a sight. I can imagine your commanding officer being angry at that, though I guess it depends on the seriousness of the event which called you back to duty. Clothing hardly limits one's ability to perform their job. Even if one was wearing a ball gown, improvisations could be made. And in the right attire swords could be slipped down the backs of dresses, or strapped to the thigh. If not, the dress’s skirt could be tied up around the waist of the wearer to allow for easier movement. With this in mind it certainly seemed that a squirrel costume was comfortable as well as easy to move in, likely made of a soft material used for pajamas. Definitely not the sort of thing to go get mad about. Disappointed maybe, and some might even laugh about it too. Sheila might have laughed if she had seen the incident in person. Now however she worked to hold in her laughter and simply listen, that was the polite response to make. DeVeau: Commander Ross wasn’t happy. Didn’t yell at me, but he didn’t need to. I literally was so focused on getting to my station I didn’t even think about my costume not being the proper attire. Sheila was intent on listening carefully to Alora’s story. Asking leading questions and showing her interest and respect. Though it did make her wonder. Perhaps Sheila and Alora could combine their talents and set up a performance sometime for the crew. A light hearted performance. Sheila knew that she herself could use a spot humor after the several tough missions that she had gone through. Perhaps too could she find her way back to the sarcastic, witty woman she had once been. For Alora it could be a change to redeem herself, in a way. To finish out the play and get back to her station in her proper attire. Bailey: That seems completely understandable. DeVeau: What about you? I know you sing and have a pretty voice! Bailey: Oh myself? I’ve not been in any performances, plays I mean. I have been told however that I would be great for singing at a wedding. DeVeau: I know. I remember you sang part of an Elaysian lullabye when I brought you that violet. Like I said, you have a lovely voice. You could easily perform. What about other types of performances? Bailey: And the dancing? Nothing like what my friend did. She was all into ballet. But Elaysia has a great many traditional dances. Jigs and the like. Perhaps I could get a holoprogram of them together for you sometime. I would demonstrate myself but I’m not in the condition for it yet. DeVeau: I would love to see you dance. Maybe on the holodeck? I’m sure we can program the gravity to make it lower so you could perform it properly. Oh why hadn’t Sheila thought of it in that way? At first she had thought she would only be able to get a holographic performance set up, one in which she wouldn’t be able to take part in. Yet Alora’s comment reminded her of her last holodeck experience with an old friend. Those machines certainly could be programmed to fit anyone’s personal needs. Bailey: Sure, just comm me sometime and I’ll get something set up. Oh and speaking of performances it would seem that one would need a headshot for auditions and the like. ::At this Sheila went shuffling through her stack of papers looking for one in particular. Once she found the one she was looking for she handed it over to the other woman:: Here. Alora took a minute, not glancing at the handed over drawing quite yet, a look of surprise forming on her face. Sheila gave Alora a small smile in return, her sense of curiosity growing. DeVeau: What’s this? Sheila handed over another pencil portrait; the original copy, a second copy having been left in her own quarters back on the station. This one however unlike the others was not of some fanciful woman. It showed simply a woman with long dark hair, a round slim face, and sharp collar bones. The composition was of Alora. Sheila had managed to find time to get around to composing it, sometime between last shore leave and then start of this one. Their last conversation together had sparked it and Sheila did well to keep her promises. Bailey: I finally got around to drawing it, after we last talked. I want you to have the original copy. Hope you like it. DeVeau: I do! It’s lovely! ::Alora took a moment to look at the drawing:: I’m amazed at your talent. Bailey: Thank you. It’s nice to be drawing again, to be making it my own. DeVeau: I’m going to have this framed. Do you think people will think I’m too self absorbed if I hang it on my wall? Bailey: I believe not. I have several drawings, like this one, of myself and my sisters hanging on the walls of my own quarters Sheila widened her smile. Alora certainly seemed to appreciate the talent she showed. Such appreciation lifted her spirits. DeVeau: I think I’m going to take this back to my cabin right now and package it up. I don’t want it to get damaged. Bailey: I’m glad you don’t. Best to keep it away from the waves. And if you frame it it’s less likely to smudge the graphite. ::Slight pause:: I’ve enjoyed your company. DeVeau: ::Smiling:: Thank you Sheila. I’ll see you later, but I’m glad to have this as a reminder of you. Sheila watched as Alora rose from her chair and turned to place a gentle hand upon her shoulder. After a slight pause the other woman moved off carefully taking the treasured drawing with her. Sheila watched her go, even considered waving as Alora disappeared out of sight, yet thought better of it. Once out of sight Sheila turned back to her art supplies, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper. Before long a graphite drawing was starting to form, one that was beginning to show two women standing side by side. By the time the drawing was finished it was clearly a composition showing Alora and Sheila, the water in the background, their arms around each other in a side hug, almost as if they were posing for the artist to be able to draw them. [End Scene] Lieutenant Sheila Bailey Chief Medical Officer Starbase 118 Ops M239512BG0 "The very first requirement in a hospital is that it should do the sick no harm." - Florence Nightingale
  3. One of our officers introduced a new character, and I really enjoyed getting to know him a little bit. I look forward to seeing what he does with Dune! IC: ((Verriar’s Tongo Palace, Starbase 118)) How out of place he must have looked: six feet and eight and a half inches of lank in uniform, clutching a tiny glass cup that seemed like a little fruit wrapped in branches in relation to his long, thin fingers. Large golden eyes stared intently down at the spinning tongo wheel about a foot in front of him, round which many gathered to hedge their bets. Dunamis was not a gambler. He never had been – except in chess where one would sometimes strategically gamble away their pieces in the hopes of victory. He didn’t like tongo. It was far too reliant on luck and chance and not enough on the skill of the player. But hey, maybe that was chess player him speaking, eh? Admittedly when the others had extended him invitation to meet at the commercial sector for a men’s night out he hadn’t expected to have to walk all the way down decks to this bar he found far too dark and far too… vicelike. He’d drank what he’d been recommended, of course, it was only polite – and been complimented by the many-armed hostess for it – which admittedly still didn’t sit well in his belly. No, really. And the aftertaste was far too chemical-like for his tastes. But hey, one sometimes made compromises for connections did they not? Dunamis: ::glancing upwards at Isaiah and rubbing his eyes:: Remind me how many rounds it has been, again? My vision has begun to swim. Andrews/Yael: ? Dunamis: Ah. I see. Not at all, actually. I think the wheel has spun so many times I’ve lost count. Andrews/Yael: ? Right then a waitress walked up to him. Waitress: What can I get you, tall, stoic and handsome? Dunamis: ::directed at the attending waitress:: One iced lemon tea, please? He watched her nod and walk off, following which golden eyes flickered over the little circle of drinks set before the group on the table. Most, if not all of them were alcoholic. The chemical-y scent stung at his sensitive nose. He’d never understood why the human idea of a ‘men’s night out’ was casual gambling, alcohol and/or bars or any other variant on the same. Was the idea of appearing at work hung over the following morning not enough to dissuade them? Not that he was going to complain, of course. Dunamis: How long have you both been patronizing this establishment? ::gratefully accepting the cup of tea he was given:: Andrews/Yael: ? Ensign Dunamis Tactical Officer Starbase 118 - USS Narendra O239706DM0
  4. OOC: This made me chuckle. IC: ((CMO's Office, Main Sickbay, Deck 10, USS Thor)) Hoping to save some of his precious time, Wes stood in front of Lieutenant Alieth’s desk, hoping against hope that she would help him out. Greaves: Hey Doc, hope you're not busy. I was looking for a favor. The woman's face remained expressionless, but somehow acquired a more relaxed air. Alieth: No, in fact, it is a remarkably quiet day. How can I be of service? Wes slid a padd out of his uniform pocket and slid it across Alieth's desk. Greaves: I won't lie, I'm not here for a social call. I'm swamped with work and I need my annual medical signed off. Can you hook me up and clear me for duty? The Marine watched as Alieth glanced at the padd, then at the marine, then back at the padd, and once again at her friend. Her brow furrowed anew, dangerously so. Largely because there was a taunting glint behind the sullen expression. Alieth: Absolutely not a chance. You are going to get the mandatory physical. Point. By. Point. oO Ah, so we’re doing it the hard way Oo Wes dropped into a chair in front of the woman’s desk and frowned at her. Greaves: Alieth, come on. I’m swamped with work, I don’t have time. Besides, you basically just did an exam after my shuttle… incident. Tell you what, we can work something out. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. The Vulcan folded her arms across her chest and radiated an energy that would make most men taller than her cringe. Alieth: I will not accept bribes this time Wesley, you have skipped so much Vulcan scolding lately, Come on, take off your jacket. For a moment Wes considered arguing, but he knew his friend. This was a lost battle, and it wasn’t a hill he needed to die on. If anything, cooperation would speed things along. Then again, a little begruding acceptance wouldn’t hurt. Greaves: Fine, fine, but let’s make this quick. Just wave a tricorder over me or something and call it good. Alieth: Come on Wesley, stop being so shy, I have stirred the inner part of your ribcage, I think few people can say the same. With an exaggerated huff more characteristic of an angry 12 year old, Wes stood and began unbuttoning his uniform top with extreme prejudice. Greaves: Alright doc, have it your way, but I’m going to remember this next time you need a favor from us. Just know, if you ask me to pee in a cup, I’m spilling it. Now what do you want me to do? Alieth: Response He tossed his uniform jacket onto the desk, nearly causing one of the two small towers of padds to wobble. For a second it looked like it might topple, but eventually the wobbling settled and Wes shot his friend a mischievous glance. Greaves: Well you should know my medical history better than I do by now. I basically don’t remember the last time I was here… you know, head trauma and all that. Aleith: Response Greaves: I mean, I’ve got all the usuals. My back aches, my ears ring, my knees hurt, I seem to roll my ankle at least once a week… You know, normal stuff. Is there something in particular you’re asking about? Alieth: Response TAG/TBC ========================= Captain (SFMC) Wes Greaves Marine Detachment Commander Chief of Security & Tactical USS Thor - NCC 82607 E239702WG0 =========================
  5. A couple of us are getting some off-duty face to face time with our Captain and I was fortunate enough to get to ask the right questions to get some good reminiscing out of her.
  6. If introspection is the name of the game, then @Samira Neathler is one of the undisputed champions. A brilliant inward reflection after a traumatic experience. ((N’Vea Hospitals’ Grounds - Deluvia IV)) Standing on the broad stairs of one of the many entrances of the N’Vea Hospitals, she looked up at the tall building. Mainly build out of a glasslike material, the windows reflected the peaceful scenery from outside. Palm trees from further down on the beach mirrored on the higher levels of the building. The lower levels revealing the green grass fields that surrounded the base of the building. Paved paths meandered through the pasture. Well-travelled pathways, by the looks of it, as people walked from one point to the other. The complete picture gave the building a serene and inviting look. But deep down, Samira felt anything but serene. She heard children’s laughter and her gaze shifted to the green fields. A child was running towards a couple, one of the women, opening her arms wide as the toddler ran into her open arms. The lady lifting up the child before she cuddled the girl tightly. Was that one of the tricks the therapists used? Do well and you get to see your loved ones during a stroll outside? Samira looked away, she shouldn’t think like that. She’d been at the Hospital before. After the incident with the upside down ship. She knew the medical care in the center was excellent. But this time, it was different; it felt different. It wasn’t a burned limb that needed fixing. It was something in her mind. Something that wouldn’t go away. First there was the name of list that popped up in her mind when she didn’t want it to. A shortlist containing mainly Cardassian names. Every single name evoking a feeling of hate towards a certain person that she didn’t know existed. People who in another lifetime, that wasn’t real, had hurt her. She had looked up the names in Starfleet’s database, yet had recognised none of them. She had never met any of them in her short life. Next was knowing what her counterpart had done. What she was capable of. She looked down, studying her hands. Hands that, when covered with full gloves, hiding the scarred tissue and badly healed bones underneath, were capable of cold blooded murder. No questions asked. Just because someone belonged to a certain species, those hands decided to end those lives. While the hands she stared at now had hardly fired at any living being at all. The two exceptions were on the upside ship when she had to fight off a couple of thieves. And the other occasion was during Academy classes. Even then it was rare, but when it happened, she was fully aware she was shooting at holographic images. While her counterpart, while not knowing she was in holoprogram, killed those beings nonetheless, in the blink of an eye. Samira swallowed and lowered her hands. Even her morning runs no longer helped to clear her mind. There was always something that reminded her of Fingers and what she had done. The first time, she could blame Lladre for every crazy thing that the evil Trill had put in her mind. The second time, Q orchestrated things behind the scene. But this time? Sure, she could blame Genkos for dropping them in the Skarbek world, or more precisely the thing that had possessed his brain. But there was only one person accountable for the heartless killing she had done, and it was herself. She stared at the entrance, the doors opening, a couple broadly smiling leaving, stepping down the stairs to who knew where to. She shook her head, she wasn’t ready to talk. How could someone who hadn’t been there understand? How could she explain to someone she was a ruthless killer without having killed anyone in this life? Imagine the irony, if the therapist appeared to be of Cardassian origin? Slowly she turned around, going down the stairs, taking the road to the beach. A beach where previous time the Gorkon orbited the planet, Bear and Toran had played a game of volleyball. The three of them ended up eating something at one of the local campfires that evening. Toran, who after all those years, hardly could talk about the hardship of what happened Over There. So it shouldn't be a surprise she wasn't ready to talk about something so recently. She continued her walk away from the building. Her mind repeating a list of names. A list that awkwardly enough was one name shorter already, when she had learned the faith of the scientist named Brevek. One name less to take revenge on. She cursed softly. She shouldn’t think that way. If only she could erase the list from her mind and the faces that accompanied the names. Maybe with the help of a few drinks or a bottle of whiskey. Surely one of the beach bars had something that would make her forget. --- Lieutenant Commander Samira Neathler Chief Security/Tactical & Second Officer USS Gorkon G239508SN0
  7. I'm very new to the SB118 fleet, but I just read a wonderful story in six parts via the USS Gorkon group. I did not recognize any of the characters or locations involved, and I'm honestly not sure if I was supposed to, but the skillful writing and character building made all of that irrelevant! I was caught up in the narrative and the emotions of the characters in a way that is rare even in professionally written fiction. My sincerest appreciation to @SerrenTan for this extraordinary contribution to our fictional 'verse. Part I: https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-gorkon/c/u-4LPm6MsiU/m/n92asqVkAQAJ Part II: https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-gorkon/c/p1o21om-xsU/m/rX6eNqlkAQAJ Part III: https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-gorkon/c/sKWp52W9FIs/m/iM9zXKtkAQAJ Part IV: https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-gorkon/c/13vp720m0e8/m/hcqCWbRkAQAJ Part V: https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-gorkon/c/r3K5k813AuQ/m/dLTslrhkAQAJ Part VI: https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-gorkon/c/Sw1LCIcKJ6Y/m/Cd1_8LtkAQAJ
  8. Ladies, gentlemen, people of neutral or other genders, meet Mr. @Geoffrey Teller and his unique ability to turn something mundane into something fun and a true genius. ((XO's office, Deck 1, USS Thor)) Unnecessarily straightening his uniform for the seventh time in as many minutes, Geoff Teller shifted in his chair and watched as the chrono counted down. He hadn't been looking forward to this call and even though the smorgasbord of brass were all safely on the other side of a screen, Geoff still felt their looming shadows like they were in the office with him. Teller gulped the remainder of his cup of coffee and looked towards the carafe parked on his desk, already half-empty. Starfleet Command was still digesting their most recent mission reports and unsurprisingly, they had more than a few questions about how matters were handled. It was a formality for the most part triggered automatically when Fleet Captain Kells mentioned the Prime Directive in his mission report but it still rankled Geoff slightly that his judgement, and that of his CO, was being dissected from afar. Still, he'd gotten to his office early, prepared his mission notes thoroughly and legibly and he'd even polished his pips. In his experience, Admirals appreciated a bit of extra spit & polish. The last few seconds ticked off and the display on his wall monitor was replaced briefly by that Starfleet Command. Geoff sat up, prepared for at least three admirals and their various aides, but after a minute all he continued to see was the Starfleet Command logo, spinning in place. Teller: The hell... Vansen: =/\= ....an you hear me now? =/\= One third of Geoff's screen was replaced with the shaky image of a Lt. Cmdr. in Engineering gold. Teller: =/\= Uh...hello? =/\= Vansen: =/\= Oh finally, the Admiral is going to kill me if he misses any more calls today. Damn..on.s.orm.re..ly..fou....p....tran..iver =/\= The image degraded before freezing and being replaced with a test pattern. Geoff snorted a laugh but felt a pang of empathy for the poor engineer that was about to give bad news to an Admiral about their subspace transceiver. He wondered if that meant the meeting was going to be rescheduled when the right third of his monitor came alive with the image of a particularly stoic and wizened looking Vulcan Rear Admiral. Any smirk on Geoff's features was immediately erased as his spine stiffened. The Admiral pinned him with a frosty gaze and began speaking. T'mpok: =/\=...........=/\= Geoff's brows furrowed in confusion. He could see the Admiral's mouth moving, so Geoff was certain the man was saying...something. Geoff found himself nodding along at what he thought were appropriate moments but he could find no break or pause in which to politely tell the Admiral that his audio pickups had been disabled. T'mpok: =/\=...........=/\= It felt like an eternity but the Admiral paused and Geoff interjected as best he could. Teller: =/\= Sir this is Cmdr. Teller...I'm not sure if you can hear me or not, but I haven't been receiving your audio...I can see you just fine though..sir...I recommend running a level 3 diagnostic of your...=/\= The Admiral's image suddenly winked out and Geoff was left with his mouth hanging open, wondering what he'd done (recently) to earn the favor of the subspace gods. A few moments later a brief text message from the Admiral's office came through stating that the Admiral had only recently received a new communications unit and was still, in their words, 'getting used to it.' Geoff could hear an aides deep exasperation written large between every letter. He responded and offered to reschedule as the center of his screen came to life. Roth: =/\= Cmdr. ::bark:: Teller? This ::bark:: is Cmdr. ::bark:: Shelby Roth in ::bark bark:: Admiral Otyl's office...I ::bark:: apologize for ::bark:: MISCHA NO! MISCHA DOWN! :whimper, scratching sound:: Don't you dare!...Go, go...go find your bobo... =/\= Geoff watched this unexpected animal psychology lecture with rapt fascination. His only regret at the moment was not having a snack of some type on hand. The Commanders image was briefly replaced with an empty chair and Geoff could hear the distinct swish of doors opening and closing in the background. Roth: =/\= Sorry about that, Commander. The Admiral's prized Alfa-177 can be a real handful when things aren't just so. ::Muted bark:: To that end, the Admiral is behind ::Muted bark:: schedule...he was supposed to be here to get his ::Muted bark:: dog three hours ago. I'm reaching out to let you know we're rescheduling this debriefing and we'll forward you ::Muted bark:: a new set of subspace ::Muted bark:: frequency details. =/\= Off camera there was the sound of something heavy crashing to the ground, the excited yapping of a completely uninvolved dog, and a colorful string of expletives from Commander Roth, several of which Geoff would have to look up. The screen winked out and the three panels merged, replaced again with the stately logo of Starfleet Command, under which Geoff was surprised to see a small query prompt. Teller: Well I guess the call quality was pretty good... Geoff tapped five several times, hit submit and poured himself another cup of coffee, relaxing in his office chair and reveling in his unexpected free time. [End] =============================== Commander Geoffrey Teller Executive Officer USS Thor - NCC 82607 Commodore A. Kells, Commanding V239509GT0
  9. (( Office of the Chief Science Officer )) Forms, reports, explanations, extrapolations, reviews, redactions, signatures, assignments… on and on it went. He had much to account for, and almost as much to atone for. Alone in his office, at some point the lights got turned down and set to a warmer color temperature, almost mimicking the ambience of a candle-lit room. As per usual, music was playing in the background as he worked; but he was unable to find something suiting for all that he was feeling and thinking. Listless, ambient music invited his mind to wander too much. Orchestral music was too predictable and dull. He needed to find that sweet pot: interesting enough to partially engage with, to keep his mind from wandering too far, but not too interesting as to rob his attention. In time, he found his way to a late 20th century band, Talking Heads. They were a long-standing favorite, at least as far as old Earth music went. Like most art from long ago, it’s hard to appreciate it in the context of the present, because it is a product of its time and place; neither of which Lazarus shared with the band. Familiar enough, without being too gripping. Quaint, even. "And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack And you may find yourself in another part of the world And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife And you may ask yourself, "Well... how did I get here?” (( OOC: link is to the Talking Heads - Once In a Lifetime music video )) That last line caught Lazarus off guard. Something he didn’t quite understand about himself is how a song or a lyric could sometimes feel as if someone had just slipped a knife between his ribs and began to twist. He gasped for air as his throat choked up, and tears welled in his eyes. oO How *did* you get here? Oo There was the story he told himself, a dry narrative of recounted dates and places. It wasn’t inaccurate, but it felt somehow incomplete. He was just some guy from Earth, and now he’s been given the power of life and death? He’s living in luxury on a starship; married to a punk alien woman; galavanting across the sector. Why *him*? Why here? What did he do to deserve this? How and why was he given this life? "Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down Letting the days go by, water flowing underground Into the blue again after the money's gone Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground” He was here because this is where the currents swept him. Sometimes the waters pushed him places against his will, other times he studied the currents before diving in. In either case, the result is the same: he was ultimately powerless in all of this. If not him, then someone else. If he hadn’t lead that away team, someone else would have. The pirates killed Mar[...]o, not him. And the pirates tried to kill or enslave everyone on the Constitution. Was it not his obligation to be willing to kill to protect his peers, and the families on board, from such a fate? A credible threat was made, so what was he not only justified in responding with lethal force, but required to? At that point, it seemed clear that the pirates were not interested in negotiation. Them or us, simple as that. They may try to pin a medal on him for it, too. "And you may ask yourself, "What is that beautiful house?" And you may ask yourself, "Where does that highway go to?" And you may ask yourself, "Am I right? Am I wrong?" And you may say to yourself, "My god! What have I done?” The PADD in his hand–“his” PADD–flexed under the pressure of his grip as the tears began to peek out from under his eyelids. Circumstance, morals, and ethics didn’t mean a damned thing. Not one damned thing! People died. And those people had friends and families; hopes and dreams. They were maligned, but that’s the nature of existence it seems: to be wrong, and to learn to be better. He had deprived 12 people that opportunity. Davis: :: choked with grief :: Computer, lock the door. "Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down Letting the days go by, water flowing underground Into the blue again, into the silent water Under the rocks and stones, there is water underground Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down Letting the days go by, water flowing underground Into the blue again after the money's gone Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground” As the song reached its climax, Lazarus felt rage boil within him, seated behind his desk. “His” PADD creaked under the stress of his hands wrenching it around, and one of the access panels on its back popped off, not able to flex with the twisting force he was unwittingly applying to the body and he cried and shouted profanities in the soundproofed room. Mercifully, the song receded into an epilogue. "Here a twister comes, here comes the twister Same as it ever was, same as it ever was Same as it ever was, same as it ever was Once in a lifetime, let the water hold me down Letting the days go by” And he caught himself between the gasping breaths to slow down and inhale deeply. Release the grip on the PADD. Exhale. Set it down. Inhale. Open your eyes. Exhale. In a few moments, he had re-grounded himself. At his feet, the unyielding access panel on the ground. The PADD was flexible, and capable of handling great stress without breaking. The access panel, however, was too rigid. When the PADD flexed and contorted too much, it broke away. There’s no stopping the currents. We can only hope to ride them well, and be flexible. Otherwise we break when contorted, and fall away from the whole. Same as it ever was. Regaining his composure, Lazarus raked his hands through his curls and leaned back in the chair to stare at the ceiling for a moment, before looking back down at his desk at all the PADDs and forms and processes he still had to do. Same as it ever was. —— Lieutenant Lazarus Davis Chief Science Officer USS Constitution-B Podcast Team Facilitator IDIC team member ASDB team member C239510LD0 (he/him, character) (he/they, writer)
  10. Another fabulous intership JP from @Vitor S. Silveira and @LtJG Aine Olive Sherlock; this time two old cadet cruise buddies meet up for some fun and funny banter. Quite pleased to see Academy friends continuing to get along! ((USS Juneau, deck 4, Silveira and R’Kala’s quarters)) Vitor passed again by the console in his quarters, finishing a cup of coffee, and putting it back to the replicator for recycling. It took a few more minutes for the comlink to load, so Vitor sat down and leaned back waiting as the screen flashed through the loading cycle. He stared quietly until he saw Sher on the other side. Aine sat at her desk, sipping her customary Barry’s with a splash of milk, in the Security Office aboard the Resolution waiting for the subspace connection to finish. The notification she received told her who it was, but she was a little nervous nonetheless. It’d been a few months since her and Sil had spoken, both of them busy with their respective ships. The connection seemed almost stuck at 99%, then it finally went through and there he was! Before she could react he raised his arms in the air, with a fake angry expression and shouted. Silveira: FINALLY. Sherlock: ::faking a shocked look on her face:: Am I late? Vitor laughed and shook his head. Aine couldn’t help but smile back. Sil always had a way of being dramatic and humorous at the same time. Silveira: I was thinking you forgot me already. I am pretty sure I still make an impression on those I meet. Sherlock: You know you always do. Rarely does anyone quickly forget the magnanimous Vitor Silveira! Vitor smiled and nodded, this time shedding away all the shenanigans. It was good to see Sher again. They were on the same Cadet Cruise and he bonded with her right from the start. Silveira: I know, I am just teasing. ::He winked as he nodded.:: You're looking good Lieutenant. It’s really good to see you again. Sherlock: And you as well, Lieutenant. ::giving him a nod:: Looks like the Juneau’s been keeping you busy. Silveira: I see active service suits you. Even sitting down you look taller, you must have grown what? Three inches? Sherlock: ::rolling her eyes:: Ha, ha. I know, still short as ever. Vitor laughed. Aine was glad to see he hadn’t lost his sense of humor. Sherlock: So, how are things on that big fancy ship of yours? Silveira: Pretty good now. ::He raised both his thumbs up. :: Shore leave time. How about you? I heard you had some trouble on your last mission. ::He kept smiling but his forehead wrinkled in concern. :: Are you alright? Aine suddenly had a flashback. Ash falling from the sky of a desolate colony world long dead. A Nascaik officer restrained and paralyzed facing imminent death. And the tall wispy Thama who’d set all of it motion by blowing a hole in the Resolution. Sherlock: ::nodding her head:: Yeah, was a little crazy. The terrorist was who we least expect it to be. But things worked out ok in the end. Silveira: I am glad to hear that. It must have been a daunting experience. ::Victor's smile dimmed slightly.:: We didn't face that on our cadet cruise. Sherlock: Most definitely not. Even if that’d been real, it’d have been a pleasure cruise compared to what’s happened to me since then. Specifically, Aine was now thinking about getting propelled 300,000 years into the future with killer lizard men trying to gun them down. It’d been a long 6 months. Vitor nodded, he knew that feeling all too well. In fact that was also one of the reasons he hadn't yet reached out to Sher. But he forced that thought away and put on a wider smile. Silveira: All is well when it ends well. Let us enjoy our leave and digress over more agreeable things. Sherlock: Yes! Onto lighter topics! Please! Have any fun in your downtime? Vitor tilted his head. There was a slight blush on his cheeks when he thought of what he planned to do. Silveira: Not yet, but I have something planned. Sherlock: ::eyes narrowing:: Something ::beat:: with someone? A sly smile quickly formed on Aine’s face. Vitor raised an eyebrow and shrugged. Silveira: Yeah, there is an engineer I find very attractive. I will be asking her out. Hopefully she will agree. Sherlock: Huh, an engineer. She must be good with her hands. Vitor raised an eyebrow and tilted his head sideways. Silveira: Really? Sherlock: ::laughing:: I’m only joking. I’m sure that if she’s caught your attention she must be special. I’m happy for you. Where are you guys taking leave anyways? Vitor shook his head and smiled. Silveira: Probably back at Lightside Station, not yet sure. ::Vitor crossed his fingers under his chin and leaned forward.:: And how about you, my little heartbreaker? I am sure you had many eyes turned in your direction. Any romantic encounters? Sherlock: No. ::beat:: Ok, there was an attempt at one. But I just don’t think I can do a relationship right now. Silveira: I don’t believe that. ::Winking:: Besides I know all too well you have a crush on me. Alas, long distance relationships are complicated. Sherlock: ::rolling her eyes with a smile:: Lucky me. ::giving Vitor a wink:: Silveira: We will always have our cadet cruise. Sherlock: And we never know where we’ll end up. Aine paused for a moment. Looking at the handsome Lieutenant, though she’d never admit that aloud so as not to feed that ego, she thought about just how far they’d come in such a short time. And even farther they had to go. Sherlock: Well, my shift’s about to start and we’ll be heading into the Briar Patch today. But, we’ll do this again, ::pointing at Vitor:: soon. And if by chance we’re at the same place in time on leave, we’ll definitely get together. Deal? Vitor kept smiling when Sher paused. He recalled when his career was starting, as he realized Sher was going through those growing pains as well. He wished they were closer to each other, she grew to become a true friend. oO Figuratively off course. But little as you may be I am pretty sure you are on your way to become a giant Little One. Oo Silveira: That we do. Sherlock: I’ll talk to you soon. Stay safe out there. Have a good one. Vitor nodded before replying and he waved as he spoke. Silveira: Take care and behave. I want to talk to you soon and in one piece. When the comline was cut he leaned back. It hadn’t come up in their conversation, so he just let his thought speak instead . oO Take care of Nicholotti as well, tell her… I said hi. Oo End Lt. J. G. Vitor S.Silveira Tactical Officer USS Juneau, NX-99801 O238907VS0 and Lieutenant Junior Grade Aine Sherlock Security Officer USS Resolution R239712AS0
  11. @Meidra Sirin and @Maz Rodan have done a fabulous job creating an intership JP of two people who shouldn't know each other, justifying it, and then having a hell of a lot of fun with it. Well done guys! ((Risa - The Grand Key Resort; Main Lobby)) Regan was impressed with the lavish interior of the Grand Key. He hadn’t stayed there before, mostly because when he was on the planet he stayed at his family’s beach house on the seafront - it was only a stone's throw away from the main chain of hotels and nightlife in the beach district. Meidra wasn’t sure what to expect at a Tribble competition, but her little friend was not as confident in herself as she should be, and Meidra believed that this event would help Roc gain some much needed self esteem. Addison would have rolled her eyes at the suggestion, so Meidra just told her it was a psychological training class that involved therapy animals. A slight fib, but Meidra didn’t need that kind of negativity in her life. It was fun, however, to take Roc for the required physical for the competition. Doctor Genkos Adea, CMO and second officer of Resolution had a background in veterinary science due to working with his father while younger, and was qualified to give Roc a clean bill of health before Meidra whisked her off to the bright lights of the big city. The fact that he considered Tribbles the scourge of the universe only served to amuse the counselor when booking the appointment for R. Sirin. Looking back on the memory of his face, she had to fight giggles. Getting out of her transport, she looked up to see the marquee “Grand Key Resort” above her, and walked inside to find their room for the duration. The Grand Key was the host of the annual ‘Furs’ competition. Tribble fanciers from all over the Quadrant gathered once a year for the showing, and today was a busy day. The lobby was packed with all kinds of people milling about and chattering to each other excitedly. Some carried Tribbles in their arms; stroking them, petting them, others had them in custom carry cages, and the lobby was filled with the unmistakable sound of cooing. Regan carried Trevor in a cage - sturdy plastic with enough gaps for him to be visible and get plenty of fresh air. He’d got it custom made and decided against the plush pillow he usually laid the creature out on. Carrying him around made him feel like he was carrying a precious jewel rather than a pet. He turned to the front desk and registered his name - and Trevor’s - for the competition. As he was finished signing in Trevor made a cacophonous cooing noise which made Regan glance down at the cage. Trevor was shaking. Regan looked around and spotted a woman with pointed ears carrying her own Tribble. He smiled and nodded to the woman. Meidra noticed the shaking Tribble and smiled at his excitement. She wasn’t an expert on Tribble physiology since the exobiology classes at the Academy seemed to skip over the creatures, but she was getting the impression that Roc was being admired. Roc, for her part, was cooing gently as if to calm the other Tribble, and Meidra was quite proud of her little therapy animal. The counselor had an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, and was holding her white Tribble, gently telling her things were going to be just fine. Wilde: I think he likes you. Or your Tribble. He doesn’t usually get this animated on the ship. Sirin: He’s very handsome, Mister… ? Wilde: Oh, forgive me. ::He replaced the cage on the other hand and extended his free one.:: My name is Wilde. Regan Wilde. I serve on the USS Arrow. Sirin: Lieutenant Meidra Sirin. A pleasure to meet you. Regan smiled and tilted his head. Another Starfleeter. He would never have guessed with neither of them being in uniform. Wilde: Sirin? Where do I know that name… Sirin: My mother is a noted historian, perhaps you have heard of …. Regan clicked his fingers together in acknowledgement. His memory wasn’t failing him just yet. Meidra, knowing what was coming, simply continued to check in while Regan figured it all out. Roc was making the strangest soft sound, like she was talking to herself in hushed tones. Meidra smiled at the idea her Tribble was taking it all in and seemed content. Wilde: The Meidra Sirin!? Deep Space 224!? The counselor shrugged good naturedly, wondering how he’d heard of her adventure with her cousin Alieth. Addison had made it clear that it wasn’t something she wanted too many others to know about. Meidra smirked to herself. oOYou can’t stop a legend….or one of those blasted wanted posters were found again. Oo Sirin: ::lowering her sunglasses with her free hand:: You... know about that? Regan grinned, making the deep green of his eyes twinkle. Wilde: ::Chuckling.:: Oh, honey, everybody knows about that. ::Beat:: I’m a security officer. We all got the memo. Don’t worry, though. I am a bit of a misfit on my ship too. I’d love to hear the whole story of how you took on Klingons. Meidra pushed her sunglasses back up and nodded, happy to have met someone who wasn’t judging her for past mistakes. Sirin: Perhaps once my friend and I here have a chance to settle into our room. ::whispers:: I told my First Officer this was a training symposium for Tribbles. She didn’t look closely at the paperwork, so here we are. ::speaks at a normal volume:: I’d love to hear more about your Tribble. What is his name? Wilde: This is Trevor! ::He held up the cage for inspection.:: My little pride and joy. I do all of his grooming myself. The shampoos, the styling. I’ve been trying to get that top little patch of hair into a mohawk, but so far no success… The counselor got a strong feeling that the pink creature in front of her was not fond of the prospect of such a hairstyle, but she nodded diplomatically. Roc was happy just to be brushed nightly. Sirin: A mohawk would be quite - different. Wilde: And your little Tribble, what’s their name? Sirin: Roc, it means hope in Vulcan. She is my little junior counselor, we visit people in Sickbay when needed. She’s very popular with everyone ::thinks of Genkos:: well - almost everyone. Wilde: You told your First Officer you were coming to a training seminar? Would they have frowned upon a showing competition? Were things so different on Meidra’s ship than the Arrow? Sirin: No she wouldn’t have objected at all. She would have teased me mercilessly over my desire to come to something so illogical. Being half Vulcan, most people assume that I have no desire for such things. What about your situation? Is it similar? Wilde: On the contrary, if I told Commander Collins I was coming to a training symposium, he’d look at me strange. A showing competition is far more my style. Sirin: I can see that, you and Trevor are quite stylish. She finished checking in, then gave her full attention to her new acquaintance. Her pure white Tribble seemed to stare at Trevor, but Meidra figured that it was because the only others she’d ever been near had not been pleasant. The little noises she made were quite soothing. Wilde: So you’re staying here? At The Grand Key? Maybe we can hang around together and check out the competition. Sirin: That sounds fun. To tell you the truth, I needed to take a few days and just recharge. We have a small ship, but in a way, that makes it difficult to have any time to oneself. Wilde: I definitely know that feeling. I’m here for shore leave too. Are you here totally for pleasure, or business too? They began walking together towards the elevator leading to the guest rooms. Pressing the button to enter, they quickly chose their floor and watched the doors close on the bustling crowd in the lobby. The two Tribbles seemed to be cooing at each other, and Meidra glanced down to smile at them before answering. Sirin: My boyfriend is in the middle of a week of training, he’s an EMT and has to keep his skills current. So, when I heard about this competition, I thought it would be a good bonding experience for Roc and myself. She’s got some self esteem issues. Wilde: Ah, a mix of both! The idea of a Tribble with self-esteem issues made his nose wrinkle in amusement. Tribbles were such fascinating creatures. He’d wanted one for as long as he could remember. He was so pleasured and flattered when Mees had found him one while they were blockaded over Theta 122. Meidra grinned, leaning in to confide in Regan. Sirin: And maybe I have always wanted to come to a Tribble showing competition. I’ve read about them, but never seemed to find time to attend. She had a flash of something pass through her mind, and realized she was picking up emotional signals from the nice young man. Something about a wedding. Sirin: Have you been to one before? Wilde: This is my first competition, too. Technically I’m here for shore leave, though my twin sister is getting married soon and she let me organise the bachelorette party. But I managed to get some free time away from organization duties. This is going to be such fun! Sirin: You seem rather confident. One thing Regan Wilde did not lack was confidence. Wilde: Are you kidding, Trevor is a sure thing! He’s well groomed. He’s got a top range melody. His obedience could be a little better… He cast a suspicious eye at his pink little companion. For a species as docile as Tribbles, Trevor had a curiously disobedient streak to him. Regan would wake up in the night and the little pink ball of fur would not be on his sleeping pillow, or a different position in his quarters entirely. Wilde: But I’m forever an optimist. Winning would be incredible! Sirin: It would certainly give bragging rights. She imagined getting Roc a little crown and throne, then throwing a little celebratory party for her when she returned to Resolution. Then celebrating seeing her boyfriend again. Her pleasant thoughts were interrupted by Regan’s next question. Wilde: You mentioned self-esteem issues with Roc? How did you come to that conclusion? Sirin: She comes from the wildlife sanctuary on Vulcan and the others were less than kind to her. I was looking for a therapy animal to assist me in counseling duties but it seems that I must first build up her sense of worth. The elevator door opened, and the four started down the corridor. Wilde: Now that sounds really interesting. Trevor is my therapy Tribble, too. I was given him after a mission in the Alpha Isles… How much was he willing to confide in this new acquaintance of his? Obviously not too much to think he was a nut-job. So no mention of night terrors. Or episodes of lost time. Could he tell her about the pirates who boarded the Arrow? Probably. Captain Ghant? Sure. Captain Ghant torturing him and using his own Reman knife to cut out his eye and then eat it like an appetizer? Absolutely not. He controlled his thoughts and masked his moment of distraction with his signature smile. Wilde: This is going to sound forward, but I’d love to discuss therapy Tribbles some more. Are you free for dinner tonight? I know all the hot-spots of Risa. ::He almost winked conspiratorially.:: Thanks to my Wilde youth. Pun intended. For some reason, most people delighted in puns about his name. Sirin: Dinner sounds fun. Thank you for the invitation. Meidra hadn’t planned to go out her first night at the resort, but Wilde seemed like someone who would be an excellent dinner companion. Wilde: Excellent. I’ll send my shuttle to pick you up. Eight o’clock? Sirin: I’ll be ready. Is your room nearby? Regan looked around the corridor and chuckled. He’d been so engrossed in conversation he almost forgot he didn’t have a reservation. Wilde: Oh, I’m not staying here. My family has a beach house on the seafront. A few of us from the ship are staying there. Sisters bachelorette party, as I mentioned. Sirin: I see, well, enjoy seeing your family. I need to get this one ready for her nap, it’s been a long day for her already. Wilde: Then I shall see you at dinner, Meidra. It’s always fun to meet a fellow officer. And I’m sure there are lots of adventures to be had here. Though I will warn you, I’m not fighting Klingons… ::He grinned mischievously.:: Well, no promises! Sirin: Hah, you’ll be fighting them alone ::holds up Roc:: I have this little one to think of now. Oo And Addison would probably leave me in the brig this time oO Wilde left with a grin, and Meidra entered her room, quickly setting up a bed for Roc with a hotel pillow. She sighed, heading to take a quick shower, wondering how her little friend would like the competition. There was a restlessness in Roc, and Meidra was determined to find its source and help get the Tribble to a happier mind set. After she’d changed, she sent off a quick message to her boyfriend, Dwich, letting him know that she was thinking of him and hoping he did well with his training classes. She flinched, remembering an ill fated self defense class where she’d accidentally broken his arm. Thankfully, he hadn’t been seriously injured, and they’d finally confessed their feelings after months of near misses. Standing up, she went over to the large window and gazed at the stars that were just beginning to make themselves known. She was at peace, confident that there would be no drama or chaos on this shore leave. Smiling, she went to the mini bar and took out a bottle of Vulcan brandy, filling her flask. It was going to be a good night. ((Risa - Gino’s Bar and Grill)) Regan had sent his shuttle to pick his new friend - Meidra Sirin - up from The Grand Key, and deposited them a short time later at Gino’s, a little out of the way joint which wasn’t too fancy and overpriced, but not too low brow either. Regan had known Gino for years and always liked to stop in whenever he was on Risa. The handsome Risian was pleased to see him and offered them the best table. The little bar-slash-restaurant was lively tonight. Evidently the popularity of the place was on the up. Meidra smiled as Regan held out a chair for her, and she glanced around at the various people dancing and socializing. She wished Dwich had been able to come with her for this, but his career was very important to him because it allowed him to help others, and that was one of the many reasons she loved him. Wilde: I hope you don’t mind a little atmosphere with your dinner tonight? Sirin: On the contrary, I could use a bit of entertainment this evening. The buzz in the atmosphere was contagious, and Regan felt himself unwind almost instantly. The stress of organizing a party, combined with the sudden arrival of his mother and aunts at the beach house, had made him too tense to think straight. He was grateful for a chance to sneak away for the Tribble competition, and meeting another Starfleet officer who might understand that. Wilde: Your EMT boyfriend not joining us? Meidra sighed, missing Dwich a bit more, seeing the happy couples at dinner. Maybe they could go away together somewhere for a few days. She did have that cottage her grandmother had left her on a little out of the way planet. She could see them relaxing on the wraparound porch that circled the small home, watching the sunsets together. She shrugged, smiling at her dinner companion. Sirin: Unfortunately, his training sessions are keeping him busy. I won’t see him for another few days when I go back to Resolution. Wilde: Oh that’s a shame. I was going to ask if he had a medic friend he could introduce me to. When on Risa, as they say… He gave a smirk of amusement. Meidra matched it with one of her own, raising her water glass to salute him. She also wished Iljor was around so that she could introduce them. She wasn’t giving up on finding the science officer possible dates. Sirin: I’m sure you won’t lack for company once men know you are open to it. ::Looks around:: Risa looks a bit different since the last time I was here. Of course that was twenty years ago and I was not exactly looking at the scenery. ::winks:: My twin and I came here a few times to get away from the rest of the family. Separately of course. But we always shared our stories once we were back home. Wilde: Twenty years ago? I was but a child. ::He chuckled.:: Those Vulcan genes must do you wonders. Sirin: Thank you. I’m half El Aurian so they tell me that contributes to it as well. Wilde: How fascinating that you’re a twin! I’m a twin too! Roxy can get quite embarrassed about some of the things I used to get up on Risa. I was a bit of a reckless one when I was younger. Sirin: After our kahs wan, we left Vulcan for quite some time. During our teenage years, my brother and I came up with many ways to get into trouble. Oo Thankfully those records are sealed. oO A member of the waiting team came to take their order, and Regan waited for Meidra to order before he ordered his meal. Meidra chose a spicy hasperat then smiled up at the waiter. Sirin: Whatever Bolian cider is in season please. Regan? He held up a hand politely and waved it slightly. He offered an apologetic smile. Wilde: I’m… err… actually coming up six years sober. ::To the waiter.:: Just a fruit [...]tail for me, please. Sirin: Apologies for my assumption. Wilde: Please, don’t apologise. It’s not a pleasant dinner topic, but… it’s part of who I am. I accepted it, and I take mandatory counselling for it. Among other things. Sirin: Do you not find these visits beneficial? Wilde: Oh I’m not afraid of the counselors office like a lot of officers are. Sometimes when I get talking R’Ariel has to reschedule other appointments. Meidra considered her own visits with Genkos. The good doctor was kind enough to agree to counsel her when needed, and she considered him a true friend. She said as much to Regan as she took another sip of water before her drink arrived. Sirin: It’s interesting being a counselor and needing therapy. Our CMO looks after my mental health since I’m the only counselor on board. I’d never admit it to him because he’d be embarrassed, but I think he’s one of the most compassionate men I’ve ever met. Wilde: ::Nodding.:: I think a lot of doctors are. Kind of comes with the territory, doesn’t it? She remembered her former fiance and how he was anything but kind. Those memories would stay with her, locked away, no matter how much therapy she had. She pushed the thoughts away, but still, answered his question with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. Sirin: You would think so, but I have found that some doctors only look at people as test subjects. Then again, some people think of creatures like Tribbles as test subjects. It is always refreshing to meet a physician that truly values life. Wilde:: Have you found Tribbles to be… beneficial in counselling? He expected a laugh or jeer or something, but he was actually quite serious. Wilde: That’s a legitimate question, by the way. I know Tribbles get a lot of flack sometimes, but Trevor has been a huge help to me. The counselor nodded. Roc had comforted quite a few patients in Resolution’s sickbay. Something about a purring ball of fluff made even the most hardened hearts melt. Unless one was a certain grumpy CMO, but he’d come around eventually. Sirin: I believe I have found few creatures so in tune with compassion and the feelings of those around them. They exude a calmness that makes them invaluable in a counseling setting. Where did you find Trevor, if you don’t mind my asking? Wilde: Oh, he was a gift. From a friend. We had a bad mission at Theta 122. Well, we had several, but I’m trying not to keep score. Orion pirates boarded us and caused a lot of damage to the ship. The Captain of them and I… fought and she injured me. Quite badly. And I started having interrupted sleep and losing time. I guess you could call it PTSD. And Trevor helps at night when I wake up. Sirin: I’m sure you give the same comfort and familiarity to Trevor. After some issues with my family, I guess I felt a bit alone. We were on Vulcan for shore leave recently, and found myself at a wildlife sanctuary looking at Tribbles - I had one as a child - and Roc was alone in a corner, shunned by the others just for being a pure white creature while they were boring browns and greys. I suppose she reminded me of myself. Surrounded by family, but shunned for being different. ::points at red hair:: This doesn’t exactly scream Vulcan. Meidra remembered her last trip to Vulcan where her grandfather had sent assassins after her just for being less than a perfect Vulcan. She took a sip of her drink and focused on enjoying her evening. Wilde: I’m wondering if Starfleet will sanction their use as official therapy animals. We still use dogs and cats, why not Tribbles? Sirin: Why not, indeed? Officially, Roc is listed as a pet, but she’s been very helpful getting my patients to open up in a safe environment. Not many can be stressed around a Tribble. Unless one is Klingon, and I’m not sure the usual counseling methods work well with them anyway. In my experience, it tends to be more - physical - when discussing issues with one. Meidra thought back to her night in the brig on DS224 - true, she’d been reprimanded by one angry First Officer, but the tattoo and the memory was precious to her. She really should call Alieth soon and see how she was doing with her very illogical ship mates on the Thor. If she wasn’t in a relationship now, she may have been tempted to find the Klingon scientist she debated later that night in the brig. She laughed to herself, knowing that would never happen. Dwich was her ashyam, her beloved, and she smiled to herself as she thought of him. Sirin: Do you see it happening? Wilde: I’m sure with a few strong supporters, they might seriously consider it. I wouldn’t mind backing such a movement. If all else fails, it could be done privately. I have the latinum to invest. I just need the Tribbles, and for that, I’d need a breeding license from the TFA. Meidra nodded thoughtfully. Finding unaltered Tribbles was hard enough, finding specimens suitable for a breeding program was increasingly difficult. She wondered what one needed to do in order to be granted a license. She then smirked, wondering how Genkos would appreciate Resolution overrun with cooing Tribbles. Sirin: Is that difficult to procure? I know the Tribbles on Vulcan are sterilized, but - nothing is one hundred percent effective on that front. I’m reminded of an old human saying, life finds a way. Wilde: The Tribble Fanciers Association is quite strict with whom they grant licenses to. Tribble breeding is quite tricky. You’ve probably read the reports of when it goes wrong… Sirin: ::takes a sip of her cider:: Thousands of breeding, voracious Tribbles overrunning every unclaimed bit of space. It would certainly get interesting quickly. Wilde: ::Chuckling:: As amused as I would be to see a ship overrun with Tribbles, I can see why others would protest. Sirin: Tribbles are quite docile unless… Wilde: Experimented on... Sirin: Yes I have heard of the experiments Edward Larkin did on the Cabot.::takes a sip of cider:: I hear he was suffocated by a mountain of Tribbles for his hubris in injecting them with his own DNA. ::shrugs:: Thankfully, Vulcan has worked to reverse this, but it’s probably a losing battle. To get permission to knowingly breed a population that can overpopulate without regulation may be difficult. ((Meidra and Roc’s suite, the Grand Key Resort)) Roc had had a short but productive nap, and now was waiting for the human to return to her to prepare a cup of tea for them and sing her to sleep. She wasn’t sure what a competition was, but would try to do her best for Meidra. She couldn’t help thinking about the Tribble she’d noticed downstairs as Meidra made another new friend. He was a Tribble, yes, but - pink. She’d never known one with such bright coloring and such an aura of chaos. She could feel him generating rage as quickly as she instinctively tried to soothe his anger. It was exhausting how many things he complained about. Baths, hair styling, being spoken to. It was enough to make Roc wonder why he hadn’t jumped into a pool of lava - surely life with such a caring human was not something to be reviled? Still, there was something about him that drew her to him. He seemed to have such a strong personality and she was quite mesmerized by it. She needed to see him again and learn more. Settling back into her pillow, she bounced once onto the remote for a viewing screen on the wall and started to watch an old documentary on the history of bread making. ((Meanwhile…)) ((The Wilde Beach House)) The filthy biped - the stupid one with the hair products - had left him alone for the evening, and Trevor was always glad for the solitude. Bipeds were a disease, and he feared spending too much time with them would infect his pure little body. Besides, this biped did nothing but talk! Useless, mindless talk - content to drivel on about everything and nothing. It drove the tiny creature half mad… Then there was the pampering. Ceaseless baths, and shampoos, hair styling and the usual degrading processes this insane biped subjected him to. It was torture! It must be amusing for the bipeds to treat other creatures of the galaxy so inhumanely. Trevor had to face facts. He was a pet! A primitive form of life whose purpose was solely to amuse the feeble minded biped in whose clutches he was now a slave. But he’d show them. Soon, he would have his revenge, and all bipeds would get what they deserved. He’d planned it for months now. He had a way to control the weak minded fools who thought themselves his masters. Yet… the white one. He’d sensed her in the hotel earlier that night. She was different, somehow. He sensed in her an aura. A power similar to his own, but… different. Trevor didn’t know what it meant. But he was eager to see the white one again, and soon… ( (Risa - Grand Key Resort; Main Competition Tent)) “GOOD MORNING, RISA! I’m Vivienne Zavaroni and I’m here at the luxurious Grand Key Resort at the south beach for the annual Tribble Showing Extravaganza - ‘Furs’. Always the pinnacle of showing season, ‘Furs’ has been a staple for Risian culture and tourism for nearly a decade and attracts Tribble owners, breeders, showers and fanciers from all across the quadrant in three action-packed days of competition. We’re seeing thousands of people in attendance this year and the excitement is definitely in the air! ‘Furs’ is judged on five categories including Best Breed, Agility, Obedience, Melody and the coveted Best in Show. ::Beat:: The TFA judges are about to begin the proceedings and this FNS reporter is on hand all throughout the show to capture the highlights and backstage gossip. Let’s cut to the main parade ring and see some of the top contenders for Best in Show!" Regan had met with Meidra after breakfast to get into the main competition tent early and secure a good spot backstage. Meidra, for her part, was quite excited to be a part of something so different from the ordered life she had on Resolution. She wondered if she’d ask Aine to come along next time, the security officer enjoyed new experiences and made everyone around her just as excited with her infectious smile. The atmosphere was electric, even for Risa. All around competitors and event staff were rushing around and directing people to the right places in the tent, and the melody of the tent full of Tribbles was both soothing and exciting. After being directed to their preparation area backstage in the massive showing tent, Regan turned to his new friend. Wilde: Have you got everything? Sirin: I think so, this is our first time, so I’m hoping I’m not missing anything. I can see you’re relaxed though. Oo I wonder if anything makes Regan doubt himself. oO Wilde: What about you, nervous? Meidra looked around at the various trainers and Tribbles, feeling quite out of her element. She shrugged, grinning. Sirin: It’s odd, I’ve been in hand to hand combat with Klingons, and yet I feel a bit overwhelmed being here today. As a former model on Betazed, Regan was used to the limelight and the attention. Still, he had to admit he did have a bellyful of butterflies today. So many people! He lifted Trevors carry cage onto a nearby table and began rooting through his backpack for all the grooming items he’d brought. Sirin: Is that all for today? ::remembers that she just brushed out Roc’s fur and hoped for the best:: Wilde: What category do you have first up? Sirin: I think it’s a dance number of some sort. ::watches Roc bounce up and down in her carrying cage:: She seems pretty excited. ::Roc coos at Trevor, trying to get his attention:: Wilde: I have obedience and agility first. I hope we’re ready… Sirin: I’m sure Trevor is more than ready to shine. They didn’t notice their Tribbles deep in conversation. Later, they would wish they had. ((Mini-Timewarp)) Regan was with the rest of the competitors in his category and stood in the tent in front of the judges. Famed Tribble breeder - Clarissa Dickinson-Smythe - was head judge for the competition. She was a prized shower for many years before deciding to try her hand at breeding. Regan found her to be delightfully eccentric. The President of the Tribble Fanciers Association - Duncan Lovejoy - was also on the judging panel. A prim and proper human, he cast a languid eye across the competitors. Meidra walked up to see the judging after Roc had easily won the dance competition. For a Tribble, it was mostly jumping up and down while trying to stay on the judging platform, but Roc seemed to have it under control, having practiced to old Terran music from Ireland, courtesy of Aine. She saw Regan and Trevor, giving them a small wave of support from her seat nearby. Trevor was being less obedient than usual, which didn’t bode well for a competition in which you were judged on your obedience. They were standing at their little table waiting for the judges to pass along. Regan smiled when they reached his table and presented Trevor for inspection. Clarissa administered the standard checks then picked up the fuzzy pink ball of fur. Dickinson-Smythe: What a beautiful hue. And a mohawk? Such an inventive use of style! Wilde: Thank you! I do them myself. Lovejoy: Certainly one of the best styled. Meidra had the strongest feeling that something bad was going to happen, but she had no idea what it was. Her stomach started to churn, and her vision became a bit blurred. She could have sworn she heard someone call her name, but that was obviously just her imagination. Clarissa held Trevor up to eye level to further inspect the creature, when suddenly she let out a piercing shriek and almost dropped the Tribble. Regan reacted quickly to catch Trevor as he fell from the judges hand. Dickinson-Smythe: It bit me!? Lovejoy: Come now, Clarissa. That’s quite impossible. Dickinson-Smythe: I tell you it bit me! Trevor - nestled in Regan’s hands - began emitting a tinny shrill sound as opposed to his usual dull and soothing coo. Tribbles all around the tent began reacting immediately and started shaking and making shrill sounds of their own. Almost like they were in pain. Their owners and handlers looked to each other in shock and surprise as the commotion grew in intensity. Roc started shaking and Meidra took her out of her cage, holding her close to soothe her. The shaking only became more pronounced, and Meidra started to worry she was ill. The rest of the competitors were panicking now, and the sound of confused shouts and Tribble shrieks filled the tent. Wilde: Trevor? What are you doing? As if in response, a fiery red aura emitted from the Tribble. The squeals increased and even more confusion erupted as the rest of the Tribbles in the tent emitted the same cruel aura. The Tribbles began reacting violently and began attacking and biting their handlers. People were shouting, screaming and running around to escape the chaos now in the tent. People started throwing cages at each other, growling like Trevor. Meidra heard her name again and was startled to realize it was Roc. She glanced up at the chaos around her as a chair narrowly missed hitting her and Trevor seemed to be laughing. She ducked as a punch bowl sailed past, Tribbles riding inside like they were relaxing on a churning purple lake. Roc was agitated, and Meidra held her, cooing to her gently. The little creature immediately started humming loudly, a strong, melodic sound that seemed to grow in intensity, as she started to glow. A pure white light started to seep from the Tribble, bathing both itself and the counselor in a cocoon of peace. She could hear Roc as clear as if she were speaking aloud, and watched in horror as the pink Tribble took control of the room. Roc: ~Pink one! This is not the way!~ Trevor: ~Silence!~ Roc: ~Meidra, do something, he’s out of control.~ Meidra felt the light surround her even as the screams and flying Tribbles surrounded them. She could see the chaos even if she could not move to stop any of it. Two of the larger furry creatures had torn down the **Welcome to Furs** sign that had hung above the main podium and were bouncing around, tripping people as they made their way through the room. Sirin: He’s attacking, Regan. You have to get him to stop. Wilde: I don’t understand? Roc: ~Meidra~ Sirin: Get him back in his cage before he hurts someone! Regan held the little fiery Tribble at arms length, as if to give him a stern telling off. Trevor moved like lightning, quicker than anyone had ever seen a Tribble move before. He raced along the outstretched arm and up behind the humans neck. Regan let out a terrified yelp as what seemed to be fangs sank into the back of his neck and into his spine. His eyes rolled up, revealing a deathly white. The same angry red aura that emanated from Trevor moments before now enveloped the security officer. He stood solemnly like a statue, almost regal as the eyes he no longer saw with scanned the room, Trevor (as Wilde): Attention puny bipeds! Your arrogance and domination of this universe is at an end... Sirin:: Regan? ::realization hits:: You’re not Regan. What are you doing? These people haven’t done anything to you. Roc:: ~ Your anger is misplaced, my friend. Let us help you. These are good people.~ Trevor (as Wilde): Prepare to be enslaved! The winds started to pick up, knocking over a barrel of premium, Grade A Tribble Kibble, scattering tiny pieces of food like a swarm of stinging insects, getting into eyes, noses, ears. It was turning into a blitz of grain that had a life of its own. One judge tried to put the lid back on the barrel, only to have it tip over and chase him out of the tent screaming for his life. Sirin: ::to Roc:: ~We’re going to have to stop him on our own.~ ::to Trevor/Wilde:: This is ridiculous, you can’t destroy people over a bad haircut. Roc: ::to Meidra:: ~I don’t want to hurt the pink one. ~ In response, Trevor caused Regan to outstretch his arm, and an energy bolt erupted from his fingertips. A nearby table burst into flames and sent more people scurrying for cover. The tent seemed to moan with pain, and the wind intensified, sending judging PADDs flying in all directions. Trevor (as Wilde): I will use this pampered, simpering bipeds body to complete my plans for galactic domination. The bipedal age is at an end. Red lightning hit the top of the tent, splitting it down the center as people continued to scream. One Tribble bit another judge and he spun around, thinking it was the judge next to him. A punch was thrown, prompting a return shot, and soon people were brawling in the midst of the kibble storm. Meidra sheltered Roc as she faced down the mohawk wearing demon, determined to end this disaster before they were hurt, or worse, thrown into a brig. She did not intend on ending up in another brig. Addison would have her head. He was about to let another energy burst when he felt the presence of the one who intrigued him. The white creature with a form like his present one. Roc’s calming energy strived to reach the furious ball of pink but he was resisting. She senses something strange about him, like he was more than she was, yet still, not fully a Tribble. Sirin: Roc, can you talk to Trevor? Roc: Give me a minute, he’s gone nuts. Sirin: ::dryly:: Is that your professional opinion? Trevor (as Wilde): You… the white one. You are not like the others. To Meidra, it seemed like the pink fluffball was trying to puff himself up like a fish she’d seen in an old Terran biology text. She wondered if she pinched him, he’d deflate. The sounds he was making reminded her of an angry goat, another Terran creature. At this rate, she was going to have to go to Terra because they seemed to have the most interesting animals. Sirin: What is he saying? Roc: Again - need a minute. ::to Trevor:: You can’t kill these people, they are not your enemy. Trevor (as Wilde): Spare me your sympathy for the bipeds! Why do you ally yourself with such basic creatures? Sirin: Regan, can you hear me? I know you are in there. ::knocks her fist onto his head:: Hello?? Regan? Come out, come out wherever you are. Another chair flew by and Meidra was startled to see a judge hanging onto it. Shaking her head, she turned back to the chaos in front of her. Roc: Save your attempt, Meidra. The human’s mind is like jelly right now, sweet but not very solid. Trevor (as Wilde): I am not from this dimension. Not from this universe. I am a traveller. I took this form to explore. ::Beat:: I despise this universe. The bipeds way of life. I must eliminate it! Sirin: ::to herself:: maybe if I zap him with a phaser….. Roc: Meidra! Not helping. Sirin: Fine, what if I just did a Vulcan nerve thingie on him. Roc: That is not what that move is called. And no, you might hurt the human’s brain. Sirin: Like the psychotic shapeshifting Tribble isn’t doing enough of that? Trevor (as Wilde): ::To Roc:: You have so much power, white one. So many gifts… Why waste them? Roc: Perhaps I like knowing the universe I live in isn’t going to implode with me in it. Trevor (as Wilde): It is not that easy. I have… Eons of loneliness of this unknown cosmic being-in-Tribble-form had taken its toll. Hate was all he knew. It was his purpose. Wasn’t it? Roc: I feel your pain. That isn’t all that this universe has to offer. Trevor (as Wilde): What else is there for me? Roc: I would be willing to travel with you, to show you all that this universe can give to us. And perhaps, what we can offer in return. Trevor (as Wilde): You would… do that. For me? ::The pink menace pondered. Regan’s eyebrows arched involuntarily.:: Is this a trick? Roc: It’s an offer. We can be as strong as we’d like, without destroying all that is. What do you think? Trevor (as Wilde): You are wise, white one. Together, perhaps we shall learn more of this universe. I accept your invitation. The little white Tribble seemed to gaze up at her friend and sigh. Meidra couldn’t understand Trevor, but she had heard Roc’s words, and knew that this was the end of their journey together. She hugged her Tribble to her, feeling proud and a bit mystified why Roc would willingly go off with a crazed alien - whatever - was now in the form or a harmless looking pink ball of fluff. Roc: Meidra, I thank you for giving me a home, but Trevor has given me a purpose. I was never really meant to help those on Resolution. They have you. But this one needs me. I must go with him. I hope you understand. Sirin: I know you are right. I have no idea what happened here today or how we are speaking now, but I know if anyone can help that….::sighs:: Trevor….it would be you. Meidra glared at the defiant pink ball of chaos and took a deep breath. Sirin: She’s made her choice. But if I ever hear that you have harmed her, I’ll find a way to find you. ::her voice softens:: Keep her safe, Trevor. And good luck. Then, as if by the flash of some all-powerful Q, Trevor and Roc were gone. The chaos and madness of the remaining Tribbles died down, and the fires and smoke cleared like fog on a summer's day. The Risian sunshine peeked through the tatters of the ‘Furs’ tent, or what was left of it. The competitors of ‘Furs’ began clearing up the remains of the competition, and a very confused Regan stepped out over a fallen barrel of Tribble kibble, his clothes partially-singed, his hair looking like he’d taken 10, 000 volts, and ash smeared across most of his face. Sirin: ::fighting hysterical giggles:: Are you all right? You look like you’ve been through an electrical storm. Wilde: Where’s Trevor? And Roc? Sirin: Gone. Together. I supposed it was fate. Or some sort of practical joke of the universe. Wilde: The little sod bit me! Sirin: Well, I’m sure there is a first aid kit somewhere in this mess. Let’s find you a bandage. Wilde: I’m so sorry. I had no idea my pet therapy Tribble was a psychotic being from another dimension. You think you have a connection with someone… Sirin: Somehow, I think the two of you did have a connection. It was a bit deranged, and probably the least healthy I’ve ever seen, but it was there. The remaining judges - head of the TFA Lovejoy and famed Tribble shower Clarissa Dickinson-Smythe approached - each looking rather haggard. Lovejoy: Mr Wilde! Regan rubbed his scorched sleeve across his face, to try and make himself a little more presentable. He despised being called Mr. Wilde. It always made him feel subservient, like someone was addressing a butler. Lovejoy: I think it is safe to say your membership to the Tribble Fanciers Association is hereby revoked! Dickinson-Smythe: And you can forget about a Breeders License, too! Without further ado, they left. Moments later Risian security poured onto the scene, along with emergency services, fire and rescue and the very frantic-looking management of the Grand Key Resort. Regan saw the end of the phaser rifle press against his nose and he very weekly raised his hands in surrender. Sirin: Good luck Regan, I’ll see if I can talk someone into getting you out of this mess once I figure out how far I’m into it. Wilde: ::Side-glancing his new friend.:: Well I must say, Counselor, this has been such fun! Shall we meet up again for next year's event? Sirin: Regan, if you even think of getting another Tribble, I’ll find a way to blast you out of this universe myself. The two friends smiled at each other as Wilde was led away.
  12. @Alex Brodie has a way of really deepening his character and also giving more depth to a situation. Here we see a blast from the past and a relation to something that involves the planet the Thor is now taking shore leave on - Cardassia. I can't wait to see what happens next. I love this look into Brodie's past! IC: ((Applied Psychology Division, Elysium Research Institute, Mars)) ((Year: 2375)) Alexander Brodie sat watching the feed come in from the Federation News Service; he wasn’t channel hopping for fun though, this was work. FNS Reporter: I’m here with Anders De Brunn, Chief Financial Officer of Teldaris Resources. Mr De Brunn, can you comment on news reports from Ferenginar that Teldaris are being investigated by the Ferengi Commerce Authority over irregularities in commissions paid to agents to operate in the Irtok system? The man raised his mouth to his chin and rubbed his face unconsciously, covering his mouth. De Brunn: I’m glad you asked me that question… Brodie: ::Muttering:: No you’re not… De Brunn: …I can honestly say that there is absolutely no truth in these reports regarding an investigation from the Ferengi Commerce Authority. There were some undisclosed advanced payments to secure the contracts… It was all there. The repeating of the question, the raised shoulder, the change in cadence and lowering of the voice. Alex smiled while shaking his head and made a few notes. Brodie: ::Muttering:: …bribery… De Brunn: We’ve discussed this with the FCA and we’re satisfied that the matter is resolved to everyone’s satisfaction. He turned his wrist slightly, almost pointing at the interviewer to try and make the point and cover the lie again. FNS Reporter: Anders De Brunn, thank you. Now back to our main story, Federation relief efforts cont… The sound went off and Brodie turned around in his chair to see Tommy Morgan leaning near the control console for the audio-visual suite. Morgan was, to all intents and purposes, the business manager for the institute. While they primarily focused on research, they had a commercial arm that could be hired to examine corporate matters and, on occasion, support the court system. His presence meant there’d been a request but, to his credit, he went for small-talk first. Morgan: ::Nodding at the screen:: What do you think? Brodie: I think the Commerce Authority are raiding their offices as we speak. Morgan: Not a surprise really. He’s a business executive, they all lie. Brodie: True…but he is extremely bad at it. Tommy pointed to the screen. Images of the destruction on the Cardassian homeworld from the culmination of the Dominion War had dominated the news for the last two weeks since the peace treaty had been signed Morgan: Hell of a thing, isn’t it? Brodie leaned back in his chair. Brodie: I’m just glad it’s done and the threat is gone…or at least diminished. I still can’t quite shake those images of San Fransico…I’m just glad they left Mars alone. Morgan: For sure…actually…it’s on a similar subject that I’m here actually. There’s a request come in for a project – of world…out of the system actually. That was a cagier and more circumspect than he’d expected from Morgan. Alex regarded him more closely. Brodie: ::Suspiciously:: Why are you sweating? Morgan: It’s warm. Mars is hot…right? It wasn’t, and Tommy knew that. Brodie: ::Still suspicious:: Compared to Breen maybe…tell me, Tommy, exactly how far-slash-long is this trip you had in mind? Morgan: Er…::pointing at the screen::..Cardassia… Brodie: Cardassia! Morgan: …for three months. Broide: Three months! Morgan: Now, Alex, calm down. You see why I was sweating. ::Pause:: Look, the civilian government wants independent observers to make sure that those giving aid aren’t establishing any kind of political foothold…there’s a lot of players in the game. I know we’re Federation citizens but we’re not Starfleet. Broide: Thankfully…three months is a long time to be away though. You know we’re trying to start a family, right? Morgan: Yeah but, Ros isn’t pregnant yet, is she? Brodie glowered at the man. Brodie: Not that it’s any of your business but no – and that’s unlikely to change if I’m not here. Morgan: It’s just a few months… Brodie: On Cardassia! Which was a war zone until about two weeks ago!::Pause:: Why me? Morgan: You know why. You’ve made no secret you’re thinking of moving on when your grant runs out – and I’m not blaming you, far from it. You’re looking to start a family and you’re not tenured so I completely understand the desire for more security. Alex leaned forward, clasping his hands and resting his elbows on his knees. Brodie: But? Morgan: ::Sighing:: But the old man in the wheelchair doesn’t want to see you go – he knows you might but he wants you to know that, if you go without doing this then you’ll not get the reference you need. Brodie took a deep breath through his nose. He shouldn’t shoot the messenger, and he could now see why Tommy was sweating, but he would have his displeasure noted. Brodie: ::Icily:: So it’s blackmail now? Morgan: It’s…a mutually beneficial arrangement. We secure the best services for the job and you secure your future… Brodie: ::Standing:: What was it you were saying about business executives Tommy? Morgan: That’s a little harsh…I wouldn’t lie to you, Alex. Brodie looked the man right in the eye. Brodie: True…but then you know I’d know. He turned and looked at the feed, still playing out in silence… Brodie: I do not care for this, Tommy. Fine…send me the details. ::Grabbing his jacket and leaving the room:: I’m taking an early lunch…possibly a liquid one. TBC ------------------------------------ Lt. Cmdr. Alexander Brodie Chief Counselor USS Thor NCC-82607 dualitygamer@gmail.com Writer ID.: A239005BM0
  13. First there was a line to go into the "Juneau's Rememberable quotes!!! IC". Then another, another and another. After laughing... I mean reading it again I thought it best to post the hole thing here. IC: ((Lightside Station – Mega Deck – Simulation Red River - Street)) Wyss: Yep. We’ll have to disconnect it carefully. She handed Dekas a set of tools and gave him a lopsided smile as his hat disappeared once more. It was like the thing had a mind of it’s own. And since they were possibly dealing with telepathic technology she had to wonder if it really did. It gave new meaning to the phrase, “put your thinking cap on”. She stifled a laugh as she turned her attention to the problem at hand. Wyss: It seems to be connected to the mainframe. Looks like it’s running on it’s own power source. Do you see any connections? Dekas: response When she looked over at him his hat was back on. Strangely, the accessory suited him handsomely. Wyss: Let’s cut around the main line first to reduce the energy. Maybe we can avoid catastrophic damage to the deck. Dekas: response Wyss snickered. Wyss: Good point. Meanwhile, the angry mob was approaching with guns, and farming tools. Their intent was clear. The burning torches meant they had something specific in mind. T’Lea: :: to Karise :: If you can read their thoughts, can you send them thoughts? Indobri: Um…. I’m not sure. Even with real people, it’s tricky because of my lack of training. And it would be painful for a real person. I’m not sure what to expect from a hologram, if it would even work. And besides, what would I say that wouldn’t clinch their ideas that we’re demon and witches? T’Lea: I don’t know, tell them they’re sleepy. Indobri: Sleepy? Do you think that would work? No! Of course not! T’Lea was being sarcastic! But she didn’t have time to explain her snarky remark before a voice from behind hurried the idea along. Dekas: Preferably soon. Hopefully they get sleepy and think they’re dreaming. This was going to be a disaster, thought T’Lea. Indobri was the strongest telepath in the room and by her own confession not very well trained with her abilities. The Romu-vulc would have touched one their holographic minds herself, but it would have required physical contact and that’s what they were trying to avoid. Indobri: Are you sure we’re not the ones dreaming? :: beat :: Okay, fine. I will try, but I am not holding my hopes out on this. Wyss: Just a few more minutes. ::at Dekas:: I’ve got the three couplings on my side disconnected. How are you doing? Dekas: response T’Lea: Somebody better do something soon. Wyss: Almost there! T'Lea reached for the two six-shooters on her hips and pulled them, only to realize they were no longer bright shiny metal but yellow. In her hands were two bananas with triggers. She closed her eyes and shook her head. This would have been hilarious if it had been happening to somebody else. With an egregious sigh she gripped stem-end of the bananas and put her fingers on the triggers. Aiming was going to be a problem, but it didn’t really matter since she was a terrible shot anyway. The bigger question, other than her aim was what would come of the end of the bananas when she pulled the trigger. T’Lea: Doc…? Indobri: Just don’t let them lynch me before I get done. This is going to take a lot of concentration. T’Lea: They won’t get near you. That was a promise. And that was a promise from Nyka as well. While Dekas worked on disconnecting his end, she was working on a back-up plan. T’Lea’s eyes hardened to steel as the townsfolk closed the distance. She held her deadly bananas firmly, but not too firm lest they squished. She planted her feet and took awkward aim. A glance to her side told her that Indobri was gathering her mental strength. Indobri ~ You are getting very sleepy. You need to go to bed. You are very tired. A nap would be good right about now. Go to sleep. ~ Wyss winced as a sudden headache stabbed at the front of her forehead. She blinked her eyes and thought she heard Indobri’s voice telling her to go to sleep. It was so soothing, and familiar. She found herself struggling not to obey. Dekas: response Wyss: I think I’m getting tired. T’Lea’s head turned and she saw Wyss rub her groggy eyes. She looked to the town’s people and they were only a few yards away now, and still wide awake. T’Lea: ::at Dekas and Wyss:: In case you haven’t noticed, I am armed with fruit. Please hurry. Dekas: response Indobri ~ You’re so tired you can’t keep your eyes open. Lay down and take a nap. ~ Making a mental effort to block Indobri’s telepathic influences, T’Lea saw a villager yawn, and then another. Slowly half the crowd fell to their knees, and made their bed right there in the dirt street. The other half were struggling to stay awake and now even more frightened. T’Lea: We have a problem. The Gambler took aim and so did the remaining ten people with him. Indobri: response T’Lea: No, not them. Them. She thumbed back at the two engineers. Nyka was struggling to stay awake. Wyss: Cut. The main. ::yawn:: Line. She said to Dekas and slumped her shoulder against the arch. She reached in with her hand and did something just as the first shot from the Gamblers gun rang out. Then she literally fell to sleep on the ground. The Gambler’s shot zipped past the Romu-vulc, clipping the brim of her hat. T’Lea fired back, and the ends of her banana-guns exploded. The banana and their peels splattered the Gambler and his friends in a stunning display of scatter-shot fruit. But what was more stunning was that the sun had turned into a spinning disco ball, throwing sprays of flashy lights all over the dusty town. Suddenly, music from Wyss’s playlist sang-out loudly across the holodeck, and the remaining townsfolk started line-dancing. ABBA: Dancing queen Feel the beat from the tambourine, oh yeah You can dance You can jive Having the time of your life Ooh, see that girl Watch that scene Digging the dancing queen... Absurdity. That was the best word to describe everything going on. No, wait… Insanity. Yes. It was unadulterated insanity, thought T’Lea as she watched the Gambler and his friends toe-tap and slide along with the music. The Romu-vulc glanced down at her banana-guns. The tips were blown-out, and she had no idea if there was another round in the chamber... stem? Whatever. So she tossed them. Dekas/Indobri: response TAGGIES! Lieutenant Commander T’Lea The Surly Gunslinger Historian/Archaeology Specialist USS Juneau Author ID I238301T10 & PNPC Lieutenant JG Nyka Wyss The Singing Sheriff Engineering Officer Lightside Station soon to be assigned to USS Grace Hopper Author ID I238301T10
  14. A really emotional and well written ending to our current mission (or is it M'Rishion?). M'Rish must be protected. (( Observation Room - Cardassian “Prison” )) Ayiana lay partially collapsed on the smoking and sparking ruin of the computer console. She had seen several logs by the Chief Researcher that detailed the meticulous and cruel social experiments they had been performing on dozens of prisoner groups over the years. They were just the latest iteration. Drop prisoners in the rear of the ship, see how they act and survive in the prison. If some break out into the middle of the ship, complex and devious scenarios and traps were ready to be played via holoemitters placed throughout; just to see how they’d react. To make matters worse, their unofficial charge, M’Rish, had been an unwilling pawn in the Cardassians’ vile experiments. Every cycle, they’d sedate her, wipe her memories, reprogram her with false ones, then set her loose in the ship again to be found by any prison escapees. Just to see what they’d do to a helpless child in such a setting; not to mention how she survived on her own for weeks on end before someone came to find her. Assuming people actually broke out of the prison, which didn’t happen every iteration. When she first joined the Maquis, Ayiana merely wanted to safeguard her home and fellow colonists in the DMZ against the Cardassian Union’s aggression. Now, she hated them all for what they sanctioned here. It had been going on for years, far earlier than the genesis of the Maquis or even the Federation-Cardassian Treaty. She wanted to find those responsible and explain in exquisite detail, with many sharp objects in sensitive areas, just how she felt about it. Computer: Warning! Baryon sweep approaching. All remaining personnel retreat to designated shelters for evacuation. Apparently, such revenge would have to wait. Sevo: Oh, Gods above! Come on! :: She exclaimed. :: Stoyer: Yeah, time to go. Neathler: Shuttle bay, head for the shuttlebay. ::She paused, taking another breath, explaining herself.:: There was a message before. Sevo: I’ll take your word for it. Stoyer: There should be a release for the door. As Red said, the Cardies never expected any of us to get this far. They would have to evacuate the area also. Strip was still holding the unconscious M’Rish in his arms. The Cardassians had sedated her earlier, but there was no way to know if they had proceeded with the memory wipe yet. Ayiana suspected otherwise, as that generally involved complex equipment not seen in the room they found her in. Returning to the control panel Ayiana tried earlier, Cory tapped away at it and it opened easily, much to her chagrin. The emergency evacuation must have overridden any locks in order to facilitate a faster evacuation. Stoyer: Let’s get out of here. Neathler: Go. :: She said as she picked up her furry friend. :: Sevo: Was there a map? Do you know where to go? Exiting the room, Fingers looked both ways down the corridor, slightly confused. Apparently, she didn’t know where to go. To make matters worse, a green forcefield was slowly inching its way up the corridor - the baryon sweep! Lethal to any form of life; it was vital they stay away from it. She heard it could be quite painful. Neathler: The baryon sweep! Sevo: That means everyone in the prison is dead. Executed. Stoyer: Response Ayiana clenched her fists white. She may not have liked many of the prisoners, but cold-blooded execution by baryon sweep was not a fate she’d wish on anyone. Quickly, they ran down the corridor. Some doors were open but looking inside, they were empty. Anyone still on the ship would have evacuated or moved to safe shelters by now. She thought baryon beams moved meticulously and slowly, that they’d easily be able to run away from it. But this one seemed different; after all, it was an execution tool, not a meticulous maintenance sweep. Neathler: Hurry. Stoyer: Response The straight hallway leading away from the deadly energy suddenly turned left. With no choice, they followed, past a set of double doors. Then, much to Ayiana’s annoyance, the corridor turned left *again*, heading towards the baryon beam. She could see it further down, inching closer. Suddenly, Fingers stopped in her tracks. Neathler: Back, we have to go back, through those double doors. Sevo: What?! Why...nevermind. I trust you! Stoyer: Response They backtracked down the corridor, to the right, and to the set of thick double doors passed earlier. There was a plaque next to it which read “Shuttlebay Two.” Ayiana tapped at the controls and opened the doors. The sight inside caused her heart to drop. It was a large bay, but empty. Not a single escape shuttle remained. They had already been taken by the escaping crew, as denoted by impulse scorch marks on the floor. Sevo: Damn, damn, and damn! Neathler/Stoyer: Response They moved out to the middle of the large bay in order to give them some more time. To do what, she didn’t know. Soon, the green energy wall materialized through the door and wall they passed through, crawling ever closer. Slight shuffling in Cory’s arms caught Ayiana’s attention. M’Rish had woken up. M’Rish: Wh...wha? :: She peered around curiously, rubbing her eyes, looking at everyone. :: Y-you’s came back for me? Sevo: O-of course we did. :: Holding back a tear. :: Oh no, why?! Couldn’t she have stayed asleep just a little longer? M’Rish didn’t need to know what was happening; what was about to happen. She could have stayed asleep through the end, never knowing what transpired. When she had been sedated back in that room, that could have been the simple, quiet, painless end for her; never knowing that she would die a little while later. Now, she’d die along with the rest of them, painfully awake and aware of what was happening. Neathler/Stoyer: Response M’Rish: Wh-what’s that?! :: Still being held in Strip’s arms, she pointed a shaky finger down the shuttlebay to the oncoming sweep. :: Sevo: It...it’s nothing. Don’t look at it. :: Ayiana moved to block M’Rish’s sight of the beam. :: Neathler/Stoyer: Response Ayiana turned to look, feigning curiosity; but in actuality, she was hiding the tears streaming down her face. Not for herself, or for Strip, or Fingers, but for M’Rish. Such an innocent being, not deserving of the life she had been living, and certainly not deserving of the death coming. But there was nothing left to do; the shuttles were gone, and they couldn’t just jump out into space. They had tried their hardest to live, survived impossible odds stacked against them, but it was for nothing in the end. Their escape plan failed, and they’d die on this miserable ship in a few short seconds, painfully. The sweep was less than a meter away. She could hear it’s humming now, like the slow ticking of death announcing itself. Sevo: We did our best, everyone. :: She turned to Strip. :: Cory, I just want to say...I love you. She placed one hand on Cory’s cheek, and the other on M’Rish’s head, who was still being held in Cory’s arms. Neathler/Stoyer: Response Sevo: M’Rish, I’m sorry little one. I’m so sorry… Ayiana closed her eyes as the first tingles of energy touched her. It wasn’t as painful as she thought it’d be. In fact, it felt familiar, almost like a transporter beam… ---------------------------- Ayiana “Red” Sevo Fighter ---------------------------- Simmed by ---------------------------- Lt. Commander Ayiana Sevo Mission Specialist U.S.S. Gorkon Image Collective Wiki Ops Investigating Diversity and Inclusion Committee (IDIC) V239109AS0 ----------------------------
  15. @Alex Brodie writes up a lovely summary of our most recent mission but couples it with some thoughts about the Prime Directive. I love how he refers to precedents to make a case for what the Thor did. I found it a nice wrap up to our mission! IC: ((Intelligence Watch Centre, Deck Three, USS Thor)) Broide had occupied the main office in the Intelligence suite. Jehe was on leave so he was taking his rotation although there was less in the way of intelligence briefings and a lot more legal documentation scattered over the desk. This was likely to be a bit of a problematic report for the ship and, while his reports were mostly kept to the medical archives he wanted to make sure he had everything locked in place. He pulled up the draft. --- THR-AWB-COU-MIS-0010 TO: Starfleet Medical Central Records CC: USS Thor Central Records Following a period of shoreleave on Vulcan the USS Thor was initially assigned to conduct a survey of an unusual stellar phenomenon: a pair of hypervelocity stars on nearly identical trajectories. Enroute to the system in question, however, the Thor detected a distress call from a cluster of nearby planetoids. This identification code associated with the signal identified it as being the USS Excalibur. Records show that this vessel was officially listed as lost during the Federation-Klingon War in the mid twenty-third century – well over one-hundred years ago. Under the guidance of Commander Geoffrey Teller this officer, along with Ensign Peri Katsim and Ensign Dar Elandra began reviewing available information regarding the vessel, including its likely course and possible locations. Consideration was also given to General Order One (Prime Directive) regarding potential indigenous populations and the effect that either the Excalibur crew, or their descendants, may have had on their natural evolution. The same also applies to the potential transfer of technology – which seemed likely, given the source of the signal. Given the lack of information available in the records, and the age of the information that was. A decision was made to beam down to the surface as a group, under cultural camouflage protocols and investigate further as well as take scientific samples for further study. Upon arrival on the planets surface, in the margins of a volcanic plateau, samples were collected and some tectonic readings were taken indicating an increase in volcanic activity in the region. Shortly after arrival, however, a series of life signs were detected and the group moved to cover with overwatch being provided by Ensign Dar. The lifeforms in question appeared to be Klingon in origin. These riders were led by an individual known as Betlak and appeared to be a ‘scout party’. This officer conversed with Betlak as the universal translator seemed unable to process the dialect they were using. The situation deteriorated as Betlak was not receptive to diplomatic channels – taking Ensign Per Katsim hostage. This conflict was short lived, however, as a group of mounted troops arrived to disperse the Klingons. These troops, more accurately knights, were from the local city of Calabrum and were led by their Queen – Arta Du Pendragon. This city, it became clear, had been established by the original crew of the Excalibur and maintained by their descendants. This officer, in addition to Commander Teller, Doctor and Quen and Ensign Dar was granted an audience with her Highness. It became clear that it was the queen herself who had made the distress call and that she was being advised by the court ‘wizard’ a man named Velik. It also became clear that the decedents of the Klingons – known locally as ‘Klings’ had been at war with the city of Calabrum for the majority of the previous century. In recent times these Klings had become more organized under the leadership of an individual known only as Modrawt. It was resolved that Ensign Dar and Commander Teller would remain and work with the Knights Calbrum and myself and doctor Quen would accompany the Queen to the local settlement of upto see how the conflict had affected the local population in the nearby settlement of Upton. On arrival it became clear that the local water supply had become contaminated, possibly deliberately, form the volcano leading to chemical burns. A parasitic infection, however, could not be ruled out. Following the realisation that a larger raiding party was headed for Calabrum to place the city under siege a meeting was called between Fleet Captain Aron Kells and Queen Du Pendragon where a plan was put in place to remove the descendants of the Excalibur, at their request. Further, the increased tectonic activity of the volcano now threatened an eruption. While this could not be prevented under General Order One it would provide appropriate cover for the evacuation attempt. This officer was assigned, along with Lieutenant Commander Lia Rouiancet to provide a level of control to the volcanic eruption. This involved the use of a binary explosive mixture that would be detonated in order to collapse a section of the magma chamber. This allowed a portion of the magma to be drained to adjacent chambers to limit the exposure to Calabrum. The detonation was conducted without incident once the explosives had been placed by hand. During this time, the remaining senior staff performed the evacuation. [[Classified: Command Level Only]] Consideration must be given to the Prime Directive. The actions undertaken by the USS Thor during this mission do constitute a violation of the prime directive. In mitigation, however, I submit the below reasonings along with appropriate precedents: The distress call was directed by Velik. Further review of the original crew manifest of the USS Excalibur at the time of its loss would indicate that this is likely to be a Vulcan who was serving as a junior science officer at the time. This would classify as a request for aid from a fellow Starfleet officer and the need to conduct a rescue mission [Precedent: Zeta Gelis Star Cluster, 2366]. In addition, any request for aid [Precedent: Drema VI, 2365] may be considered exemption criteria and the level of aid rendered by the crew of the USS Thor was conducted in such a way that it is believed it would not have impacted the pre-contamination development of the indigenous society [Precedent: Barkon IV, 2370]. This also allowed the correction of alterations to the natural evolution caused by the Klingons [Precedent; Neural, 2268]. It is my understanding that any indigenous people who were caught up in the evacuation are being transferred to Deep Space Thirty-Two for repatriation. The Same is true of the Klingon descendants who have been repatriated to the Klingon Empire already. The descendants of the Excalibur are to be relocated once a suitable world has been identified for them. It is recommended that observation teams are dispatched to both the original extraction planet to monitor any possible disruption. [[End Classified]] [[Personal Notes]] The nature of this mission, regrettably, is somewhat of a pyrrhic victory. While there was the aversion of a significant loss of life, we cannot ignore the fact that a culture has been uprooted from their home world and will take some time to adjust. Further, this culture, through no fault of their own, has been locked in a conflict with the remnants of the Klingon Empire for over a century. I wonder what the Klingons will make of their new wards? I would hope they would welcome them back as fellows but where they may fit into Klingon society after one-hundred years…it will be a difficult adjustment but I hope the Klingons hold true and honour their ancestors. Following the events of this mission several crew changes have occurred including the leave of Doctor Quen Deena and Junior Lieutenant Jeha Saja. I’m pleased to report, however, that Lieutenant Commander Ben Garcia will be re-joining the USS Thor on our arrival at Cardassia Prime. Signed Lt. Cmdr. Alexander W. Brodie; Psy.D, Ph.D. Chief Counsellor, USS --- Alex re-read the citations on the legal side of things, just to make sure he had his dates right and then submitted the report. He leaned back in the chair and picked up a PADD - Cardassia Prime....how long had it been? FIN ------------------------------------ Lt. Cmdr. Alexander Brodie Chief Counselor USS Thor NCC-82607 dualitygamer@gmail.com Writer ID.: A239005BM0
  16. I really liked the way this one flowed and the emotion was shown. I had to share. (( Captain's Office - Constitution )) Finally. Finally the Constitution was back on their way home. Not without a lot of help of the Galactic Starship Service though, but they were on their way home. While the teams had been in the mines, the Stardrive section had caught up to the Saucer and reunited, so when the shuttles returned from the surface the whole ship, sans warp nacelle and plus a couple of holes, had waited for them. The 'tow' service members had been muttering and ranting about the state of the ship, but they had gone straight to work. Jalana stood at the window looking outside to a tiny dot in the distance that was slowly getting closer and between that dot and her was a Cardiff Class Starship connected via a tractor beam pulling them forward at higher speed then the Conny was able to. Jalana's green eyes landed on the back of that ship, the circular rear warp-drive glowing in a bright blue between the nacelles that for almost any other ship would be the location of the warp drive but not in this ship. It made for an interesting aesthetic. Rajel: Captain's log supplemental - Stardate 239806.13 - We have left Osteris II and the Shahar Nebula behind and are on our way back to Starbase 104, in tow of the GSS. Once we arrive repairs will have to be made and who knows how long they will take. Replacing the lost warp nacelle and reparing the holes in our hull alone would take some time, that does not include the interior damage and the time the crew will need to recover from these events. With combined efforts we were able to retrieve the away team, injured but alive and the surviving miners who are being brought to the Starbase for testimonials. I hope that they will be able to visit their families or spend time away from all this afterwards. My report to HQ will include the recommendation to send a survey team to the mine and reevaluate how it is operated and protected before sending anyone back there. Jalana took a deep breath and then continued. Rajel: We are not yet aware if this particular group of pirates belong to a bigger cell or not, but their leader Elder fled the scene back into - what we assume - Orion space. I have the feeling this may not be the last time we saw him. We were able to capture sixteen pirates alive, who of course are not the most talkative. They will be handed over to the authorities back on the base. Another dozen or two were killed in the mines. It is difficult to know exactly as some had to be disintegrated to stop their attacks. We retrieved two bodies of pirates that appeared to be on a drug that would raise their aggression and immunity to be shot. They are examined in the morgue for traces of the substance. The rest of their remains will be taken care of by sweepers HQ will send. Once more she paused and looked down to her hands. She ran her fingertips over the porcelain starship in her hand. When she had entered the office after returning to the ship she had been relieved that it was still in one piece but ironically it had a little crack along the same pylon that had been damaged on the ship. She could feel it even though the nacelle held on tight. Rajel: We also suffered major losses. Firstly among the miners. We recovered too many bodies for identification and allow their families their proper last rites. Among our officers we lost several officers. Salvador Marcinko, Zilan, Sh'tran, Han Soo Mi, Q'Ren, Syanir Kol and Vok lost their lives in the line of duty during a rescue mission in the mines of Osteris II, fighting off pirates of the Orion Syndicate. Another seven lives were lost during the battle between the Constitution and the Theseus and Minotaur. S'Ral, Horm, Paden Runa, Kylie Williams, Chus'it Haihnan, Scrol Ar'el and Dhelvad. A memorial hall for the lost Crew members and miners is being set up in Holodeck 4 for those who wish to pay their respects and say their farewells. Shipwide announcements have been sent out. Luckily most that were injured had been able to recover or were still on the way. It could have been worse, a lot worse. But despite the comparably low number of death crew members every single name pained her. The knowledge that they hadn't been able to avoid fatalities. With each mention the weight on her shoulders felt heavier. Rajel: Both Sick Bays have been working around the clock and are treating the injured crew members and miners. Counseling works with them to address the trauma for those that want to deal with it at this time. Sarah Mason, T'Mar and Sawyer Moore are still unconscious and will be transferred to the Medical ward on Starbase 104. Nugra has been considerably injured by an explosive. Surgeries were a success to stabilize him but he will need a few weeks to recover. Though he is conscious by now his optical nerve has been severely damaged and is being treated. She really didn't like this, not one bit. Nothing of this felt right. But this was life in Starfleet. Often they were lucky and then there were missions that just went belly up. She would have to update Sal as well, after all they were Syndicate and without his knowledge in her head, things could have gone so much worse. That split moment warning they had before the attack had been enough to raise the shields and be prepared. Without that the ship would have been hit directly from the start. But that she had his knowledge was not something she could put into a public accessible Captain's log. Not even in a personal one with a passcode. The danger of someone finding it was too big. Rajel: We will arrive at Starbase 104 in about an hour, where repairs on the ship will be taken over by Station personnel in tandem with those of the crew that wish to stay and work with them. Other than that the crew will have a well deserved and desperately needed shore leave and are free to remain on the station or visit home, go on vacation ... anything they need right now. She thought about it for a moment. Was there anything else she needed to record. Maybe... but she couldn't think of it. Her head pounded and she still needed to head to Sick bay herself. That cracked rip had been silent thanks to a hypospray because others had been more important to be taken care of, but she worried about falling back into old habits. She could not let that happen. So she shook her head. Rajel: End Captain's log. The computer chirped and she stepped away from the window before she carefully placed the slightly cracked starship back on the shelf, which immediately turned invisible as the tractor beam from the model Starbase 118 turned on to hold the ship up. She would have to get this crack fixed before it got worse. Was she still talking about the model ship? ----- Commodore Jalana Rajel Commanding Officer USS Constitution B Image Team Co-Facilitator A238906JL0
  17. Continuing his tradition of a 'Counselors Perspective' writeup of each mission, Lt. Cmdr. Brodie does another great job summarizing the beats of a complex mission and making it interesting even if you weren't there. I hope the folks at Starfleet Medical appreciate his work as much as we do on the Thor! Great Job Alex! ========================================= ((Intelligence Watch Centre, Deck Three, USS Thor)) Broide had occupied the main office in the Intelligence suite. Jehe was on leave so he was taking his rotation although there was less in the way of intelligence briefings and a lot more legal documentation scattered over the desk. This was likely to be a bit of a problematic report for the ship and, while his reports were mostly kept to the medical archives he wanted to make sure he had everything locked in place. He pulled up the draft. --- THR-AWB-COU-MIS-0010 TO: Starfleet Medical Central Records CC: USS Thor Central Records Following a period of shoreleave on Vulcan the USS Thor was initially assigned to conduct a survey of an unusual stellar phenomenon: a pair of hypervelocity stars on nearly identical trajectories. Enroute to the system in question, however, the Thor detected a distress call from a cluster of nearby planetoids. This identification code associated with the signal identified it as being the USS Excalibur. Records show that this vessel was officially listed as lost during the Federation-Klingon War in the mid twenty-third century – well over one-hundred years ago. Under the guidance of Commander Geoffrey Teller this officer, along with Ensign Peri Katsim and Ensign Dar Elandra began reviewing available information regarding the vessel, including its likely course and possible locations. Consideration was also given to General Order One (Prime Directive) regarding potential indigenous populations and the effect that either the Excalibur crew, or their descendants, may have had on their natural evolution. The same also applies to the potential transfer of technology – which seemed likely, given the source of the signal. Given the lack of information available in the records, and the age of the information that was. A decision was made to beam down to the surface as a group, under cultural camouflage protocols and investigate further as well as take scientific samples for further study. Upon arrival on the planets surface, in the margins of a volcanic plateau, samples were collected and some tectonic readings were taken indicating an increase in volcanic activity in the region. Shortly after arrival, however, a series of life signs were detected and the group moved to cover with overwatch being provided by Ensign Dar. The lifeforms in question appeared to be Klingon in origin. These riders were led by an individual known as Betlak and appeared to be a ‘scout party’. This officer conversed with Betlak as the universal translator seemed unable to process the dialect they were using. The situation deteriorated as Betlak was not receptive to diplomatic channels – taking Ensign Per Katsim hostage. This conflict was short lived, however, as a group of mounted troops arrived to disperse the Klingons. These troops, more accurately knights, were from the local city of Calabrum and were led by their Queen – Arta Du Pendragon. This city, it became clear, had been established by the original crew of the Excalibur and maintained by their descendants. This officer, in addition to Commander Teller, Doctor and Quen and Ensign Dar was granted an audience with her Highness. It became clear that it was the queen herself who had made the distress call and that she was being advised by the court ‘wizard’ a man named Velik. It also became clear that the decedents of the Klingons – known locally as ‘Klings’ had been at war with the city of Calabrum for the majority of the previous century. In recent times these Klings had become more organized under the leadership of an individual known only as Modrawt. It was resolved that Ensign Dar and Commander Teller would remain and work with the Knights Calbrum and myself and doctor Quen would accompany the Queen to the local settlement of upto see how the conflict had affected the local population in the nearby settlement of Upton. On arrival it became clear that the local water supply had become contaminated, possibly deliberately, form the volcano leading to chemical burns. A parasitic infection, however, could not be ruled out. Following the realisation that a larger raiding party was headed for Calabrum to place the city under siege a meeting was called between Fleet Captain Aron Kells and Queen Du Pendragon where a plan was put in place to remove the descendants of the Excalibur, at their request. Further, the increased tectonic activity of the volcano now threatened an eruption. While this could not be prevented under General Order One it would provide appropriate cover for the evacuation attempt. This officer was assigned, along with Lieutenant Commander Lia Rouiancet to provide a level of control to the volcanic eruption. This involved the use of a binary explosive mixture that would be detonated in order to collapse a section of the magma chamber. This allowed a portion of the magma to be drained to adjacent chambers to limit the exposure to Calabrum. The detonation was conducted without incident once the explosives had been placed by hand. During this time, the remaining senior staff performed the evacuation. [[Classified: Command Level Only]] Consideration must be given to the Prime Directive. The actions undertaken by the USS Thor during this mission do constitute a violation of the prime directive. In mitigation, however, I submit the below reasonings along with appropriate precedents: The distress call was directed by Velik. Further review of the original crew manifest of the USS Excalibur at the time of its loss would indicate that this is likely to be a Vulcan who was serving as a junior science officer at the time. This would classify as a request for aid from a fellow Starfleet officer and the need to conduct a rescue mission [Precedent: Zeta Gelis Star Cluster, 2366]. In addition, any request for aid [Precedent: Drema VI, 2365] may be considered exemption criteria and the level of aid rendered by the crew of the USS Thor was conducted in such a way that it is believed it would not have impacted the pre-contamination development of the indigenous society [Precedent: Barkon IV, 2370]. This also allowed the correction of alterations to the natural evolution caused by the Klingons [Precedent; Neural, 2268]. It is my understanding that any indigenous people who were caught up in the evacuation are being transferred to Deep Space Thirty-Two for repatriation. The Same is true of the Klingon descendants who have been repatriated to the Klingon Empire already. The descendants of the Excalibur are to be relocated once a suitable world has been identified for them. It is recommended that observation teams are dispatched to both the original extraction planet to monitor any possible disruption. [[End Classified]] [[Personal Notes]] The nature of this mission, regrettably, is somewhat of a pyrrhic victory. While there was the aversion of a significant loss of life, we cannot ignore the fact that a culture has been uprooted from their home world and will take some time to adjust. Further, this culture, through no fault of their own, has been locked in a conflict with the remnants of the Klingon Empire for over a century. I wonder what the Klingons will make of their new wards? I would hope they would welcome them back as fellows but where they may fit into Klingon society after one-hundred years…it will be a difficult adjustment but I hope the Klingons hold true and honour their ancestors. Following the events of this mission several crew changes have occurred including the leave of Doctor Quen Deena and Junior Lieutenant Jeha Saja. I’m pleased to report, however, that Lieutenant Commander Ben Garcia will be re-joining the USS Thor on our arrival at Cardassia Prime. Signed Lt. Cmdr. Alexander W. Brodie; Psy.D, Ph.D. Chief Counsellor, USS --- Alex re-read the citations on the legal side of things, just to make sure he had his dates right and then submitted the report. He leaned back in the chair and picked up a PADD - Cardassia Prime....how long had it been? FIN ------------------------------------ Lt. Cmdr. Alexander Brodie Chief Counselor USS Thor NCC-82607 dualit...@gmail.com Writer ID.: A239005BM0
  18. Pure poetry from our esteemed captain @Kali Nicholotti. The combination of rich metaphors and the character's personal history woven effortlessly into the narrative made this delightful to read. Cheers, Cap'n! ((Bridge, USS Resolution)) Nicholotti: Engage thrusters, and make for the stars. The stars. In the root of all of her dreams, the stars had been central. No matter what collar she wore, or what role she filled, the dark Cimmerian shade of an endless night, accentuated by the pin[...]s of immolation, were the resounding voices that called to her. They were the hands that pulled her towards the future. And in the long, unending days in which she followed, she found herself ever more drawn into the infinite maw. All while finding herself more and more alone. Yalu: Aye, Captain. Taking her up. Liftoff in five. The voice of David Cody resonated in her head. 'It was lonely in the center chair, but Kay, you are never, ever alone.' There was a warmth there that she had not felt for a long time, and in his absence, she might have moved on. Yet, like with all of the others who had called her friend, lover, sister, daughter...she never had been able to fully let go. Words echoed through the annuls of history, leaving her with memories and an ache deep within that never quite went away. Nicholotti: Steady speed, prepare for transition to the nebula. All of the proper words spilled out of the mouth of a seasoned commanding officer. There were steps to take and things to do and she would execute without flaw. The state of her inner thoughts and the hole that the losses she bore over the years would never make themselves known to the outside. Perhaps it was a good thing that those who knew were long gone. MacKenzie: Any abnormal readings? Yellir: Scanners functioning normally, sir. Etan: response Two pools of crystalline blue locked on to the images on the screen, never betraying the churning thoughts within. Yellir: Shall we brace for impact? Just in case? Yalu: ::gasps in theatrical, mock offence:: How very dare you. MacKenzie: Oh, I’m sure we’ll be just fine… Kali smiled one of her typical grins, a slight bit impish, as Makal had once described it. Etan: response Nicholotti: I don't think our helmsman would crash us twice in one day. Her eyes moved from the screen just as the swirling nebula rose to meet them at the edge of the planet's atmosphere and settled on the Trill at the helm. Pilot to pilot, he had the makings of something great. Sierra Hotel, as her grandfather might have once said. It was what she'd aspired to as a teen behind the controls of the antique jet that she'd inherited upon his death. Yalu: We’re clearing the planet’s atmosphere, Captain. I’m plotting a course out of the Briar Patch at one-third impulse. They were on their way, and Kali turned her attention back to the screen. There were only a few stars that could be seen between the ever coalescing and dispersing colors of the nebula just outside. Yellir: I’m certain we’ll arrive by then in one piece. MacKenzie: There’s that positive thinking! Lieutenant Sherlock, status of the shields? Sherlock: Shields are currently at one hundred percent and holding. MacKenzie: Power levels look stable, Captain… I think we’re good to fire up the engines whenever Mr. Yalu feels comfortable… Everything still stood on a razors edge. At a half impulse, it was going to take some time to get out of the nebula, but she had faith in the little ship that could. Nicholotti: Whenever you're ready, Mister Yalu. Yalu: I’d be delighted, Captain. Bringing the coolant modifications online and increasing speed to one-half impulse. We’ll clear the Patch in just under twenty minutes. After that, warp seven. After that, stars. The sounds of an active bridge were almost music to her ears as they moved further and further from the world that had almost become their grave. Sherlock: Shields holding steady. Nicholotti: Very well, continue our path. MacKenzie: response Yalu: At this rate, we’ll be back in familiar territory by this time tomorrow. ::beat, smirks:: I think that means someone owes me some sapphire wine, but I can’t remember who. Kali smirked towards the back of his head. Apparently she wasn't the only one who wanted to buy him a drink after the hotshot flying he'd done. Sherlock: response Yalu: I’m afraid I will have to insist on collecting it in person. Nicholotti: I am certain you'll have plenty of time to do just that when we are back at 224. MacKenzie / Any: response Yalu: As soon as we’re back in normal space, I’ll contact Deep Space 224 and send them a list of the survivors. Who knows where Starfleet will reassign Hanno’s crew, but I’m sure the Romulans will want to be repatriated as soon as possible. The whole thing was going to be a sticky situation. From her words with the Senator, she knew that there would be little for this group back where they once called home, save for the debris left behind by a sun-gone-nova and the burnt remains of what was their lives. Nicholotti: I am sure the Senator will assist, but their future is likely unknown. We can hope the Federation will help. Any: response Kali nodded. History had a funny way of dictating much of what came after. It echoed in the ears of those who had lived it long enough to make decisions and build whatever kind of future to avoid the trials of the past. She could only hope that the Federation had an eye and the feelings of humanity, even for those who once were enemies. For those who once were not to be trusted. As for her own history, there were walls which kept the tears well hidden behind an ocean of memories never reflected in the crystalline blues. A blanket of calm coolness and a commanding stature that came from having lived, and died, at the hands of time governed her motions, her moves. No matter how much she wanted that to change, time seemed to simply burn hotter. As it was said, time was the fire in which they all burned. Kali's fire burned endlessly, fueled by the severed connections with so many she had loved and lost. Hope, the fighter of such flames, dwindled as she learned of deaths and the continued missing, and as those she had once been close to had faded into their new lives on another side of the galaxy. Time was no friend to her, at least not here and now. Chatter around her continued, and the minutes ticked by until finally, with little fanfare, the swirling colors of the Briar Patch started to thin. As they faded, the points of light shone brighter against an inky blackness that reflected the darker parts of her soul. MacKenzie/Any: Response? Nicholotti: Set course for 224, best speed. Let's go home. Yalu/Any: Responses? ((OOC - With this, we can assume arrival to 224 and the start of some well deserved shore leave!) TAG/TBC -- Fleet Captain Kalianna Nicholotti Commanding Officer USS Resolution R238605KN0
  19. There really are no words to describe just how moving and beautifully written this piece is. @Genkos Adea is one of my favourite writers in this fleet and this is why! -- ((The Surface, Briar Patch Planet of the Skarn)) Gabbro observed the curious, elderly Romulan walk towards them. They’d heard some of the flow in the odd uniforms talk about the man as a “Romulan”. They assumed that this was the man’s flow’s name, in the same way Gabbro’s flow was called the Skarn. They could feel the elder’s mind feeling at peace, and in response, they dropped all the rocks from their lightball form in preparation to receive the newest member of their flow. Ferzdy: Let’s go, Gabbro. Gabbro: ~ Of course, Ferzdy. ~ They continued on together, Ferzdy seemed hesitant in some way, although Gabbro could tell they weren’t looking back. However, he volunteered his thoughts without the need for Gabbro to read them. Ferzdy: I wish I could help them get their ship back in the sky. Gabbro was silent for a moment, considering the desire. There might be a way for Ferzdy to help, to boost the Skarn’s natural abilities. They’d done it a few times before with a dying creature from the southern hemisphere, a great sandworm that devoured huge chunks of rock. When it was dying, they had brought much of its consciousness into the Skarn, or so the legend went. Gabbro knew of it, but had no idea if it would work. Gabbro: ~ You might be able to join us. It is a ritual that has been done in the past, I believe. ~ Ferzdy: Yes, I will, if you can show me how. Ferzdy set the survival kit down on the dusty ground. Gabbro opened their mind and flew into the body of Ferzdy. They combined into a single entity for a few moments, filled with joy and wonder. Gabbro could feel the physical sensations of having a body, of having fingers, of smell and of touch. It was curious, but not unpleasant. They weren’t sure if it was Gabbro or Ferzdy who smiled, but radiant pink-and-orange light shone out in all directions from the footprints where Ferzdy taken his last physical steps. Then, after a moment, the three separated - Ferzdy’s body disappeared, the matter transformed into energy, and now there were two Skarn. Gabbro and FerzBall. FerzBall: ~Let’s go home.~ Gabbro wished for a moment that they still had access to the Romulan’s body, and that they could smile one last time, such joy did they feel. Gabbro: ~ We are ~ Fin ----------------------- Gabbro a Skarn As simmed by Lieutenant Commander Genkos Adea MD Second Officer & Chief Medical Officer USS Resolution G239502GS0
  20. Utterly stunning and captivating, this is the culmination of an incredibly well written and moving arc! -- (( Boarding Ramp, Deck 8, USS Resolution )) One hundred and eighty some-odd years, dozens of covert operations, decades of training and education, none of it could prepare the old man for the steps he was now about to take. It was nice of the Starfleet people to prepare him a pack with some supplies. Extra rations and thermal blankets were thoughtful, but somehow, Ferzdy didn’t think he’d need them. There were crews working like bees all around him, mostly Federation but a few Romulans as well. It seemed as though this ship would survive, lift off, and get back into space, perhaps with the assistance of the kindly group of Skarn who allowed Ferzdy to stay behind. A few had paused their work to see him off, which Ferzdy found most kind. He clutched the strap of the Starfleet kit and turned around to face the small farewell party. Ferzdy: I suppose I shall take my leave of you now. R’mor: response Ferzdy: Talar, principled and courageous leader. I know you will see these survivors to the end of their journey. R’mor: response Ferzdy: Thank you, my friend. Farewell. The old man took a few more steps toward the ramp. With his feet on the threshold of the inclined surface, he turned back around and addressed the aliens of the group. Ferzdy: You all, Humans, Vulcans, Bajorans. It is a shame that we did not realize how much we had in common until so recently. I would have been proud to call any of you my ally decades ago, if only I had known. Any Starfleet person: response (if desired) Ferzdy looked down at his hands, tangled within his twisted fingers was a textile record of this entire experience, a knot for each person, place, and thing he had encountered. He tied a final knot at the end, then slipped the entire piece of artwork off his hand, letting it fall to the deck by his feet. Ferzdy: So long, friends. As he descended the ramp, Ferzdy was never more certain that he was doing the right thing: to live amongst the Skarn for as long as he had left. Many of them had experienced turmoil and loss under their former leader; Ferzdy knew these experiences well. Perhaps there was something he could teach them, in exchange for their kind hospitality. At the end of the ramp, waiting for him, was Gabbro in their true form, unadorned by rocks. Ferzdy’s feet touched down on the uneven earth, and he continued walking without looking back. Ferzdy: Let’s go, Gabbro. Gabbro: ~response~ They continued on together, Ferzdy uncertain of the distance, as he had no knots to tie to keep track. Ferzdy: I wish I could help them get their ship back in the sky. Gabbro: ~response~ Ferzdy: Yes, I will, if you can show me how. Ferzdy set the survival kit down on the dusty ground. He knew he wouldn’t be needing it after all. He closed his eyes and let the energy surround him, the sensations of touch and sound and sight and thought combining, creating an awareness that was not dependent upon a corporeal form. He smiled, or rather, felt like smiling, and radiant pink-and-orange light shone out in all directions from the footprints where he’d taken his last physical steps. FerzBall: ~Let’s go home.~ Tag / TBC MSPNPC Ferdzy Romulan old timer / Skarn ball of light simmed by Lieutenant Yogan Yalu Helm Officer USS Resolution NCC-78145
  21. The writing talent on display here is on a whole other level. Beautifully written and emotionally affecting. @Meidra Sirin, you've really outdone yourself here! 😍 -- ((Meidra’s quarters, Deck Four, USS Resolution)) Meidra and Mya did not say much as they walked through the corridors to her office. The ship seemed quiet even with the people rushing around doing their tasks. Occasionally, the girl would hum one of the melodies Meidra recognized from Carolyn’s music file, but she didn't speak. Meidra remembered being a bit lost when her father disappeared, and wouldn’t push for conversation, but she’d make sure she stayed observant when the child wanted to talk. Thankfully, the door to her quarters slid open easily now that power was restored. Meidra let Mya walk in first and explore the room, watching the girl wander. Mya noticed two beds and gave Meidra a look of confusion. Mya: Do you have people stay in your room a lot? Meidra gave a soft smile as she sat down on her bed, patting a spot next to her. Sirin: No, I had a roommate, but she is off traveling for a while. So I’m alone. ::wishes Roc was on board for Mya to cuddle:: I’ll most likely be assigned someone in the future, but for now, my room is my own. ::picks up a stuffed Vulcan teddy bear off her pillow:: This is Geretaya, but you can call him Gerry if you’d like. Mya: He looks like my Verlyn. I slept with him every night before we came here. At Meidra’s confused look, the little girl smiled. Mya: He’s kind of like your Gerry, but with two rows of teeth. My mom bought him at a toy store just before we got on the Hanno. ::strokes the toy’s fur thoughtfully:: After we crashed, I guess I lost him. ::looks at Meidra:: Maybe my mom found him. She probably has him, I hope she doesn’t get mad that I lost him. Sirin: Mya, do you remember anything about the crash? Where were you when it happened? The little Kerelian held the bear close to her while she tried to remember. Everything had been normal until they got the warning that the ship was having trouble. Her mom had told her and Sam to stay in the cabin while she went to find out what was happening. Mya didn’t like the ship, it was taking them away from home and she was glad that it was having problems. Maybe they could go back home and forget this stupid tour Momma was going to do. She looked up at Meidra and tilted her head to the side as she thought about the crash landing. Part of her was happy that the ship didn’t survive the accident. Now Momma could just forget about this trip and things could go back to the way things were. But part of her was sad that people were hurt from the crash. Mya: I don’t remember. Sirin: Did you ask your mother why you were going with her? Were there no relatives you could have stayed with at home? Mya: No. Nobody. Dad is off working on a mine and doesn’t want us. ::yawns:: I want my mom, Meidra. Meidra sighed and got up to pull out her meditation mat. The girl watched as she spread it out and lit some light incense. She beckoned the child to her, and they sat down side by side on the mat. Sirin: When I am having a day where things are confusing, I find that it helps to meditate. If you want to try it, it will help you sleep as well. Are you willing to try? Mya: How do you do it? Meidra showed her the beginning pose and explained how to close her eyes to watch her thoughts swim around her mind. In beginning Vulcan meditation, one did not try to block these thoughts, merely to observe them. In this way, Vulcan children built up their memory. She explained this as they closed their eyes and breathed in the sweet scent of Vulcan spices. Sirin: When you have a memory, or a thought - don’t block yourself. Just say it out loud and give it a voice. Don’t force the memory. Just breathe in and out, and let your thoughts guide you. Mya took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. She was tired, but she wanted to remember. Mya: Momma didn’t come back. Sam told me to stay in the cabin, but I didn’t. I ran down the hall and there was smoke everywhere. People were shouting, and someone threw me into some kind of pod thing. When we crashed the door opened and I tried finding Momma. Sirin: And you found her? Mya closed her eyes and bit her lip trying to remember everything. Sam had tried following her but the door had gotten stuck and Mya hadn’t had the strength to open it. So she had to find her mother anyway. The screams of people grew louder in her head and she pushed the memories away. Grown ups were always loud when they got lost. ((Flashback, Hanno, the crash)) Mya opened her eyes and somehow was on the Hanno. She looked around and saw people shouting and running around. Suddenly there was a jolt that ran through the ship and they were falling, she just knew it. Someone threw her into an escape pod and slammed the door shut. The screams outside grew louder and the girl felt the impact as the ship crashed. She bumped her head as she fell, but in the enclosed space, did not hurt herself much. The door fell open and Mya crawled out over bodies that weren’t moving. She didn’t have time to worry about that because she had to find her mother. She crawled over people that she vaguely recognized. At one point someone grabbed her leg and she looked back to see a half burned face staring at her, trying to speak. Mya screamed and kicked the person in the face. They didn’t open their eyes and Mya kept going. Then - she finally saw her mother. Mya: She was leaning on a wall. She saw me and went to open up her arms and then just - fell? Then she was on the floor sleeping and bleeding. I tried to wake her up, but she wouldn’t open her eyes. She must have been tired. Then Sam was there and we were rushed out of the ship. I couldn’t go back to get Verlyn. ::pause as her eyes flew open:: My mom told me Verlyn would be my friend until I met new ones on the tour. Now I don’t have my friends at home, I don’t have Verlyn. My mom is taking a nap, and I don’t want to be here! ::voice rising:: Why did we have to leave our home and get on that stupid ship? She wasn’t moving, Meidra. She wasn’t moving and Sam pulled me away and she wasn’t breathing and she’s not going to wake up, is she? I wanted that ship to crash and now my momma is dead. Sirin: You are not to blame for this Mya. None of it is your fault. Your mother loved you very much and you loved her. I can hear it in your voice. ::holds Mya as she cries:: You’re not to blame, do you understand that? You and Sam are alive, and you both can honor your mother every day of your lives by remembering her. Mya: I don’t want to remember, Meidra! I want my mother! The little girl sobbed into Meidra’s arms, and the counselor started singing one of Carolyn’s songs softly. After a moment of shock, Mya joined in, and the small room was filled with a sweet Kerelian lullaby that had both of them falling asleep on the floor within minutes. End scene for Meidra Lt Meidra Sirin Counseling Officer USS Resolution R239707MS0
  22. OOC: I was trying to figure out which quotes were my favourite and realised I just love this entire sim. Wyn is hilarious and cute. My favourite miniature Andorian doctor! IC: ((Virixis IV)) He was laying in a hammock. He liked hammocks. His dad had a hammock back in Pepperel, which he had expressly told Wyn to not ‘play around in’ and therefore it was exactly Wyn’s favorite thing to play around in. They were also tremendously comfy. He was sitting there, half drowsing, half awake, just enjoying the calm of the day and petting Triberius, because of course he could get a pet sitter for all of his tribbles, but this stupid little monster snuck into his bag. Besides, it was a strange little hybrid and he didn’t trust anyone else to tend it. So here the tribblecat was. He was purring contentedly in the sunlight, proof positive that he could be an angel at times as much as he could be a monster, like any good feline creature. Generally those times coincided with when he was asleep. He had pushed Wyn to a near sleep state, but Wyn’s ever empty stomach was keeping him awake. He should go get dinner, but he was comfortable here and Triberius was purring. It was a terrible conundrum… DeVeau: =/\=Wyn?=/\= He recognized the voice on the other end. Alora. And her tone was wavering, filled with pain. He shot up from his hammock as if jolted with electricity. Triberius protested loudly. Foster: =/\= Alora, what’s wrong? =/\= Immediate doctor mode engaged. He was on his feet and Triberius was being hauled back into to his very cushy habitat. Of course how could he have a habitat if he snuck into Wyn’s things? It might have been a planned sneaking. An allowed sneaking even. Not important right now if someone was in pain. His antennae curled forward listening for more clues. DeVeau: =/\=Can you come? Please?=/\= Foster: =/\= what’s wrong? =/\= Immediately searching for more information as he grabbed a medkit. Triberius made his dismay known by farting noxiously in Wyn’s direction before fluffing a new bed with a haughty huff. DeVeau: ::Swallowing.:: =/\=It’s...it’s classfied. Please...come?=/\= Oh no. Not that. That was the thing she contacted his Dad about. Crap. He started to gather his things, stuffed them in a bag and hustled. Foster: =/\= I’ll be right there. =/\= He located her from her commsignal and rushed out of his room, hair mussed, white button down and jeans – hardly decent doctor’s attire, but it would have to do. With any luck there would not be any blood, but whenever was he lucky? Out of the resort proper and into the pathways that led to the cabins. He was quick on his feet from too many nights of running to forget his nightmares. And running because he liked it. And running because it was good exercise. There were many reason to run. This was one of them. He wasn’t even out of breath when he came to the darkened, cabin. His antennae twitched. Popcorn. Popcorn? French fries? He almost was suspicious. Almost. He was trying oh so very hard to train himself to not be paranoid. He was not paranoid. He was a little paranoid. Still, he opened the door, medical bag slung across his shoulders and let his antennae do the sensing. Oh no, something was up. Foster: … Alora? He called out halfway between a fully innocent lamb that had totally and completely fallen for it and a paranoid grumpy twit who was starting to suspect something was up. The lights came on and he instinctively took a step back, shielding his eyes. But they were mercifully dim as they popped on but didn’t flare. Rue must have hinted at his light sensitivity. DeVeau: HAPPY BIRTHDAY WYN! Blackwell: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, WYN! ::She said in time with Alora:: Yael: ? His jaw dropped and he just stopped, frozen for a moment as a deep shade of navy colored his cheeks. Was running away a viable option? No, idiot, it was not. This was a nice thing. An embarrassing nice thing. Was hiding a viable option? No, idiot, it was not. This was a nice thing. So maybe standing frozen was a viable option. Ok, that was a compromise, it would do until some words dribbled out. Foster: … thank you? ::No, don’t make it sound like a question, idiot.:: Thank you! ::That’s better. Next time don’t smile like your lips are being stretched, but you’re getting there.:: I didn’t expect… Now that was the honest truth. DeVeau: You don’t think we would forget, would you? Blackwell: He probably forgot himself ::And winked gently to the Andorian:: But Happy Birthday Wyn Yael: ? He was recovering now and he had adopted that roguish, somewhat jaded, kinda charming mask. It was a comfortable persona, it worked for him. Foster: Gotta admit, Rue, it’s easy to forget your own birthday when you Dad threw a dart at a calendar and said ‘yep that’s the day we’re celebrating’ because no one kept records on a primitive iceball… This was true. His eyes adjusted and he dared a step in. Rue waved her hands as if she was a game show hostess and revealed a table full of… Food. Ok, food. He was coming to terms with this. This was a nice surprise party for him, which had certainly surprised him, he was totally embarrassed but also very hungry and these were friends, so he couldn’t be mad (well, maybe just a little mad) and he had to remind himself to be happy and Shut up and eat, Wyn. Everything will be happier and less maddening if you eat. His stomach growled an agreement. Blackwell: We have sweets, fruit, healthy treats, not so healthy treats...and of course drinks. Just a quiet night, with friends. Foster: Ok, I like that. ::he said in a soft voice, almost like a child.:: Yael/DeVeau: ? Foster: Of course I’m hungry. I’m always hungry. Well, maybe not always, but most times. With an overactive metabolism, it wasn’t hard to devour three meals per day and still be seeking snacks. And he was past supper. Oh yes, he was hungry. Foster: ::Looking to Rue as he neared the snack table.:: You did this for me? Blackwell::She walked up and was the first to offer a friendly hand towards Wyn, putting an arm around his shoulder, and smiled reassuringly:: Yup - we did this...for you. He leaned into the touch and took in a long deep breath. Foster: Thank you. This time with 110 percent fewer weird smiles. Improvement! Yael/DeVeau: ? Blackwell: Well first….why don’t we have some drinks ::a quick waggle of brows:: and enjoy ourselves! Foster: I can get down with that. ::He nodded stuffing a slice of apple in his mouth.:: Yael/DeVeau/Blackwell: ? Foster: No, I ran here! Triberius was quite cross. ::He shook his head:: He was keeping me hostage in the hammock. Yael/DeVeau/Blackwell: ? Foster: Of course I brought him. I left the tribbles back home… But he comes everywhere. He’s special… like a rash, you know. I can’t get rid of him. Yael/DeVeau/Blackwell: ? More food was grabbed and munched while the others were talking. Foster: I mean as long as we don’t play pin the tail on the birthday kid, I’m pretty OK with whatever. Maybe one of those terrible movies Rue loves? Yael/DeVeau/Blackwell: ? ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ Lt Commander Shar’Wyn Foster Chief Surgeon StarBase 118 Ops
  23. The title alone deserves to be here @Wes Greaves Jokes aside, Wes never disappoints in creating well rounded characters, full of personality and giving us an excellent perspective of what's going on either with his PC or with his amazing PNPCs. Brilliant work. ((Main Shuttlebay, Deck 7, USS Thor)) Rodriguez: Get yours hands outa your damn pockets Cooland and help get those tools moved! Sarah didn't even wait for the reply, she just pasted a deep scowl on her face and placed her hands on her hips. The Marine in question opened his mouth but thought better of it and raced to the corner of the shuttlebay where several tool racks were still standing. Reports from the surface weren't looking good. The Klingon's attack had arrived early and shifted everyone's timetable, including everyone's on the ship. Greaves had set up the work assignments for everyone before he left and Sarah's platoon was split to the four corners of the ship, helping pretty much everywhere. There were advantages to having her Det Commander also be Chief of Security, namely much closer integration for work like this. Sarah wasn't sure if it all had been intentional or if Greaves had just been forced into it due to lack of planning time, but for all intents and purposes, it was working out. A deafening series of metallic clunks and clangs reverberated throughout the shuttlebay and Sarah spun on heR heel to find Lance Corporal Cooland perilously keeping a shelf full of tools from falling over while a fallen wrench bounced along the deck plating. Rodriguez: Cooland! Some of that crap ain't easy to replicate! Get your head on straight! (turning to another group) Crewman Jones! Go help Cooland. The man gave Sarah a sideways glance, not wanting to meet her gaze, and then scurried over to help steady the tool case. Sarah had worked with Starfleet Security off and on throughout her career. Moreso since transferring to the Thor but she'd never been in charge of security personnel before. The dozen Marines and Security personnel in the shuttle bay today were under her direction, however and the woman could tell those in gold weren't exactly thrilled by her leadership style. Sarah mentally shrugged at the thought. She was a Marine, and a Marine leader at that. She wasn't going to change things up just because a few non-Marines weren't used to getting shouted out. The woman glanced at her padd looking for a status update and frowned more severly at the news. Rodriguez: (Loud, clear, command voice) Okay, grunts, listen up. Ops has started bringing aboard some of the civilians from downstairs. It's only a matter of time before some of the Klingons are brought aboard, and THIS PLACE STILL ISN'T READY. She paused and stared down everyone across the bay as her voice echoed against the walls of the nearly empty room. All of the shuttles and fighters had already launched. All that was left to do was move all the tools, carts, and cargo containers so they could use the space to secure the Klingon's. Rodriguez: You've got five minutes to get this all done. FIVE MINUTES. Got me? The Marines in the room muttered out a rushed aye-aye, while most of the security personnel offered nods of acknowledgment before turning back to work. They were running out of time to prep the ship. With a final look at everyone from near the door Sarah grabbed a hovercart and started helping to clear the room. ========================= Staff Sergeant Sarah Rodriguez Marine Platoon Sergeant USS Thor - NCC 82607 E239702WG0 =========================
  24. This has such mid-credits sequence energy and I kinda adore it. @Meidra Sirin has done a magnificent job. Just don't tell her I said that. ((Deep water under Cave of Retribution)) The explosion had rocked the large cave, sending Skarn and invaders alike from its depths. All was smoke and chunks of stone as the guards fell apart and their lights extinguished by the force of the blast. Below, in the swirling depths of the underground pool, the sea creature had swallowed something strange thrown from up above. They did not understand the up above, only knowing that things were occasionally thrown to them by the rocks. These things usually tasted good, but this latest thing did not taste good. It tasted like pain. Now the rocks were falling into the pool, and Baab did not want to eat them either. The thing he’d swallowed was burning through his body at a rapid pace. Within moments, bits of the sea creature was strewn against the walls of the pit, his death screams filling the chamber. Floating in the wreckage of Baab’s corpse, a flickering blue light trembled. They had been betrayed. They had been thrown to be eaten by Baab. They had not been listened to when the order to die was given. This was most rude. Baab’s large eye floated past. Arbelo tried to rise up and gather the stones to them once again, but could not. They were too weak. They glanced at bits of Baab, and growled. What kind of monster killed an innocent creature like Baab? And now Gabbro was with them, most likely celebrating. Arbelo would rest. And plot. A thought occurred. The Stone! Where was the Stone? Diving into the cold water, they searched for the piece of rock that held their fragile sanity together. Was that it? Arbelo raced deeper into the pool and was swept up into a riptide. They tried to pull back but was still too weak. As they flew mercilessly into the great ocean beyond, they had but one thought. Gabbro had to die first. TBC Arbelo the soaking wet nightlight as simmed by Lt Meidra Sirin Counseling Officer USS Resolution R239707MS0
  25. @Etan Iljor is a master of the language. The narrative is so wonderfully descriptive and fully presents the character's point of view in three dimensions. It's always a joy to read your writing, friend! ((Deck 2, U.S.S. Resolution)) As a scientist, Iljor was used to the official terms and designations for things and found the concept of nonclematures to be wildly inaccurate albeit a necessity. He was prone to getting swept up in scientific tangents and to his somewhat mild embarrassment, he would often forget that not everybody learned or understood things in the way that he did. He found himself in one such moment walking down the primary corridor of Deck 2, following Doctor Adea in search of the missing crew of the probably ill-fated S.S. Hanno. Sherlock: I heard you mention that before, what is it? The ‘that’ to which the security officer was referring to was ‘non-baryonic matter’. To Iljor it was simply non-baryonic matter, something that did not interact with an electromagnetic field and did not reflect or absorb such radiation- which made its detection extremely difficult, even by the advanced technologies employed throughout the Federation. It had another designation, derived from humans who tended to label anything they could not see or interact with as something ominous. In truth, there was nothing ominous about non-baryonic matter but Iljor had decided not let the predilection for dramatics get to him. With a smirk, he looked at Aine. Etan: I think the layman’s term for it is: dark matter. Sirin: That binds galaxies together so they don’t just ::shrugs:: spin off into space. If the planet has some connection to it, the gravitational fields would be strong enough to pull in passing ships. Iljor nodded at his best friend’s summation of the topic. Broadly speaking, she was correct and while her definition lacked nuance and scientific oversight- that was by the by. The presence of non-baryonic matter on the planet would certain explain the variable gravity as well as the strange force that hurled hundreds of thousands of rocks at the Resolution and drawn it down into it’s well. Given that it happened quickly and just as the ship begun its approach, Iljor could not help but wonder if there was intelligence at work. He considered the possibility once more, suppressing a shiver that wanted to run from the nape of his neck to the base of his spine. An intelligence that could access and manipulate non-baryonic matter would undoubtedly be powerful- and dangerous. Fortunately, such musings were interrupted by Aine’s welcome change of topic. Sherlock: We need to get to Deck 8, ramp’s there. We can grab whatever supplies we need on the way there. Only problem is, I’m not sure the turbolifts will work. Anyone know the Jeffries Tubes well enough to get us there? Adea: Straight down the next one on the left. Should take us right there. In that moment, Iljor was grateful for the Chief Medical Officer’s intimate knowledge of the diminutive Nova-class ship. While he had built up a working knowledge of the ship’s interior layout, it did not extend to its crawlspaces and maintenance tubes. Sirin: I have been in one, but if we need assistance I’m certain Gnaxac could guide us. Sherlock: Great. Doctor, I recommend we take just medical supplies and phaser rifles. The nearest duranium scan was only a few clicks west of here. Aine made it sound like it just over a ridge, but in reality- it would be a trek over a nigh-inhospitable planet that seemed determined to keep its secret. Iljor harboured no illusion that the journey would be easy. On the contrary, he was expecting to be arduous. Adea: Sounds eminently sensible. Sirin: I suppose we are as prepared as we can be. Still, I have an odd feeling about this place. Sherlock: Response. Etan: Given what we’ve experienced so far, I’m inclined to feel the same as Meid- uh, Counselor Sirin. He chastised himself, remembering that while he and Meidra had formed a close bond in the months since his assignment to Resolution- she was still the ship’s counselor and outranked him. He had been cautioned that it was not unusual for junior officers to befriend those who held seniority- but that they had to remember that fact at all times. Adea: I’m not surprised; how often is a ship literally knocked out of the sky by hundreds of thousands of rocks? What do they have down here? A plethora of catapults? The thought made Iljor snort out a chuckle despite the seriousness of their current predicament. He had come to value the Doctor’s ability to defuse a difficult or grave situation with a humorous comment. Sherlock/Sirin: Response. The Jeffries Tubes beckoned, in all its dark and gloomy majesty. They made their way down it in relative silence, Iljor concentrating on landing on each rung of the ladder cleanly. The last thing he wanted was to misstep and send his friends and colleagues plummeting down the tube to their certain deaths. Given how small the Resolution was, the descent through the tubes to Deck 8 was relatively brief. Iljor stepped off the final rung and onto the decking and went to collect his equipment; a phaser (something he was loathe to use unless he absolutely had to), a palm held flashlight, a visual recording device that fitted across the top of his unruly mop of hair like a band and felt comfortable against his right temple and a tricorder. He checked that the phaser and tricorder were fully charged (they were) and then activated the recording device by pressing a small button behind the small high definition camera. Adea: Right, shall we be off then? Etan: Begin recording, Lieutenant Etan Iljor, Science Officer, U.S.S. Resolution. Location: uncharted planet near outer boundaries of the Briar Patch. ::he looked to Doctor Adea.:: Given the apparent unreliability of the sensors here, I thought this might be a good idea. ::he pointed to the device.:: Adea/Sherlock/Sirin: Response. Iljor holstered his phaser and tricorder, tugged the bottom of his uniform jacket and marshalled his wits about him as the outer airlock opened. As the ramp descended to the ground, they got their first look at the strange new world that lay before them. Underneath a thick blanket of black clouds lay a barren wasteland of rocky spires of dark brown stone. In the near darkness, they looked intimidating and imposing. Iljor activated the flashlight and stepped down the ramp carefully and deliberately. Stepping onto the wasteland he felt a crunching beneath his feet and he looked down, brittle looking plants snaked in vines across the ground that exuded a strange warmth. Etan: Plants. ::he said, a trace of amazement bled into his voice.:: The ground is also warm. Might be geothermal in nature. That would certainly make sense, geothermal and volcanic activity on a sunless world could lead to an atmosphere conducive to life, even if it was not intelligent. Adea/Sherlock/Sirin: Response. Taking a few more steps- and making an effort not to crush any more of the plants- Iljor looked about the stygian vista. Steep cliffs of stone rose on either side of them, towering at least a kilometer or more above them. Resolution had apparently come down in a wide, but unmistakable gorge that was probably ten of millions of years old. He unclipped his tricorder and set about scanning the nearest rocky spire. Unsurprisingly, the tricorder did not want to cooperate, the effects of the Patch obfuscating the readings a great deal. Etan: Readings are patchy but I think this is composed of calcite and aragonite- and it’s natural. ::he turned to look at his colleagues.:: Not crafted. Adea/Sherlock/Sirin: Response. Etan: I wonder if we are the first people to visit this area of the planet. ::the idea took his breath for a moment.:: This is quite something. ::he whispered.:: Adea/Sherlock/Sirin: Response. -- tag/tbc -- Lieutenant (J.G.) Etan Iljor Science Officer U.S.S. Resolution C239203TW0
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