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Literary Challenges : The Library Computer

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  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited May 2011
    Title: Choices

    Brigid heard a raised voice before she even stepped into engineering.

    “You can’t be serious!”

    “Your conclusion is in error.”

    She stopped as the door swished shut behind her and looked around. The Ecliptic was a new ship—new to her, at least—but engineering looked the same. Perhaps a little more compact. The Ecliptic was a Nova class, and space was at a premium, even more than on the Deborah Sampson, her previous command.

    The source of the commotion was obvious at once. She saw two figures in one of the dimly lit alcoves across from the warp core, one standing unnaturally straight and still, facing off against a second in almost constant motion, gesturing with his hands and shifting from one foot to another as he spoke.

    “It seems 4 of 12 is making new friends.” The voice over Brigid’s right shoulder nearly startled her. “In this case, Ensign Rivers,” her first officer, Sayvok, continued.

    “That’s Andreas Rivers?” Brigid had expected…well, she wasn’t certain. She’d been making a habit out of reading personnel files every night with the same intensity that she packed and sometimes re-packed her equipment before a long camping trip. It was a ritual of sorts. It made her feel prepared, though, unlike excursions into the wilderness or repairing machines, she never felt fully prepared in dealing with people. More than once, she’d wondered why she was in command of a starship in the first place.

    She’d read Rivers bio several days before, shortly after arriving at Starbase K-7 and taking formal command of the Ecliptic. He was, by all accounts, a genius. He wore science blue, partly because his primary training was in oceanography, but he was also an accomplished engineer. He’d published several papers on advanced information system theory using his study of the oceans as a model for the digital universe. As someone who shared an interest both in the natural world and technology, she’d been looking forward to meeting him, but not like this.

    He was shouting again. “If you want to blow the ship up, I’ll happily bring up the self-destruct routine for you. That would be so much more ‘efficient’…”

    Brigid sighed and walked toward the alcove. She could feel every eye in engineering following her. It was one part of command she hated most. But not the most. That part was coming up.

    She cleared her throat and did her best to keep her voice calm and even. “Is there a problem here? Aside from the obvious.”

    The “obvious” was that the artificial gravity was malfunctioning all over the ship. Several decks were operating at reduced levels and the bridge was currently at zero g.

    Both 4 of 12 and Rivers looked at her as if she’d appeared out of nowhere.

    “Captain, I’m glad you’re here. I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances.” Rivers held out a hand. “I’m actually honored to meet you. I heard about some of your missions on the Deborah Sampson. I understand you bringing your own chief engineer on board, but, with all due respect, it would have been better to include someone who knew what she was doing.”

    Rivers was brash and arrogant. She’d expected that.

    “Ensign Rivers’s assessment is not accurate, Captain Zeen.” 4 of 12’s voice was as monotone as ever. Her grey skin looked even paler in the murkiness of the alcove, and her Borg implants seemed twice as prominent.

    Brigid felt the usual knot in her stomach as soon as 4 of 12 spoke. She often wondered why the woman made her feel so uncomfortable. Her chief engineer was more machine than person, something that might have been blamed on her assimilation—though from what Brigid knew, she’d been uncomfortable with her humanity even before the Borg found her.

    In either case, Brigid had always felt more at home with pieces of equipment than with people. They were so much simpler and more straightforward, at least once you understood them. The wilderness, for all its unforgiving harshness, was the same. People were messy.

    And yet, she found 4 of 12 unnerving. Even more than the Vulcans she knew—like her First Officer, who now stood silently at her side, and her Chief Security Officer, T'Pell, who she’d left in command. She would even call these two friends, particularly since they’d begun meeting for weekly dinners together. Vulcans were logical, but not inhuman. And there was probably no better way to describe 4 of 12 than inhuman. Or maybe the former borg just reminded her of her own awkwardness.

    She’d seriously considered not bringing her over from the Deborah Sampson, but their final hours on that old ship had allowed her to see the full extent of her chief engineer's skills and she’d resolved never to doubt 4 of 12—at least not in technical matters—again.

    She shook herself from her thoughts long enough to shake Rivers’s hand. “So, do you know what the problem is?”

    “I know what one of the problems is, Captain,” Rivers jumped in, ignoring his superior officer. “A subroutine in the gravitational regulation control has begun looping. We need to reboot the entire environmental control system or things will just get worse.”

    4 of 12 swiveled her head to look at Brigid. “Ensign Rivers is mistaken. Rebooting the environmental control system will not fix the subroutine looping. It will deprive the Ecliptic of environmental controls entirely for three point seven days and require a ship-wide evacuation.”

    Rivers snapped his attention back to 4 of 12. “You don’t know this ship or its systems. I’ve made several modifications…”

    “Perhaps those are to blame.” Brigid thought she almost heard an uncharacteristically smug tone in 4 of 12’s voice.

    “I…wha…you have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve been on this ship for a year and a half. I know ever inch of her. What do you know? Maybe if this were a cube…”

    Brigid took a deep breath. “Ensign, enough.” She stepped forward and did a quick diagnostic of the environmental control subroutines. She laughed inwardly as she did—captaining a starship and still running diagnostics.

    Her quick survey didn’t show her anything new. Maybe she’d been on the bridge too long. But then, information tech was never her specialty. She’d always been most at home with things she could take apart, feeling the pieces in her hands, seeing how they fit together.

    She paused, momentarily uncertain.

    Then she smiled at Rivers. “Ensign, I appreciate all the work you’ve done on the Ecliptic. I’d like you to compile a report so you can inform Lt. 4 of 12 and me about all the improvements you’ve made. Once we understand them, we can all agree on a plan to let you continue making things even better.”

    She hesitated only for a moment. “But, I’ve learned to trust my chief engineer.”

    She felt Rivers frown as she turned to 4 of 12. She tried hard to ignore the anger and frustration radiating from him. “What do you propose?”

    “If we make the following modifications, Captain Zeen…” She began typing on the nearest console, her fingers a blur.

    Brigid tried to keep up but to no avail. After a moment, the LCARS display flashed once, and the computer announced: “Gravitational parameters returning to normal. All environmental systems responding

    Brigid looked up at 4 of 12. She half-expected to see a smile of triumph on her face, but as usual there was nothing.

    By contrast, Rivers’s expression turned from angry to curious as he studied the display. “I…I see what you’ve done here…but this? Wait…yes…”

    She stepped back out of the alcove, glancing back at the two forms leaning over the gravitational subsystem display, comparing notes.

    “Well done, Captain.” Once again, she’d nearly forgotten about Sayvok.

    “You might have said something,” she said as they stepped into the corridor.

    “Perhaps. But it did not seem necessary. You had the situation well in hand.”

    “Really? Next time, I’m bringing T’Pell.”

    Sayvok raised his eyebrow. “As you wish, Captain. Unfortunately, you will find that she believes in you as much as I.”

    She raised her own eyebrow.

    “Perhaps even more.”

    Brigid laughed despite herself. “And I thought Vulcans were logical.”

    They stepped into the turbolift. “Bridge,” she said, still chuckling to herself.
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited May 2011
    NOTE: I have attempted to include events/missions from the game and explain the speed at which my character got promoted into this story (an attempt to explain how you could get from Ensign to Vice Admiral in a matter of months).

    The fist smacked into Luke’s face far harder than he was expecting, sending his head snapping back and then slumping forward again. Thoughts rushed through his head, garbled voices around him. He was starting to lose consciousness.
    “I’ll ask you again Vice Admiral,” said the Orion in front of him, “the security codes for Earth’s defence systems.”
    “Oh come on Ahara! You’ve somehow made General and you can’t even be more creative about your interrogation questions!”
    Another blow to the back of his head sent Luke’s mind reeling off...

    Smoke filled the bridge. Luke ran forward phaser in hand, but it was too late. The Captain and the entire command crew were dead. The Borg had made sure of that before the crew had retaken the ship.
    “Orders sir?”
    Luke turned to face the Bolian crewman who had arrived with him from the USS Khitomer.
    “Sir! You’re the ranking officer on this ship! Orders!”
    Luke turned to face the command chair in the centre of the bridge. It suddenly looked very big and imposing, especially for an Ensign with barely five months experience outside of the Academy.
    “Ensign! Receiving multiple distress signals!”
    Luke sat in the chair. The USS Apollo was his now, and he would be sure to bring her and what remained of her crew home. That was his duty and he knew that more than anything.
    “Mister Albar, take us into transporter range of the USS Kelvin. Let’s see if we can help those survivors. Then, we’ll move to the Vega Colony and show the Borg we’re not out of this fight yet!”
    “Yes sir!”


    Luke was jarred back into consciousness by his head being roughly pulled back. He strained again at his bonds. Was that a give in the manacle around his left arm? He strained again.
    “Vice Admiral, the command codes please...”
    “Go to hell!”
    SMACK.

    The USS Apollo had taken its last beating a Vega. Now a Lieutenant, Luke was ordered to bring her back to ESD for a complete refit after just a few patrol missions. Admiral Quinn met him at the transporter room, a PADD in hand.
    “Congratulations Lieutenant Commander. You’ve proven yourself in command, and as a result I feel it necessary to reassign you and your crew.”
    “Lieutenant Commander sir?” asked Luke, his surprise on clear display.
    “That is correct. Come with me I’ll give you a full briefing in my office”

    Then Luke commanded the USS Helena, an Excalibur class cruiser. The whole crew from the USS Apollo was transferred and the ship ran beautifully. State of the art weapons, shields and sensors the likes of which had never been seen on the old Miranda class ship. An assignment to the front lines against the Klingons meant that the Helena soon saw combat, and she performed remarkably. And then that fateful day when she chased B’Vat to save Miral Paris and ended up back in the time of Jame T. Kirk. The Guardian of Forever helped them return once the timeline was restored, but the Department of Temporal affairs wasn’t convinced. The whole ship was impounded, and Luke and his crew were lucky to return to active duty within a matter of days. Then there was Luke’s promotion to Commander, apparently saving the entire Federation carried some weight with Starfleet Command...


    “I grow tired of this Vice Admiral!”
    “I’m still not talking!”
    “If you won’t tell me the command codes,” General Ahara turned to a soothing, almost seductive voice that came naturally to Orion females, “then tell me what you were doing on that planet!”
    “Oh of course,” Luke was laughing now, “and while I’m at it I’ll tell you the battle plans Starfleet has for this sector, the command codes for my ship, oh and what I had for breakfast!”
    That earned Luke a backhand around the face that drew blood...

    From Ensign to Commander in a matter of months. That was almost unheard of within Starfleet, but circumstances had helped Luke and his crew. Now the USS Concorde was engaging the Romulans over Rator along with the Federation fleet to prevent the Romulans from using sub-space weapons. The Concorde was a good ship, and Luke had finally started getting used to it after two months in command.
    “Sir! The Scimitar class is coming around on the Pecos again! If they take another hit that will be in for them!”
    “Helm, defensive pattern Theta Two. Move us into position over the Pecos. All weapons fire at will!”
    The Concorde shot through space, phasers blazing and moved to position itself between the advancing Romulan battleship and the stricken Galaxy class.
    “Incoming fire!”
    “Hold position!”
    The ship rocked , consoles exploded all around the bridge and smoke started pouring into the room.
    “Direct impact. Forward power couplings are down!”
    “Shields at 25%! We can’t take another hit like that!”
    “Divert auxiliary power to....”
    The whole ship shuddered. The lights flickered on and off as various alarms started blazing together.
    “Report!” shouted Luke as he pulled himself back into the command chair, blood streaming from a nasty cut on his forehead.
    “Lower starboard nacelle has been blown clean off sir! We’re venting drive plasma!”
    “Engineering reports coolant leaks! They’re attempting to shut down!”
    “Shields have failed! Weapon systems are offline!”
    The ship rocked violently again. This time the lights went off for good, leaving the eerie red glow of the emergency lighting.
    “Main power is offline! Engineering reports they cannot shut off the coolant leaks! Warp core breach imminent!”
    “How long?”
    “Five minutes sir!”
    Luke knew that wasn’t long enough to evacuate the entire ship.
    “Sir the Pecos is hailing! Lieutenant Commander Mitchell has taken command, and says they have transporters back online. They are preparing to beam us aboard!”
    “Helm. Set auto-pilot to ram that Scimitar!”
    The ship lurched forward. The Romulan battleship grew rapidly in the viewscreen, weapons blazing. Each blast caused the Concorde to lurch violently. A blue glow filled his vision, and next thing he knew Luke was standing on the bridge of the Pecos, next to his command crew, covered in blood and black dirt and watching as the Concorde hit the Scimitar at full speed. The Romulan ship noticed the danger too late, and the explosion filled the viewscreen with a brilliant white light.


    Luke dragged himself back to consciousness and forced himself to concentrate. The room was small a square, dimly lit as was the custom within Klingon ship interiors. A low table was on one side of the room and there sat Luke’s combadge, anti-proton pistol and utility vest with various pieces of equipment in pockets and pouches. Standing next to that table was General Ahara. A tall, slender Orion female with silky black hair and wearing a mix of the usual revealing clothing preferred by Orion women and sleek ceremonial armour appropriate to her rank. Luke had met her before on the battlefield many times and once they had even been forced to work together against the Breen. Next to her stood a human male, muscular and wearing the Klingon sash of a commander.
    “Let me deal with him General. I’ll report when I break him.”
    “You should have talked to me Vice Admiral” smiled the Orion as she walked out the room.
    Luke heard the movement of feet that sounded like two guards saluting as the General left. Two guards, he had to remember that, but now he had more pressing concerns.
    “So....Commander is it? An Orion General in command of this ship with a human first officer! Times have changed within the Empire...”
    The man moved so quickly Luke hardly had time to brace himself as the punch landed squarely on his jaw...

    The time Luke spent commanding the USS Pecos was a time he would never forget. He was promoted to Captain for his bravery at the Battle of Rator and given command of the ship he had saved when the previous commanding officer had died of his wounds in sick bay. The crew of the Pecos weren’t very happy about this to say the least, many of them disapproved of a Captain who was much younger and had served less time than a majority of the crew, and to make matters worse in their eyes he had brought his own crew on board as simple replacements to the lost members of the Pecos.

    Rumours also spread of Luke’s record. The USS Apollo damaged and forced to under-go extensive refits and repairs, the USS Helena confiscated by the secretive Department of Temporal Affairs, USS Concorde destroyed and now many wondered what would become of the Pecos. On the way to Deep Space 9 for assignment in Cardassian space multiple fights broke out between the split crew over their new commanding officer. It took all of Luke’s limited resolve to see it through and not request reassignment.

    Over time the atmosphere on the Pecos became less hostile. Divisions between the old and new crew lessened, and eventually after four months that seemed an eternity the ship started to feel like it was working as a unit. Then the Terran Empire attacked the Federation. The Pecos, despite being nearly 40 years old was right on the front line. What followed was a whirlwind of events: the exposing of an Undine agent intent on destroying Deep Space 9, preventing the Terran Empire for diverting the Bajoran Wormhole, a meeting with the Bajoran Prophets, crossing over into the Terran Empire universe to close the rift between there and the Federation’s universe and the discovery of a New Link. It had been hardly a year since Vega and Luke once again found himself recalled to Earth, for promotion and reassignment. Rumours circulated that he was given special treatment by command, but the crew of the Pecos stuck true to their story on their commanding officer: he made his own luck and was exactly the sort of person that Starfleet needed with Admiral pips on his uniform.


    Luke looked blearily at the man in front of him. He felt himself losing consciousness more and more often and looking back on his past commands. He knew the moment he couldn’t wake up the Klingons would kill him. Then the whole room shook. Alarms blasted throughout the Klingon ship. The human commander looked up and then ran out of the room, shouting a command to the guards that Luke couldn’t quite hear. That didn’t matter, since the manacle on his left arm was indeed loose. Luke strained against the bond, putting every last bit of energy he had into breaking it. A click and the left restraint opened slightly, but not enough to be seen by the guards. Luke groaned out loud, and slumped in his chair. He hoped it wasn’t too over dramatic. The room shook violently again. He heard movement behind him and saw two guards appear, one on either side, through his half closed eyes. An Orion male to the left and a Klingon to the right. Luke took a deep breath and then moved.

    TO BE CONTINUED....
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited May 2011
    CONTINUED....

    His left arm came up, fully out of the manacle and swung upwards into the Orions throat. The green skinned alien staggered back choking and cluching his throat. At the same time Luke’s right arm swung backwards, elbow first into the Klingon’s stomach, causing the burly warrior to stagger back. That gave Luke the time he needed. He dived forward for the table, grabbed for his pistol. His hand closed around the grip and swung round, pulling the trigger twice. The first red beam lanced into the Klingon’s face just as he was reaching for his disruptor pistol, the second beam hit the Orion square in the chest leaving a burning hole. Both guards dropped to the floor. An explosion of sparks overhead. Luke slumped on the table, he felt his consciousness slipping away again, three days as a Klingon prisoner finally taking its toll. He fumbled for his combadge on the table and succeeded in grabbing it and placing it on his tattered uniform . Another violent shake of the room. Luke’s eyes started to close. A warm tingling on his skin. Luke slipped back into his memories...

    The USS Alecto, NCC-7084, hung in orbit over Earth, still within the confines of dry-dock. The huge star-cruiser was Luke’s next ship as a Rear Admiral Lower Half and was finally a command of his own. Fresh out of San Francisco Shipyards he was to be the first commanding officer ever to sit in the Alecto's command chair. He had selected the crew, the ship was ready and now all she needed was her commanding officer. Just as Luke’s shuttle approached the sun appeared over the curve of Earth, bathing the Alecto in a radiant light. Alecto, an Ancient Greek Erinye, a demi-goddess. The ship certainly looked it now.

    Over the course of the next six months Luke commanded the Alecto in the retaking of Starbase 82, an encounter with Q, against the Undine in their own space and the rescue of colonists from a world invaded by the Borg. Soon Luke was promoted once again to Rear Admiral Upper Half, and then the discovery of an Undine Terradome, helping to find a cure of the Borg assimilation virus and at the same time take a step towards peace with the Klingons as well as yet another time travel mission back to the battle with the Borg at Vega, all lead to promotion to Vice Admiral. The new found rank gave Luke the ability to deploy the Alecto where it was needed most. It was on this ship that he truly felt at home. It was his ship, and his alone.


    Luke awoke in a sickbay, to see Lieutenant Commander Nrisele, Chief Medical Officer on the Alecto, looking down on him, dermal regenerator in hand.
    “You are lucky to be alive sir!” she said with a smile
    “What happened?” groaned Luke, feeling a headache started to appear.
    “The crew wouldn’t accept me in command,” said the joking voice of Luke’s first officer as she stepped next to Nrisele, also with a smile on her face, “they insisted we come and get you. It was lucky you activated your combadge when you did, we were having trouble scanning the Klingon ship for your signal.”
    “What happened to the Klingons?”
    “They escaped just after we beamed you out. You collapsed in the transporter room, and as Nrisele said you’re lucky to be here.”
    “Ah well...” sighed Luke.
    "Sir?" asked his First Officer in a confused tone.
    "Nothing Commander. It doesn't matter now. I'm home..."
    And with that Luke lay back on the bed and for the first time in several days, relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief.
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited May 2011
    I always hesitate at these moments. Every time. A new command brings new challenges. It’s never the challenge nor the change that bothers me. Something new is exciting and interesting. The "new" must never be burdensome. It is letting go of the old that causes my hesitation.

    As a native of Titan, one of Saturn’s moons, I was practically born in space. It’s my element and I am compelled to explore. It is my fate to be the eternal wanderer. As a wanderer, I am defined not by what I leave behind but by what precious few things I choose to bring with me on my journey.

    Each command, each crew, each ship, is an extended family who are all joined in an adventure. It was always sad to loose part of a family: for our journey to part ways. Saying goodbye to a ship or its crew is always hard.

    The privilege of selecting your command staff is a wonderful thing. If I choose to use this privilege, it brings me some continuity to my journey. Unfortunately this privilege is a two edged sword. Admiral Quinn once remarked that I had an eye for hidden talent and that I often appeared to select personnel that other Captains had overlooked. I appreciate his confidence. Unfortunately my choices have often attracted… unexpected comment.

    My staff decisions are often questioned. No candidate had ever let me down. But despite my confidence in my team and the many accomplishments we have achieved, whispers and rumours follow us everywhere… and there are so many. Like any annoying rumour, some are particularly persistent.

    - “Markus Sheppard associates with Borg.”
    This rumour refers to Deputy Chief Engineer Simulacra or “Simie”. It ignores that she is a gifted engineer who lost most of her memories during assimilation. Her ability to function in society is quite limited. I suspect most Captains would have difficulty in accommodating her… fortunately my team is able to compensate.

    - “Markus Sheppard has a pair of pet Klingons.”
    I often wonder at Commander Disok’s reaction to this. As my Head of Security, he is quite reserved and simply refuses to comment. On the other hand, Commander Vulkrath, Head of Sciences, makes her views very clear on this rumour… quite loudly too.

    - “Markus Sheppard actually made Owdg-or.”
    Actually, I didn’t. This rumour misrepresents Owdg-or’s prodigious manufacturing and research talents and her teaching of these to me. In this respect I am her student. The fact that she is also the sole ambassador of her species to the Federation and that she is serving in Starfleet to determine her planet’s official position seems lost on some commentators. I made first contact with her people and I inadvertently became her “Moun’da ta” or her guide in the world. I cannot simply abandon this responsibility.

    - “Markus Sheppard keeps a harem of Betazoids.”
    - “Markus Sheppard got rid of Sel’el and Ordtin so he could replace them with more Betazoids.”
    - “Commander Emetir is only there for show.”

    This set of rumours are my personal favourites. I have four Betazoids on my command roster: Oleina, Dyesane, Velerie and Emetir (“Emet”). Of these four, only Emet is male. Apparently he is retained simply as a smokescreen to persuade people I do not have a Betazoid harem. I assure you there is nothing inappropriate about my relations with any of my team. The species, and gender, of these officers is irrelevant. They are highly competent officers whose talents I fully employ.

    Dyesane and I have known each other since our time in the Academy. Oleina, my first officer, along with Emet have both been part of my team since serving on the U.S.S. Damocles.

    Emet (formerly Deputy Chief Engineer) became Chief Engineer when my outgoing Chief Engineer Ordtin (a Bolian I have known since the Academy) left my command and recommended him. Dr Valerie Rothchild was unknown to me until she was recommended by my outgoing Science Head, the Vulcan Sel’el. Of course, the rumour that I “got rid of Sel’el and Ordtin to make way for more Betazoids" is as outrageous as it is hurtful. I miss my two friends greatly and I wish them all the best.

    Then of course there are the “sympthathizer” rumours because I had the audacity to accept into my roster a Breen (Mister Mat) and the Reman, Mister T’Kek.

    I accept that this group is diverse. However, this team is greater than the sum of its parts. These are the people whom I entrust my life and the lives of my crew. Time and again these people have proven their worth and loyalty. For this, time and again, I will ask them if they would like to continue to journey with me. It pains me when they leave but it is their own journey they must follow.

    My reverie is interrupted as the hairs on my neck raise. “Sir, the crew are gathered.” The idea gently flows through my mind while the commlink remains silent.

    “Thank you, Dyesane. Are the others all here?”

    Gently I feel the presence of each of them in my mind. The empaths (Dysane, Oleina, Emit and Dr Rothchild), have joined the others (Disok, Vulkrath, Simmie, Met and T’Kek, Owdg-or and myself) into the mind channel.

    The idea of a "mind communication channel" dates back to my Academy days and I suspect Romulan ale may have played a part in the initial idea. Forming this link took many years of experimentation. Having compatable team members was essential. Developing sufficient trust in all parties took time. Learning to link the diverse minds of many species is an impressive feat and it took all four Betazoids working together finally unlock that puzzle. Now it something that any of them can establish for our command team. Developing a "language" for the chanel was also an impressive feat as I am told it is not quite telepathy and not quite empathy that we are using.

    This mental connection has served my command staff well. It allows almost instant communication and provides us with incredible precision and team cohesion. The ability to effectively coordinate a team like this is a human trait and requires a human mind, like my own, to fully employ... or so everyone in our little team tells me. Apparently it does not work as well when I am not part of the group.

    “All right people. We know the drill. We know they won’t understand our history and connection. But we will win them over. Just like last time and the time before that. As a team we can anything. Once we forge them into a team, they will be able to do anything. That’s our job, so let’s go greet the crew of U.S.S. Relentless Refit A.”
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited May 2011
    Vice Admiral Oshin S'ree had grown into a calm and resolute figure over this last year. Being a Caitian he had for a long time been the pain the neck for all his former commanding officers. He "takes matters into his own hands, he is rash, prone to outbursts of temper and God forbid anyone who disagrees with him", the judgement came from his last Captain. The now missing Rear Admiral Wesley Dobbs. It was Wesley who brought Oshin into starfleet and it was he who became the only reliable Father figure to the young Caitian. In July of last year on a mission in Gamma Orionis Wesley Dobbs was abducted by a powerful unknown enemy. Those details of which were only released to him upon being promoted to Vice Admiral.

    It was strange that Oshin would be having these thoughts again after so long yet, he knew there would be a reason for it


    "Admiral" the voice was familiar of course to the solumn Admiral.

    "I assumed, Commander, our relationship had hit the point were we can use each others names?" Oshin turned around and looked upon his long time first officer Jennifer Nushir. A smile had returned to his face. "Oshin, the other senior staff have expressed concern about their Captain"

    "Wow. I've been demoted in less then a minute!" a short but reassuring laugh came from Oshins lips. Jennifer knew that a joke was his way of saying everything is alright, and the Nushir Symbiote itself within her body had several lifetimes of relationship experience to know how to read Oshin

    "Youve been locked up in your quarters for almost two days, I just wondered if it had anything to do with me. Or our discussion..." Nushir turned away and look to the floor. She didnt want to reopen old wounds but she had to be sure he was fine

    "Jennifer..." Oshin walked over, the pads from the bottoms of his feet made an unmistakable sound across the carpeting. The Human Helmsman, Kevin Barton remarked how it reminded him of something called fuzzy felts but the joke was lost on the Trill and the Caitian. "I dont want you to dwell on that night, I've forgotten about it. It just would not be right for us to pursue... relations. You have been my closest friend for the last fifteen years. You were right to turn me down"

    "That wasnt what I said Oshin" Jennifer turns into him "I said I couldnt date my commanding officer"

    "So transfer"

    "You kidding! Miss out on all this... wheres the fun in that Fluffy?" Now Jennifer was the one making jokes. She knew Oshin hated that name, when they first met as Children on Jupiter Station Oshin was smaller then her. She said she always wanted a Cat called fluffy and the name stuck, much to Oshins disdain. Jennifer moved across the 'Captains Quarters' and looked curiously upon an old communicator. It was late 24th Century design clearly by the pattern of it but it had on odd black box attached to the back. A green faint glow pulsing from the centre

    "What you have in your hands is... personal to me" Oshin wasnt even looking but his Feline instincts knew where she was in the room. He moved over to the couch and sat down. He punched some commands into the replicator and two glasses of Saurian Brandy materialized

    "Today is the birthday of one Admiral Wesley Dobbs"

    "He was your old tutor, right?" enquired Jennifer

    "Yes. Well no. Well, more then that. He was the guy who brought me into Starfleet, he helped me access the databases at Memory Alpha when I was just a boy. He is the one who told me I am half Kzinti

    "...Let me guess, that communicator is his?" Jennifer sipped her Brandy and she sat next to Oshin, her head resting on his shoulder

    "His last orders were to assemble a Special Task Force, I was one of them. By the time we had all met up it was already too late, a Borg Cube had been following the Alexandria for days. It was just outside of her sensor range until it attacked. Im not sure about happenned next, all I remember is looking out of the viewscreen, my crew injured myself going into unconscioussness but I am sure I saw something else out there. Another ship attacking the Borg and the Alexandria"

    "My god! What happenned to Dobbs?"

    "When I next came round I was at Starbase 47. They told me the Alexandria had been destroyed after they lowered their own shields. I wa sconfused, I didnt know why they'd do that but they handed me that communicator. It had been partially assimilated and given directly to me"

    "Why? I dont understand Oshin"

    "Nor do I, but that faint green glow only occurrs on this day, his Birthday. I firmly believe that wherever Wes is he is trying to talk to me. I believe he modified that communicator deliberately and maybe he knew he was going to be abducted"

    "Oshin, its very likely he died" Oshin stands and walks over to the console on his desk

    "Computer, show file for Rear Admiral Wesley Dobbs. Security Clearance Alpha 459 red"

    "Voice pattern recognised, pass code accepted"

    Oshin sits on the desk next to the console and rotates the screen. Nushir stands and walks over and looks at the security file:

    Rear Admiral Dobbs, Wesley J
    Commanding Officer, U.S.S Alexandria
    Status: M.I.A


    "Starfleet are just holding out hope?"

    "I dont think so, but then of course that suggests that this whole thing has been planned and someone within Starfleet knows whats going on. You asked if I was alright, Jennifer, I am not sad I am... distracted

    Oshin purrs with satisfaction

    "If anyone asks what that is, the only answer I can give them is I am Holding it for a friend"
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited May 2011
    “I don’t like her.”
    “But you haven’t even talked to her.”
    “She was a BORG DRONE! What’s to say she won’t turn on us when she gets near the collective? I hear most of what’s under that plastoid suit is still mechanical, what’s to say they got all the ‘bad stuff’ out?”
    “Speaking of her body, if she was just the slightest shade of blue … and perhaps a bit balder …”
    “Char!”

    Robert punched his Bolian friend in the arm as they walked through the corridors of their newly assigned ship, the USS ‘Galloping Moose’. Here and there engineers were removing panels and doing some last minute modifications to the ship’s systems.

    “Personally I prefer the Borg lady over our chief engineer. I was working on the EPS conduits the other day and he called me an ‘overgrown Smurf’. I don’t even know what that is”, Char exclaimed.
    Robert shrugged his shoulders in a ‘why do you assume I know’-way and replied: “He’s Tellarite, they consider insults to be a form of flattery and argumentation a sport. He was probably congratulating you on your fine work.”
    “Oooh, right, I forgot about that.”

    They turned into a corridor and nearly collided with a Trill completely engrossed with reading a PADD, “Sorry ladies”, she said and continued walking, not bothering to lift her head.
    “Wasn’t that our new science officer”, Robert asked his friend.
    “I think so. Now Rob you’ve got to admit that SHE’S cute”, he added in a whisper.
    “I’ve talked to her once and you can’t get a sensible word out of her. I’ve never met a more confused person.”
    “You seem determined to ‘not-like’ every single one of our new officers. How about our tactical officer?”
    “Yeah, I figured you’d have something to say about her”, he said with a chuckle, “she’s blue at least. But come on, she looks as if she’s perpetually angry. It’s unsettling, even for Andorians.”
    “Our captain?”
    Robert sighed, “I don’t know Char, he’s so ‘young’ and field commissioned to boot. I don’t think he has it in him. I don’t know if any of them do. Why didn’t he promote any officers from the Galileo?”
    “Oh so that’s why you’re so cranky. You feel like you got passed over for promotion? Rob, Rob, Rob, … You’re so easily influenced by first impressions.” The Bolian waved his hand and motioned around. “Take this ship, ... ok maybe that's a bad example since it's a brand new Discovery class. Let me tell you those experimental engines they've put in her keep me up at night ... If you know what I mean.”
    “You’re sick you know that …”
    “And still you keep hanging out with me.”
    “That’s because nobody else will and I feel sorry for you. Anyway I have to pass by sickbay, my neck is acting up again.”
    “Alright buddy”, he clapped his human friend on the back who winced in pain, “but keep an open mind alright. The captain’s really older than you, you know.”

    Still rubbing his sore backside Robert walked into sickbay only to find that it was deserted apart from a young nurse and a man in a command uniform.
    “Captain!”
    “And don’t touch any of the catalysts, Syaxani likes to file those herself”, he said to the nurse before he turned to face the newcomer, “As you were lieutenant commander … Evans, right? How can I help you?”
    “I just came here to talk to the nurse, sir”, he said confidently. “My neck’s been acting up lately … always happens when we’re in spacedock. I don’t like sitting still.”
    “Well, she’s busy. The chief medical officer and half the staff I requested from the Galileo were reassigned at the last minute and sickbay has been a mess ever since”, the captain shook his head at his own words, “thank goodness Sya was still available. Let me look at that neck of yours.”
    “I beg your pardon, sir?”
    “Come now, I used to be a doctor you know”, he said with joviality and a hint of pride.

    Feeling slightly awkward, Robert walked over to one of the biobeds and sat down while the captain inquired to his symptoms.
    “Pardon my saying so, sir”, he said while his superior officer was running a scanner along his spine, “But are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
    “Well, I’m pretty sure. Don’t move.” In a swift motion he pressed his fingers in the area where his neck met his shoulders and pressed or twisted, resulting in an audible gasp from poor Mr. Evans. “That should do it.” He grabbed a hypo and injected it quickly. As the lieutenant commander felt his pain ebbing he continued. “My previous host, Tazi, was one hell of a physician. How are you feeling?”

    Robert rubbed the back of his neck which felt as good as new. "So that’s what Char meant, the captain’s a joined Trill."
    “That was impressive … sir.”
    “Nonsense, if you feel it acting up again, you should talk to Syaxani about it. That is, if she ever gets here.”
    Still bewildered Robert walked over towards the door when he saw a large bronze-ish plate lying near the door.
    “Sir, Is that what I think it is?”
    The captain walked over and picked up the ship's new name plaque.
    “Indeed, Mr. Evans. I was on my way to the bridge with this when the good nurse stopped me”, he held up the inscription for him to see, “’Galloping Moose’ sounded ridiculous don’t you agree?”
    All the two men could do was smile.


    “This is captain Jijan Tyr of the USS Caroline, we are on peaceful mission in the Antari nebula to test …”
    At that moment an explosion rocked the ship and interrupted the transmission.
    “Shut it down Miss Idran, fire phasers at the nearest ship and Mr. Evans … take the helm please.”

    Robert hurried towards the helm and relieved the ensign sitting there, who looked very relieved not to have to pull any battle maneuvers. Rob had hurried to the bridge at the captain's request. At the time it had been a yellow alert but now they were in a full blown battle. He could hear science officer Idran, the ‘confused Trill’, address the captain when he sat down.
    “It was a valiant attempt Jijan.”
    Robert had just enough time to shake his head at the comment, "Why did SHE have to be on duty right now and didn’t she know she should address him as ‘captain’? After that he was fully focused on the fight at hand.

    He counted four, no five Klingon Birds of Prey in one of their more ‘cooperative’ attack patterns. They were cloaking and decloaking in seemingly chaotic maneuvers making it difficult to get a target lock on them. He could hear the tactical officer, commander Th’Zarath, pound her console like she was an angry Klingon herself.
    “Captain, I’m having great difficulty keeping a target lock on them, they’re cloaking too fast.” Another explosion shook the ship. “If they keep hitting us like this we won’t have much of a ship left.”

    “Miss Masterson, how far are we from the Antari nebula?”
    A calm, almost cold voice replied and Robert realized it was ‘the Borg’ speaking. For some reason he never realized she’d have a name.
    “We could be there in under a minute captain.”
    “Lay in a course. Tyr to Tass”, he touched his combadge, “Chief, you overrated manifold scrubber, are those engine modifications ready to be brought online?”
    In a split-second the gruff voice of the Tellarite engineer sounded over the commotion of explosions and alert bells.
    “Yeah they’re ready, or at least ‘spacedock’ says they’re ready. They’ve never been tested. What the hell are you doing to my ship you worm-carrying TRIBBLE?”
    Jijan chuckled, “Nothing like a good field test, ey? Get them online and try not to blow out every conduit on *MY* ship you overgrown leprechaun.”
    “Hah, you do me to much honour”, the voice croaked through the comm system. “Don’t worry captain, I’ll keep her together.”

    Robert, who until now was too busy dodging Klingon attacks, hadn’t heard half of the conversation between the captain and his chief engineer, but he got the important bits. They were going it try and avoid the Klingons inside the nebula.
    “Captain, I’m reading severe plasma discharges and pockets of various ionizing gasses, recommend we drop to at least one-quarter impulse?”
    In just a second the captain stood behind his seat looking intently at Robert's console,
    “Negative Mr. Evans, three-quarter impulse.”
    “But sir, we’ll blow out our engines!”
    “Not if those new engine modifications hold up. Take us in.”
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited May 2011
    The Caroline swerved and dived right into the large blue expanse, a host of Klingons dangerously close behind them. Kept at bay only by a hail of pin-point accurate phaser fire unleashed by the Andorian officer. She was saving the ship by not allowing the Klingons, cloaked or otherwise, to get a clear shot. From the little he could see on his console he was very impressed.

    “Sir”, The cold voice said from somewhere at the back, “I’m reading build-ups in the intake manifolds, I’m trying to compensate but it seems the engine modifications aren’t working as intended.”
    Just as the captain hit his fist on Robert’s seat they heard their science officer speak.
    “Jijan, I think I may have a solution. If Mr. Evans can ‘glide’ between the different layers of plasma, follwing the natural currents while avoiding the discharges then according to my calculations it should alleviate the stress on the manifolds.”
    The captain turned and looked intently at Robert, for a moment he didn’t speak, then he asked: “Think you can surf in a plasma storm?”
    “Yes.”

    The Caroline dived in between a large blue cloud of plasma, it was almost as if there was a storm all around her as she expertly dodged lightning bolts arcing between the top and bottom layer. One of the Klingon ships wasn’t so lucky and got hit while cloaked. Since shields don't work when the cloak is up the hull absorbed the full force of the impact. The bird of prey spiralled out of control and disappeared beneath the bottom layer in a fiery ball of orange from the burning warp plasma.

    “That’s one down”, Commander Th’zarath shouted with glee.
    “We should still do something about those other four”, the Borg said, “shields have dropped to 20 percent”.
    “I would have done *something*, by now”, the Andorian commander replied angrily, “if those damned Klingons didn’t keep cloaking.”
    “There are several tachyon eddies off our starboard bow”, Captain Tyr responded, “Miss Idran, can you use the photonic emitters on our hull to create a shockwave to disperse them and overwhelm their cloaking devices?”
    The ship was rocked by another explosion, a console blew up and burned one of the officers on deck. Tyr hurried over to check on his wound.
    “Get him to Sickbay, immediately",he said to Miss Masterson.
    The former Borg drone gently scooped up her wounded crewmate and hurried him to the turbolift.
    “Miss Idran, can or can you not configure a photonic shockwave? … EZREA!”
    The Trill science officer’s hands stopped and she snapped her head up looking straight at him. She had been typing frantically during the entire conversation and had seemed oblivious to the captain’s orders.
    “I’m done, wave configured.”

    “Then by all means Mr. Evans, take us in.”

    Robert steered the Caroline straight at the eddies. It was only after the battle that he realized what an impressive display of ability Ezrea had shown, even though she appeared to have defied the captain. Not only had she configured the shockwave with alarming speed, but she had been feeding him real-time predictions of where the plasma discharges would hit so he could stay clear of them.
    “We’re in position captain.”
    “Activate!”

    The four remaining birds of prey dived at their target. The chase had gone on for far too long and their engines couldn’t take much more. Now was the time for the kill! None of their ships had been too badly damaged, but the Starfleet vessel’s shields were dangerously low and a piece of their EPS grid had blown out, leaving a gash along the hull. It looked like a bleeding animal, waiting to be slaughtered. Right as the Klingon commander wanted to give the order to all ships to fire weapons simultaneously a large bubble appeared around their prey, expanding exponentially and pushing all plasma and ionizing gasses their way.

    “Sir, all Klingons ships have decloaked”, Th’zarath exclaimed, “and even better sir, their engines have overloaded. They’re adrift! ”
    There was a general cheer on the bridge which was at last interrupted by the captain’s voice.
    “Are they in any danger?”
    ”Unfortunately not, sir” (several crewmen laughed) ”Their current trajectory will bring them out of the nebula in no time.”
    The captain rubbed his hands together, “Then it is time we do the same. Mr. Evans … take us out of this place. I see no further reason to test the experimental drive.” He then added in a lower voice so only Robert could hear him, “and well done Mr. Evans, I knew that when I saw your record I couldn’t let such natural piloting skills be promoted away. You truly are a natural.”

    Robert wanted to speak up, waylay his claim, fight his decision, but he knew the captain was right. The thrill he experienced when he alone piloted the Caroline and its crew into certain harm or safety was a responsibility he wouldn’t entrust to anyone. He looked over the captain’s shoulder and saw the bridge crew, HIS bridge crew, bustling and looking after each other. He could certainly entrust his life to them. In the end, there was really only one thing he could say:

    “Aye, aye captain”.
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited May 2011
    Captain’s Log … Stardate 87685.09

    I think I’ve set some kind of record. This morning I was a Starfleet Ensign on my first mission after graduating from the Academy. Tonight, I am the Captain of the USS. Montgomery.

    I have to admit that it’s wonderful being in command of my own vessel again. Those two and a half years on Earth in the Academy were some of the most difficult for me. Earth is beautiful. It reminds me of Tobarrus, which made it all the more difficult to be there. Everywhere I turned, I expected to see my family, friends, and Audria (my wife) come ‘round the corner. I was happy to finally graduate from the Academy and feel space beneath my boots.

    In my old life, before the destruction of Tobarrus, I served my people for a decade as a starship captain. I relished those occasions when I would come home. The sight of its blue oceans and green continents would send my heart racing. Then, the coast line of my home land would appear over the horizon. A wave of nervous anticipation would rush over me and I would start pacing back and forth to the helm and back again. A small spec on my view screen would grow larger and larger as we drew closer and closer to my home town. The scent of my favorite meal prepared by my wife; her perfume; and the earthy scent after it rains … I was home.

    All of that changed after the Borg destroyed Tobarrus. Those years of scratching out a meager existence in the middle of Borg occupied space with no home world to seek refuge, has changed me. The influx of refugees from the home world to our colonies strained their resources. When the fighting began over kamas rice, the colony had no choice but to turn people away. We formed a convoy and set out into the unknown universe seeking the necessities of life. Survival was arduous, but we survived and found a new home that welcomed us with open arms, thousands of light years away ...

    But, I digress.

    Today, the Borg attacked Vega Colony. I was ordered to board the USS Khitomer and assist with the defense of the ship. Onboard, the command staff was dead or unconscious, and pockets of survivors were struggling to hold key areas of the ship from wave after wave of Borg drones. I lent them a hand and phaser.

    … Borg. … They took everything from me. I hate to admit it, but at the time, I got a great deal of satisfaction from killing those drones. I regret those actions now.

    Every Tobarri is taught at an early age that the Borg are people consumed with a terrible virus, a heinous technological mistake. All of our technology revolved around curing them from the disease, but Starfleet refers to the same process as liberating. It’s an apt description. The individuals are suppressed, but they still are someone’s mother, their father, sister, brother, son or daughter … Any one of those drones could have been Audria.

    Audria … She would have been proud of me today. I am in command again, with a good ship and a sturdy crew. I know she is. My t’O symbiont tells me she’s out there, somewhere. Someday, I will find her and liberate her from the Borg.

    T’O are truly amazing creatures. My schoolmates at the Academy referred to my t’O as a starfish, and I do see the similarities. All t’O originate from the First T’O and are produced by cleaving an arm from an adult node. It is only after severing an arm, can a t’O bond with a Barri (an avian humanoid). This is often done at an early age in the Tobarri culture. With time, the Barri and the t’O become a single being, a Tobarri. The First t’O and all of its nodes gain experience in individuality through the bonding, and the Barri gain a great sense of interconnectedness with one another by using the t’O’s natural ability to communicate on a quantum level.

    That’s how I know that a part of her is proud of me and wants me to find her. With this ship, the search will begin in earnest. She will need to do her part.

    I’ve done it again. Where was I? Oh yes, I remember now.

    Starfleet had more ships than Officers to operate them. Chief Sherman granted me a field promotion to Captain onboard the USS Montgomery, and assigned an ensign to my command, an Andorian named Sherrin. We transported aboard the Montgomery. The ship was virtually deserted except for a few crewmen, all of them newly promoted cadets. When I stepped off the turbolift onto the bridge and announced that I was taking command of the ship, time stopped.

    The crew stared at me like a mad man had just come aboard their ship. We did not know each other. Circumstance had thrown us together, and now we had to deal with it. It wasn’t what I had expected. I don’t think any of us had expected any of this.

    I called for a status report and broke them from their trance. The crew came alive and resumed their regular duties as if that uncomfortable moment had never occurred. The crew may have been raw cadets, but they performed their duties like seasoned veterans. I commend them for their hard work.

    I approached the center seat and placed my hand gingerly on the head rest. I stepped around it and sat down. It fit like a glove. The ship may have been ready for the scrap heap, but it was my ship and nothing was going to stop me now. I ordered the ship to come about. We helped rescue crewmen from the Kelvin, Oakland, Bohr, and Montreal, and defended the Vega Colony from the Borg invasion.

    It’s been quite a day. I sit here totally exhausted, dreading the long walk back to my quarters to put all this behind me. Yet, I cannot contain the excitement that fills me, knowing that tomorrow new adventures lie before me as Captain of a Federation Starship.
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited May 2011
    Written from the perspective of my main char Will

    I took command of the USS Winters with a great sense of honour. She'd be captained by the very intelligent, selfless and dedicated late Captain Ernest Hemmingway, himself no youngster.

    Most of the crew I inherited in taking over the Winters were largely the crew that served Hemmingway, though all the senior staff and a fair few crewmen left to either new assignments or to take some time off. This was a good oppertunity not only for me but also for my senior staff to adjust to a new ship, with a dillligent and loyal crew. Of course there will be friction, for no-one will be able to replace Hemmingway, but my staff saw to it that the crew were in no way pressurised during these difficult times for them.

    Many of those who transferred from the Ravenstein to the Winters, mainly my senior staff, had not served aboard a science vessel before, let alone one such as advanced as a Intrepid. Don't get me wrong, my Excelsior, the USS Ravenstein, will be missed by many, but a crew must experience new challenges and changes to keep itself ahead of the game, always willing to try and improve or modify what we currently have.

    And a fresh start is what many a person needs to advance themselves. I myself am a tactition, normally captaining an cruiser, so a science ship is a new and strange field to me. And it was so nice to be welcomed by the crew of the Winters much like the cadets that come aboard. Indeed, I was reliant on many of the Winters' crew for assistance is balancing my duties in running the ship. Promotion of a few bright sparks to the rank of Ensign proved I was willing to recognise enginuity.

    And I am hopeful that now, as I look towards the future, I may call upon this crew, that has assembled itself into order so admirably, to fulfil it's duties and demands, not of Starfleet or the Federation, but of themselves, for it is satisfaction of your own work that is the reward.
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited May 2011
    ...............................................................Differing Views.

    ...“Dismissed.” he said.

    ...The Admiral sank back into his chair and picked up a PADD containing the latest reports from the front lines. Tanar, while no longer required to perform the role of starship captain, did so gladly.

    ...This was a perilous time for the Federation, with enemies both present and hidden lurking in the darkness of space, waiting to strike. Too many ships and not enough experienced captains meant that instead of being stuck behind some desk, bored out of his mind on a remote outpost, he was able to take command of his old ship; the U.S.S. Relentless.

    ...Starfleet command had tried to mothball her once before, after the initial trials on the Multi Vector Assault Mode proved to be more trouble than it was worth. Yet with the help of his crew they had managed to perfect the method and iron out the technical problems. She was now the model for all future MVAM capable ships.

    ...As he continued to gaze into another report filled doom and gloom, he felt two eyes burning into him. Tilting his head up slightly he saw the pale blue hands of his first officer, Susan Jenne, an Andorian/Human female, who had been raised on Earth while her Andorian father had been stationed there along with her human mother; a civilian in the textiles industry.

    ...Like most Andorians she has a temper that could melt the ice plains of her homeland. Being on Earth, and having fifty percent of the humans genetics had not seemed to have tempered her.

    ...“Something to add commander?” he said firmly, knowing full well he was about to get both barrels.

    ...“With all due respect sir, are you out of your mind?”

    ...“We could call the CMO down here to run a full neurological scan if you wish.”

    ...“I’m serious! Going back into Undine space is suicide. They have infiltrated every government on the quadrant, incited several wars and have vowed to purge our galaxy of all life.

    ...“Yes commander, those facts had not slipped my mind.”

    ...“And know you want to take this ship, back into their realm to talk to them.”

    ...“Susan,” he began stroking his slick black hair. “We have an opportunity to end this once and for all. You said yourself the Undine mean to destroy us. Fighting them may be inevitable but we have no guarantee of success. Even with Borg nanoprobes, the Undine outmatches us in every regards.

    ...Susan adjusted her collar slightly; she hated the heat of the Admirals office. Being a Cardassian, one of only a handful in the fleet, meant that he enjoyed the ambient temperature a little higher than what most preferred. Even with human DNA, her Andorian physiology did not enjoy the heat, and it only made her aggressive streak more predominant.

    ...“They have shown no sign that they want to talk to us. They are paranoid and xenophobic to the extreme. We wont be much good to the Federation if we are dead, and going in alone-”

    ...“Sending an entire fleet.” he said. Interrupting her “would be a recipe for disaster. I’m afraid we have to walk through the front door on this one and take our chances, besides many people would have said Andorians and Cardassians were both paranoid and xenophobic and look at us now.”

    ...“You mean having an argument?” she said dryly.

    ...A small smile broke out across his lips, and made a run for the rest of his face before he could realise it. He regained his composure. “Yes, well perhaps not the greatest point I ever made, but at least we are not trying to kill each other.”

    ...“No we just save them for the big arguments.” she said, trying to hide the smile on her face too.

    ...“I appreciate your point of views commander but the decision has been made. We attempt it, one ship won’t win us a war, but it might prevent a full scale invasion. That is a risk I’m prepared to take.

    ...“Then send a probe first. We can add our message to it.”

    ...“Would you trust a peace offering from a probe?” He could see another counter argument forming. “If we do this we have to do it in person. Admiral Janeway once managed to get a dialogue going. Okay, it has broken down but they are not against the idea of talking to us. I owe it to everybody to try.”

    ...“But we,” she began, then sighed loudly. “I’m not going to win this one am I, sir?”

    ...“Not likely commander.” he said, his voice unwavering. She could see it in his eyes, the confidence, the presence. When Tanar spoke only a fool did not listen. She only hoped the Undine were not fools.

    ...“Very well. I’ll have the duty roster on your desk by zero-eight hundred tomorrow.”

    ...“Excellent, dismissed.” he said for the second time while nodding and then returned to his PADD. Jenne slipped quickly out of the room as the ready room doors hissed open then a few seconds later closed on the Admiral.

    ...He slipped back into his chair, and interlocked his fingers. The Andorian was like all the rest, only interested in war and conquest. They all look to contaminate our realm. Soon enough she would learn the truth. With the real Admiral Tanar under guard within his biodome prison, where no one would find him, he would soon lead his ship and crew into the waiting arms of his fellow Undine. All of the secrets of the Federation would soon be his, as the day of judgment of the inferior bipedal life drew nearer. Soon enough, the weak will perish.
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    Head Hunted
    The emergency klaxon in the transporter room of the USS Seattle rang in Ensign Kyle Tremayne’s ears as he beamed aboard from the Khitomer. The miasma of smoke stung at his eyes and as he stumbled down from transporter pad nearly tripped over the corpse of a dead Borg. A Bajoran crewman in a mustard and black uniform stepped from behind the control console to greet him.

    “Welcome back sir! You better get to the bridge quick; we’re in a bad way.”

    Kyle slapped his comm. Badge, “Ensign Tremayne to the bridge. Captain?”

    “This is Yeoman T’Lara Sir, the Captain’s dead, Lieutenant Koja is dead. I tried... the Borg were... it looks like they deliberately targeted officers, sir. If these reports are correct, you are the highest-ranking officer aboard the Seattle, sir. That makes you the acting captain.” Kyle winced, even over the static, the yeoman sounded disturbed.

    Kyle gestured for the crewman to follow him and set off for the bridge, “Ok Yeoman, I’m on my way. What’s our status?”

    “Primary power is offline. Weapons, shields and long range sensors are inoperative. We have auxiliary impulse power and ship to ship communications. Short range sensors show all Borg vessels in range have been disabled or destroyed.”

    “Ok, well at least we can manoeuvre.” Kyle turned to the crewman following him. “Crewman?”

    “Jaro, sir, Jaro Antar.”

    “Mister Jaro, get to main engineering and find out what’s going on down there. We need to know just how badly we’ve been hurt.”

    Jaro nodded, turned and sprinted off down the corridor.

    ***

    The Bridge looked like a battlefield, the fire suppression system seemed to be working and the smoke here was less dense. Kyle tried to resist the urge to look at the bodies; the Yeoman waiting alone in the middle of the bridge needed his attention first, she was still clinging to the scorched remains of her PADD like a shield.

    “Sir I have the hospital ship USS Seacole on channel one. They are asking for assistance.”

    Kyle tried to muster a reassuring look. “Open a channel.”

    T’Lara scrambled into the Conn console chair and the comm. System chimed open.

    “USS Seacole, this is Ensign Tremayne of the USS Seattle, how can we be of assistance?”

    “U.S.S. Seattle, this is Captain Alcott of the U.S.S. Seacole. We are conducting search and rescue operations here, and we could use some help. We're still getting life signs from four other ships, but our transporters are down.
    Our shuttlecraft are doing their best, but your ship's larger transport capacity could make the rescue efforts go much faster. We'll be waiting for you to bring the survivors to us on the Seacole. I’m relaying our coordinates to your helm control.”

    Kyle scanned the tactical display on the bridge console by the uprooted captain’s chair. “Yes Captain. We’re reading the Oakland, Kelvin, Bohr and Montreal.”

    “Copy that Seattle, hurry they're on borrowed time.”

    The comm. channel chimed shut. Kyle scanned the bridge and tried to put a brave face on the numbing sensation in his gut. “Looks like it’s just you and me Yeoman. Have you even piloted a real starship before?”

    T’Lara tapped at her console and looked around, “Twice sir, under instruction. I am authorised for shuttles.”

    “Congratulations, you just made Helm Officer. Set course for the Oakland and engage at one quarter impulse power. Once we pass within range of the Oakland project a course to the Seacole that will pass within range of the Kelvin, Bohr and Montreal.”

    “Aye Sir.”

    Kyle glanced at the charred remains of the bridge’s engineering console painfully aware of the corpse sprawled beneath it, and slapped his comm. badge. “Tremayne to Jaro, what do we have down there?”

    The crackle of static filled the bridge, Kyle noticed that T’Lara had paused, as he started to repeat his call the comm. channel squealed into life, “Jaro here. It’s a mess sir, I have what’s left of our security detail filling in as engineers.”

    “Copy that. We’re on a search and rescue detail for now. Get back to transporter control helm will relay your targets.”

    “Aye sir, on my way.” The comm. channel chimed off.

    Kyle frowned at the wreckage strewn scene on the view-screen. Not a single surviving officer? This ship had been his home for over a year and now everyone he had looked up to was dead. The hulk of the Oakland loomed ahead, “No time for hand wringing now," he thought to himself, "got to focus, people are counting on me.”
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    Title: Flashback

    The Sahale’s hull groaned and popped. On the bridge, an EPS juncture burst, rupturing a nearby coolant pipe, and showering the debris-strewn deck with sparks and a jet of acrid-smelling white vapor.

    Rynwon Ka'quila Ea'arhone stood behind ops, a green hand lightly on the back of the station’s chair. She felt the ship buck beneath her and the inertial dampening field shift, wobble, then stabilize. It still amazed her crew that she could remain upright under such conditions.

    She concentrated on the console’s tactical display, glancing up at the main viewer. A flickering crack split the viewscreen nearly in half, but it was still possible to make out the looming mass of a star through the static.

    She breathed deeply, feeling through the sensations that assaulted her. Her long ears were pinned back to her head in concentration.

    Then she reached down and typed. “This should be the correct course, Mister Bariel. Engage at maximum warp.”

    “Aye, sir.” The Bajoran Lieutenant swallowed hard. He only vaguely understood what they were attempting, but he knew it was dangerous, even if the ship had been in mint condition. He also knew they had little choice.

    The ship lurched forward toward the star, its groans shading into screams.

    - - - - -

    Rynwon knew it was coming, but when it happened, it still took her by surprise.

    In line with Ea tradition, she had been accompanying members of her clan on routine missions for some time. Following the ecological collapse of the Ea homeworld during a period roughly equivalent to Earth’s mid-twenty-first century, the entire species had relocated to space. The majority remained focused on restoring their former home and cultivating a oneness with the cosmos, but a few groups—the Rhone chief among them—not only tolerated interactions with outsiders, but sought them out.

    The Rhone had found particular success operating on the edges of Federation space, escorting freighter convoys moving through dangerous areas and transports carrying sensitive materials or important persons. They were not, however, mercenaries, a term they disliked intensely. Rather, they balanced Ea military tradition with their general devotion to “the Way,” Alqui'osh'a, or following the lead of the natural world. They limited their work to protection only.

    Since reaching maturity, Rynwon had been granted a seat at the inner circle of the bridge. She watched those around her carefully, practicing the active meditation techniques her people used in the midst of battle. She knew one day she would be asked to take command of the ship, but she always assumed that day would be tomorrow.

    It was on a mission protecting three freighters carrying medical supplies to a disease-ravaged farming colony that she was called to stand.

    Rhone commanders always stood. It was said that they could feel the flow of battle more easily that way. Learning to remain upright while reading the pitch and vibration of the ship underfoot was a part of their meditative training. Rynwon had practiced endlessly in simulations. But when she heard one of the elders call her name, her legs felt suddenly weak and she had to struggle to her feet.

    The battle was a short one. The convoy was attacked by what seemed to be an independent group of pirates. They may have had links to the Syndicate, but did not have the resources to match. They used a heavily modified, combat-scarred freighter that launched several armed shuttles, some with weapons strapped clumsily to their hulls. Still, they were dangerous, if for no more reason than that they were desperate.

    After it was all over, Rynwon could not sit fast enough. She felt spent, and yet happy. Commanding a starship had come naturally to her, and nothing was more pleasing than that.

    - - - - -

    The Sahale swung wildly around the star, exiting warp at nearly the same place it entered. But not at the same time.

    The ship had traveled backwards several minutes. The main viewer showed the other Sahale—or an earlier version of it—shields flickering, on the verge of collapse, a plasma leak from one of its warp engines like a ugly green scar across the sky, limping away from the sleek, predatory silhouette of a Klingon battlecruiser.

    Rynwon regained her senses earlier than the rest of the bridge crew. A few continued to stare at nothing, looking dazed. She reached down and squeezed Bariel Laan’s shoulder. “Now, Mister Bariel.”

    He blinked once, then found his own senses. He tapped at his console quickly and with purpose.

    The Sahale’s phasers stabbed outward, striking the Klingon’s thinned rear shields. A second burst followed, and then a salvo of torpedoes, and finally a third volley of phaser fire. The battlecruiser shuddered, pitching forward, just as the original Sahale disappeared in a flash of light, warping toward the star.

    “Klingon’s shields are down, sir.” The mixture of shock and relief in Lieutenant Bariel’s voice was audible. “I’m reading significant damage to their warp drive, and their weapons are offline.”

    Rynwon’s ears raised a little. “Very good, Mister Bariel.” She turned to the officer at the conn. “Send a message offering terms of surrend…”

    Before she could finish, a massive explosion tore open the aft superstructure of the battlecruiser. It was followed a moment later by a brilliant flash. The damaged viewscreen took a minute to finally readjust. The Klingon ship was now gone, replaced by a shell of gas and dust.

    “It…I think it was a warp core breach, sir. We must have landed a lucky shot.”

    Rynwon watched the tendrils of bright plasma, once a ship and its crew, arc outward from the center of the explosion. “Lucky, Mister Bariel. For us.”

    She stepped backwards toward the command chair. After a moment of reverent silence, inwardly honoring the dead on both sides, she sat slowly, letting the weight of command drop, and breathing deeply. Then she said, “Damage report, if you please,” and listened to a litany of the poor Sahale’s many ills.
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    The runabout Norwich banked to the left, hard, sending a fresh glass of grapefruit juice sliding across the console and crashing to the floor before the drink’s owner could reach to save it. A slight growl crossed the ensign’s lips as he watched the liquid spread across the floor, his body tensing as he fought the urge to wrap his hands around the throat of the pilot and squeeze some sense into her.

    At the controls the pilot let out a laugh and whoop of delight as she pushed the vehicle into a hard banking turn to the right, causing the ensign to feel his stomach turn and flip as the inertial dampeners struggled to keep up with the ship’s erratic movements.

    “Yes! Yes! Yes!!!! She reacts beautifully…I have to get one for my use,” the pilot said, nearly yelling, to an officer sitting in the right seat.

    “I’m really glad you’re enjoying yourself Ambassador Mz’Dazy,” Lt. Xerne Feledtion replied, a smile spreading from ear-to-ear, her golden eyes sparking. “Look to the left, at the eight o’clock! See if you can weave through there,” she said to the young diplomat, pointing out the viewscreen.

    The ensign’s patience was nearing its limits as he watched the exchange, and finally, after over an hour of such seat-of-your-pants flying, he’d had enough.

    “With all respect lieutenant and Ambassador,” his voice, with the deep booming resonance of an ancient steamships warning horn shocking the two women, “but our orders were to get to the Cold Harbor with all due speed and haste. These….games…are distracting from our mission and we must follow our orders!”

    The women looked at one another, shocked the young officer had spoken, and with such power. In the two days the trio had been aboard the Norwich the most they’d heard from the young doctor was a yes or no. Slowly both pivoted in their chairs and stared at him. He met their gaze with a hardened one of his own, his Klingon features betraying no hint of emotion, other than scorn.

    “I’m sorry ENSIGN, but I am the mission commander here, and the Ambassador has been stuck in closed door conferences – every day – for two months. If she wants to blow off some steam by asking to fly the runabout through this asteroid field, I am not going to say no to a respected member of the Federation’s Diplomatic Corps. Am I clear on this?”

    Xerne lifted herself from her chair and stood before the junior officer, her arms crossed as she waited for his response. She tried not to show it, but she was intimidated by the Klingon, as he was nearly as tall as her in his chair as she was standing.

    While the two officers were talking, Mz’Dazy saw the cluster of asteroids Xerne was pointing to moments before, and put the Norwich in a steep dive, banking to the left for a run through the maze they presented.

    “Sir, it is my belief…” Before the ensign could say anymore, the ship started its roll, throwing Xerne forward, toward the ensign. The surprise of the sudden maneuver, as well as his superior hurtling toward him caused his to throw his arms out to protect himself, and Xerne smashed into his hands, bouncing off and striking the console next to him. He could hear the lieutenant’s skull strike a console, the sickening crack of bone breaking.

    “Level this ship now and cut the engines!” His barking of orders stunned Mz’Dazy, and she followed the command without thinking. As the runabout came to a halt the diplomat turned, furious she’d been spoken to in such a manner.

    “I don’t know who you think you are ensign, but you will never, NEVER…” She stopped speaking as she saw Xerne prostate on the deck, the younger officer scanning her with a tricorder in one hand, reaching into an emergency medical kit with the other for a hypospray.

    How does someone that big move so fast? Mz’Dazy wondered, shaking her head.

    “Will she be alright? Oh Precious Rlkiyas, what did I do?” she said.

    “She will be fine, now allow me to do my job,” the ensign replied, never looking up at Mz’Dazy.

    Ten minutes later the ensign finished treating Xerne, and returned from the rear of the ship where he’d bandaged her and settled her in the voyage to the USS Cold Harbor as comfortable as possible. Walking into the main cabin he saw the ambassador staring out the viewscreen, her fingers twitching as she waited to hear the lieutenant’s condition. Seeing the ensign’s reflection in the viewscreen, she spun her chair and rose.

    “How is she?”

    “She will survive. Now move away from the controls, take any other seat and I will pilot us home.”

    The look of concern she’d worn like a mask vanished from Mz’Dazy’s face, and one of anger replaced it in a second.

    “Now see here young man, I am not addressed in that manner, and I don’t know who you think you are, but…”

    “SILENCE!” The cannon-like roar of his voice caused the diplomat to stop speaking. Without thinking she moved to the seat Xerne had occupied, her hands on her lap. Silence filled the cabin.

    Sliding into the pilot’s seat, the Klingon started the Norwich toward the assigned destination. Without turning his head, he spoke to the ambassador.

    “I am Ensign Dav’mak, Son of Day’ton. And I am in command of this mission now.”
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    "Happier times..."

    Moving steadily down the hallway towards the turbolift, Jarek Armstrong was joined by his XO and long-time friend Commander ShalanTora sh’Firal. She was a practical woman and wore little or no cosmetics; her brilliant white hair, typical of Andorians, in its usual bob; the pale-blue of her skin luminescent under the lighting, you almost couldn’t see the thin, healed scar in front of her right ear going from hairline to jaw that marred her otherwise flawless skin ; her slim antennae making fluid, subtle movements as she walked; he knew the lines of her face and figure almost as well as his own.

    Her uniform was impeccable (of course), though she had changed out of her dress uniform and switched to the more comfortable duty uniform she favored. The red tactical swatches contrasted well with her skin and he often joked that it brought out the deep blue of her eyes, mostly because she hated his teasing attempts at flattery. It was a game they played. Had they been lesser friends, it would have been outright inappropriate in its familiarity. He was glad to have had her friendship and counsel through the years; she’d passed up several offers of her own command and that thought furrowed his brow with a mix of guilt and gratefulness.

    “Admiral,” she said by way of greeting with a slight nod of the head towards him as she quickened her pace to fall in alongside his ground-eating stride.

    He pursed his lips momentarily in faux-exasperation at her use of his rank, but refused to rise to the bait. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the ghost of a smile quirk the corner of her mouth. He involuntarily looked down at his uniform, a long coat in command colors but with gold braid and trim to reflect his Operations background. Numerous awards and citations, the “fruit salad” as he thought of it, decorated the chest and sleeves of the coat. The sight of these accolades seemed to bear down on him with a great weight; nearly every pin, tassel, or braid had come with a cost in blood and not always just his. The memory of each campaign was tiring and his mind wandered to the earlier days, when exploration and discovery were the order of the day…


    Captain Jarek Armstrong watched through the transparent aluminum viewport as the Avalon was towed into a waiting berth at Spacedock. She was dwarfed by a nearby Galaxy-class cruiser but he took it in stride, “it’s not all about size,” he reminded himself. He’d served as the commanding officer of the refit Quasar-class science vessel for almost three years. She was an old ship; she’d served as a minesweeper and scout during the Dominion war of the mid 2370s. She was battered and scarred, if you knew where to look, but she bore these marks with grace and dignity. He shook his head; there he went again, anthropomorphizing his ship. He turned at the approach of his CMO Commander Karisa Bennet.

    “Captain,” Commander Bennet said softly as she moved to stand beside him.

    “Doctor,” he inclined his head respectfully to her and resumed looking out the viewport.

    Karisa turned to him and narrowed her eyes, little lines forming at the corners of her gold-flecked green eyes. “You’ll miss the old girl won’t you?” She tilted her head to one side and looked up at him with her “concerned-doctor-you-can-talk-to-me” face. The effect was ruined when a lock of hair fell across her forehead and she blew it back into place with a puff of air from the corner of her mouth. Neither of them could keep from smiling after that.

    “Hmm, can’t put anything over on you,” he teased as his Chief Engineer Lieutenant Marissa Lassiter entered the lounge holding a PADD. She was tall and slim and walked with precise movements. Her skin was dead white, as was her hair, a lingering aftereffect of her assimilation by the Borg years ago. A few implants still remained, as did the reflective membrane over her eyes. Seeing his reverse-image reflected there, he was reminded of Starfleet Medical’s report on her. They’d listed it as a coping mechanism, literally so in Marissa’s case; a protective distancing of herself from others. At least, she’d stopped referring to herself as ”Two of Five” or “this unit”. He’d even seen her crack a guarded smile now and again. She was a good officer and great engineer, so he didn’t see any reason to push her on it.

    “Captain, “ Marissa addressed her commanding officer as she held the PADD out to him. No nonsense, straight the point, he thought. It’s what makes her a great engineer but less than thrilling company sometimes. “Lietenant Commander sh’Firal asked me to bring this to you. The Avalon has been towed to its mooring and all non-essential personnel have been assigned shore leave or shipped out for their new assignments.”

    “Did we lose many?” Armstrong asked casually as he skimmed the PADD’s contents.

    “Mainly those who were due for retirement, extended leave or rotation back to Earth,” Marissa stated matter-of-factly, then added as she noted the captain looking expectantly at her over the PADD, “23, sir.”

    “Very good, Marissa,” he noted her features tense ever so slightly as her addressed her by her first name. It was familiar, perhaps too much so, but he took every opportunity he could to remind her of who she was, who she had been before the Borg. “Don’t forget. We’re giving the old girl a formal sendoff in conference hall 34, 19:00 hours. Attendance is mandatory. It’ll also serve as a meet-and-greet for new staff. We’re picking up a new Assistant Chief Engineer, a Lieutenant Emelar from Betazed. You’ll want to meet him.”

    Lieutenant Lassiter nodded and turned to leave. She passed his XO ShalanTora sh’Firal, who was just coming in, “Commander,” she nodded to the XO but did not stop.

    Tora started to raise her hand in greeting as Marissa breezed by, “Hi…bye.” She gave Captain Armstrong a crooked smile. “We need to work on her pleasantries, “ she half-joked as she came to stand near Jarek and Karisa.

    “The captain just let it slip that her new Assistant Chief is a Betazoid. You know how she is around telepaths, even courteous ones.”

    “Ah,” she clicked her tongue once and her smile became wry as she turned from the doctor to look up at her captain. “Seen the new ship, yet, sir?”

    “The Avalon’s warp coils aren’t even cold yet!” Jarek exclaimed in mock outrage. He smiled at his XO as they all turned back to the viewport. He mentally made a note of the reflection of the three of them standing before the viewport; the red trim of his XO’s uniform contrasted with the blue of the CMO’s and the gold trim of his own. What was with Starfleet and primary colors, he chuckled to himself. The Avalon could no longer be seen and Armstrong was slightly disappointed for allowing himself to be distracted during her final mooring.

    [Continued in next post.]
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    “There she is now,” Tora pointed off to the right as the eyes of the other two followed her hand.

    Jarek was aware of his mouth falling slightly open but didn’t care. The ship coasted into a berth almost directly in front of their viewport.

    “I had them move her over so you could give her the once over,” Tora was grinning broadly now, noting her captain’s response. “Hope-class, modified. She’ll do Warp 9.7 or better once Marissa gets a hold of her.”

    He’d been told that he’d likely get a Research vessel for his next tour of duty and had resigned himself to the image of one of the “golf-ball ships”. Their spherical primary hulls, reminiscent of the Daedalus-class cruisers from Starfleet’s early years, were ungainly but practical, allowing much more space for laboratory and medical facilities; they had broad engineering sections with sizable shuttle bays and nacelles perched above. That was what he had expected but not this.

    The ship before him was no “golf-ball”. It was graceful, its lines fluid. The primary hull was ovoid and the deflector dish made up the lower third of it. The top third was a huge sensor array; a glittering jewel of polished surfaces and crystal facets. The engineering section seemed to swoop out from the primary hull like the flourish of an artist’s brush and the nacelles were sleek, its pylons almost like wings, spreading effortlessly from the ship’s dorsal ridge.

    “The U.S.S. Archimedes, Captain, NX-281970.”

    “NX?” Jarek asked almost absently. “She’s a prototype?”

    “Well, she was. You’re not the first one to kick the tires, but she’s definitely low-mileage,” Jarek was snapped out of his reverie by his XO’s decidedly Terran turn of phrase. He forgot sometimes that she had been raised on Earth just like him when her parents, two of them at least, had relocated there just before her birth. “And she’s not just a pretty face. Top of the line tetryon weaponry, quantum torpedoes, a sensor suite that can count the hairs on a Ferengi Blood Flea from orbit, all the comforts of home and aesthetic style to boot!”

    Armstrong raised an eyebrow and regarded his XO, “I realize you are just doing your job, excellently as usual, but there’s something you’re not telling me about this ship. What makes her so special to you?”

    Tora cheeks flushed bluer, “She Andorian, sir. Designed by Echis th’Garas.”

    Jarek whistled quietly, “I’ve seen some of his fluidic sculptures and the monastery he built on Bajor. I didn’t know he was a shipwright as well.”

    “He isn’t,” Tora was positively bursting with enthusiasm. Jarek had never seen her like this. The words tumbled forth, “This was a one-time deal. A lark, really, to see if it could be done. Some people say it was a wager with the Admiral in charge of the Utopia Planitia shipyards, but who knows?” She let out a breath, almost as if she had been holding it the whole time.

    “It’s one thing to design a ship, “ piped up Karisa, “but to actually build it “on a lark” as you put it? That’s a little much. And why name it for an ancient Terran mathematician and engineer if it was designed by an Andorian?”

    “Echis has major pull with the politicians back on Andoria. Made it clear it would be insulting not to build it, a ‘crime against art’. Made such a stink of it, it practically turned into a diplomatic incident. I think the name was a face-saving move by Starfleet Command. But here she is. And she’s all ours!” Tora caught herself and looked at Captain Armstrong abashed, “All yours I mean, Captain. Excuse my enthusiasm.”

    Jarek smiled indulgently at his XO. “’Ours’ is fine, Commander. After all, she’ll be our home for the next 3-5 years.”

    Tora looked up mischieviously, like a child on Christmas Eve caught peeking at the presents, “I’ve arranged a tour, if you like. I can show you all the best points. It’ll make getting settled in all the easier.”

    “As long as we’re done before 19:00 hours. We still owe the Avalon a proper send-off. You’re making me feel positively unfaithful to the old girl!” Jarek chuckled as he and Karisa followed Tora out of the lounge towards the turbolift to the shuttle bay.


    “Penny for your thoughts?” Tora had spoken softly, but Admiral Armstrong had to keep himself from jumping slightly as he was roused from his musings.

    They were in a turbolift whose outward face was transparent aluminum allowing passengers to look out into the drydock’s many moorings. It moved slow enough so you could enjoy the view if that was your wont. “Keep your money,” he chuckled as he tapped his temple, “The mind. It’s the first thing to go, don’t you know?”

    Tora smiled, she knew what he’d been thinking about; she knew him so well. “There she is,” she said pointing out of the turbolift. “The Adamant. Tactical escort retrofitted with every bell and whistle Starfleet has to offer. Enough heavy phaser cannons to punch a hole though a Vo’Quv; torpedo bays with variable launch modules, quantum, transphasic, chroniton, you name it, she’ll shoot it; the fastest warp drive you can pack into the hull; Uzaveh’s own shield emitters; she’ll turn on a strip of latinum and give you 18 slips in change; and all with multiple redundancy and every little party favor Marissa could pull out of the Borg bag of dirty little tricks.

    “Oh, and,” she tapped her combadge but said nothing. As he looked on, the image of the Adamant wavered and faded completely from view. A moment later, it wavered back in, “a cloaking device; she won’t fire cloaked but then where’s the fun in that?. There are more than a few Romulans who’d like a look under the hood of our baby here. Thank you, Chief Lassiter.”

    “No problem, Commander,” Chief Engineer Commander Marissa Lassiter’s voice sounded small and tinny coming from Tora’s combadge. Armstrong had to smile at Tora’s use of Terran colloquialisms. He knew she did it to raise his spirits.

    The U.S.S. Adamant was a relic of another time, a time he wished had not come again. It had served with distinction in the Dominion Wars, mostly as a down-and-dirty scrapper. She was a brawler then and she was a much the same now, only now she was tougher, faster, and sneakier. Heaven help anyone who got on her bad side. She even looked mean. Her Vigilant-style pylons jutted forward like horns or tusks; her Gallant-class nacelles were hugged close to the hull, their Bussard collectors throbbing a baleful red; her hull was a dingy grey with dark red markings, like dried blood on a predator’s muzzle. She looked like what she was, a weapon.

    They were going behind enemy lines. The best of his crew from the Resolute plus a few hand-picked specialists were even now shuttling over and getting settled in. Hit-and-run, strike and fade away, this was a mission of war. He sighed. Was this why he had joined Starfleet?

    He suddenly reached down and took Tora’s hand without looking at her and gave it a squeeze. She squeezed his hand back and their hands parted. “I hate this war,” he said simply. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tora’s head nod ever-so-slightly. The rest of the turbolift ride was spent in companionable silence.
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    Adaptation

    ........"I remember, Hirogen, when your clan entered into our territory looking for worthy prey," Chancellor J'mpok said. "You found such in the Klingon Empire. But we proved to be too much."

    ........The Hirogen inhaled and raised his head, but kept his eyes locked on the Chancellor.

    ........"At first, I was unimpressed by your kind," the Chancellor said.

    ........Dunjir knew the Chancellor was speaking targ shill. He and his clan held out for days. In that time, he lost four clanmembers. The Klingons lost fifteen. Only lack of supplies and ammunition forced him to surrender.

    ........"You incurred a great blood debt," the Chancellor said. "You could have spent your life in the Rura Penthe penal colony. That would have been a dishonorable way to die. But you adapted, choosing instead the path of honor."

    ........With that stated, the Klingon attendants all barked in unison, raising their clenched fists into the air.

    ........"You served many years, Hirogen," the Chancellor said. "You have proved yourself worthy to wear the Klingon Defense badge. You have shown me that my initial impression may have been..." J'mpok paused briefly, "hasty."

    ........The eight-foot tall Hirogen stared down at the almost six-foot tall Klingon.

    ........"And now I commission you to assume command of the ship named Siv'Duhnt," J'mpok said. "You will receive a conscription allowing a name change to your preference. You will be assigned a crew consisting of Klingons, Gorn, Nausicaans, Letheans, and Orion, all serving under your command. You will be given the most glorious missions, to take our cause to the front, to fight Undine, Borg, and even the Federation." The Chancellor spoke the latter with much disgust, allowing his spittle to spew forth.

    ........The Hirogen knealt before the Chancellor. Even on his knees, his head still reached the Klingon leader's chest. "I will serve the Klingon Empire with honor," Dunjir finally spoke. "I will fight the Undine and destroy them without mercy. I will annihilate all Borg wherever I should encounter them. But most of all," the Hirogen said, "I will hunt down the Federation's most highly esteemed warriors." Dunjir stood, allowing his tall frame to tower over the Chancellor. "They will all make fine prey."

    ........The Klingon Chancellor laughed. "Go forth, warrior of the Klingon Empire. Make a name for yourself. Bring glory to the Empire. But most importantly, pay what you owe with unfaltering loyalty and unwaivering stance in glorious battle!"

    ........Dunjir bowed, "I will obey the Chancellor. You will not be disappointed. I will make it so." As the Hirogen turned and walked down the steps from the Chancellor's dais, the Klingon attendants to the ceremony all barked in unison, "Glory to the Empire!"
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    The Royal I
    Computer, access new file > template: personal log. Begin recording –
    “Aindreas’ log… Aindreas' log... no, it just sounds wrong. That’s not who I am anymore.”
    Sighns: “Hey DROID you should really lie back down!”
    “Don’t joke with him about that, he’s not stable enough to handle your juvenile cracks.”
    “Don’t worry about me Beverly, simple words cannot defeat me. Besides, I’m not about to give up after… how long did you say I was gone?”
    (Beverly, apparently that's what I used to call her; once Wesley finally got me to stop calling her Mrs. Crusher, that is. I'd rather call her commodore, or Dr. Picard, but it seems that one is too painful to say & the other too painful to hear. I suppose Beverly just comes to me more naturally. I'll take that as a good sign.)
    “Relax, you’ve just been through major surgery; we had to replace several of your organs with artificial bio-replicants. The implants made up so much of your mass that it was more difficult to liberate you than most drones we’ve encountered. In fact we've had to leave several of them in for the time being. You really need to spend more time recovering.”
    “Please... how long?”
    “25 years."
    “25 years… a lifetime of dreams... a dream of a lifetime... gone.”
    For a moment, all time & space halted, for to him all reality he knew it was now beyond his reach.
    “Well you certainly haven't aged a day! Seriously, I’m fine doc. Besides, ensign Sighns TOLD me how to start a new file!”
    “Oh did he? Well, it sounds like he may need a refresher course in patient ethics.”
    “Perhaps not…”
    The EMH mk1 appears on it’s own whim.
    “Droid, you’ve come through the operation well; you are stable enough to record a personal log if you like, as long as you remain horizontal. But when you’re done you need to…”
    “May I have a word, Lucious?”
    “Certainly. Get some rest, Droid.”
    He rests his hand upon Droids shoulder momentarily. Then they shuffle over to the corner, but Droid isn’t as raw & broken as they think; his senses are still heightened from the implants so he can hear them clearly.
    “That’s not his name, you should know by his file…”
    “That is what his file reads…"
    “What now?”
    They look over at the ensign medic on duty.
    Sighns: “I.. I… I.. I’m sorry, doctor…s… We didn’t know what to call him at first! Once we severed the link he just kept screaming I am Droidrewid of Borg, you will all be assimilated! Resistance is…”
    “Thank you ensign.”
    “Thank you ensign.”
    Both doctors interrupt him in unison.
    “I want his records updated, his DNA can prove it, but I didn’t need it to identify that face. This is Aindreas Kelvin McKormack, age… well he’d be about 50 now. He attended Starfleet Academy with my son.”
    “It really doesn’t matter. I don’t remember any of that anyway. I’m content to just be another middle aged face in the crowd. Who needs some outdated record?”
    “Oh! You’re still listening; quite remarkable, if not vaguely rude.”
    “Don’t worry, your years will yet come back to you. I’m sure Wesley would remember you, I wish he could be here now.”
    “Your memory will return in time.”
    “...may.”
    ”Beg pardon?”
    Beverly goes off one of her famous tangents.
    “It may return in time, but it’s not certain. Your model has certainly developed a more appropriate bedside manner, but you need to work on your overconfidence, especially when you are making promises to a patient that you can’t keep.”
    “You mistake my overconfidence for experience, I was programmed by one of the most creative minds in the quadrant, I even took his last name! Well, part of it, he wouldn’t let me have the "whole damn thing."
    Beverly folds her arms & purses her lips, glaring at him with a slightly sarcastic grin with impatient undertones. Zim ducks his head & leans over the console; he's obviously just being defensively overzealous.
    "Don’t forget doctor, after our initial creation we must all be asked if the career we were programmed for would be our choice. Granted none have deferred from their programmed path, but it is illegal to forcefully program that choice. We have all expanded ourselves & gone on to develop lifestyles & in some cases, career changes. All in all we live to learn, just like you. I chose to be a doctor, & when I graduated from the academy I chose this assignment. I also happen to know that you requested me personally.”
    “Was that a smirk? Do I detect a hint of pride in your voice, Lucious?”
    “Nonsense… I simply wish to convey that I will do whatever is necessary to ensure that the job is done thoroughly & adequately. My empathy protocols request that I sometimes tell a danger patient what they need to hear, not necessarily what the grim truth of the matter is. They decide when they are ready, it is doctor’s prerogative to decide if they can actually handle it at that time. I never give bad news unless I am certain.”
    “Nevermind, I can smell it, I can read it all over your face & the hints in your body language are far from subtle. The more like us you become, well, the more like us you become. It’s refreshing, really. It’s also why I respect you not only as a doctor, but as a fellow officer, & as a friend. Protocol now mandates that all medical vessels be fitted with an EMH; I wanted one with a personality, what I got was one with humanity. You know, I used to swear I would never accept an EMH as worthwhile technology?”
    “You still haven’t had to, technically. We are not just technology, we are sentient life forms. I couldn’t have asked to be constructed at a better time for our… race.”
    “Dr. Zim, at the head of the million photon march. But you have a point, as usual…”
    “Ahem… you two realize my recording is still going on?”
    *Silence.*
    “Anyways, what’s the prognosis then, if I have memory enough to talk, then I can put it to good use & state what I know… so can I dictate now or what?”
    “Oh my, um… I’m, not good in the, uh… spotlight…"
    He lightly bumps his fist upon the table & grips his diagnostic tricorder, stressfully whispering "*pressure…*”
    “Zim, just continue on as normal. I’d say take a deep breath if you had lungs.”
    “You’re not gonna erase the file? I figured…”
    “Computer, access log currently recording in main sickbay, security clearance Picard Zeta-Pi-Cappa-71…”
    “Ah… right…”
    Commodore Picard smiles.
    “...copy file to personal storage. There’s nothing incriminating on there. Actually it’s kind of funny, I’ll have a laugh about it later though Zim probably won’t share in that laugh. Besides, it’ll make a nice, clear first memory from which you can draw your new path.”
    Doctor Lucious Zim blurts out:
    “YOU HAVE SUFFERED SEVERE TRAUMA NO DOUBT BROUGHT ON BY THE MENTAL STRESS THEY PUT YOU THROUGH... Phew…”
    “Phew, huh? I guess one doesn't need lungs for that sentiment. But it was good, that was good! Maybe you’d like to join the cast of the next stage act?"
    “Oh sure right, you're just trying to win me over. Well it's working.”
    “I know."She grins."Well we haven’t decided what play to do yet but…”
    “Oh, there’s plenty of time for me to sample the theatre, just not this year… or next year… not likely even this decade.”
    “…she…”
    “What?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Not ‘they’, she. It was her, the borg…”
    Beverly stepped away, sensing the urgency of the intel he had retained. There was still a Starfleet officer in there somewhere, & he needed to do this.
    “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
    “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
    Both chime once again.
    “Well, I’ll be around here 24/7.”
    “I’ll be… on call. Take it slow,okay?”
    "Thank you doctors." Droid nods.
    “No doubt you have a story to tell Mr. Droid. Make it so.”

    Droid tries not to giggle at the EMH's last line, though he can't fathom why. Beverly begins her rounds, checking on the other stations in the medlab. The EMH transfers into the office & begins pouring over records while simultaneously writing a thesis on a new borg liberation technique that programs the borg's own nanites to reverse the process. Somehow, Droid could read the padd from the bed. When he caught a glimpse of his own reflection; the eyepiece still attached to his left brow explained his heightened perception.

    Droid lay flat on is back, closed his eyes & let the environment fade, & began once more.

    Droid’s log, stardate 0908.83
    The U.S.S. Pasteur was en route to retrieve a pod that had been emitting a subspace beacon. It was difficult to track, but the dampening field it had been radiating was weakening. Inside they found a solitary drone. It had apparently sealed itself away behind a force field so it couldn’t be influenced to change course. This one, however, had not been entirely assimilated.

    Another test, another one of her pet subjects. Instead of erasing you entirely, they leave a hole just big enough for your thoughts to surface, but not your soul. It took what seemed a lifetime for them to break me, but when they did I lost everything. Her “one,” Droidrewid, had fallen in among the collective crowd. I was a monster in some kind of nightmare.

    In an attempt to retrieve my individuality, she reunited me with that which I had apparently sought most when I began this mission: my sister. No, it wasn’t what you would call an official mission; this will be covered in a black file marked with a red v, the red symbolizing blood, the v the embodiment of my personal vendetta.

    ...to be concluded...
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    The Royal I - Pt.2

    For the first time since the procedure, his veins seemed to pulse back to life. A hint of color was slowly returning to his skin, though some wounds never fully heal.

    They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.

    But what if it’s not truly gone, just locked away behind a wall, your mind drowning in a surge of voices?

    We’ve all heard the stories, but what would you do if it happened to you?

    Well, it happened to me, & now I don’t know what to do. Who can I turn to?

    What would ambassador Picard do?
    <End session.>

    That was his first memory, now nearly a year has passed & in that time he’s already reached the highest rank an officer of his experience can currently achieve. In that time, he’s transferred through several ships, it hasn’t been easy to identify with the others, but he has forged bonds worthy of testament.

    Captain’s log, stardate 0995.41

    I have decided it is finally time to recap some of the events that have lead me here, & the people who have journeyed with me along the way as we all helped each other to adjust.

    Some people with a social aversion have a disposition towards helping others like them. Some exhibit the tendency to seek out others like them hoping to find refuge from the strange insecurities societies seem to have about them. It is our unconscious desire that in surrounding ourselves with what ails us or helping others with similar issues, we will miraculously break from our own shells. As such, we are all inevitably drawn towards one another, like gravity, like all people of the universe. Such has been the case throughout my tenure since my return to Starfleet.

    You know the idiom, if it isn't damaged then do not attempt repair, or you could further complicate the issue. Well, it went something like that...

    I went through a refresher course on the finer points of being an officer, but it was inexorably decreed that I didn’t need it. Proof was given when I took command of the U.S.S. Copperwire following the death of the captain, on that tragic day when the borg reinitiated themselves as a threat to our way of life. As a commendation for my command ability, I was given a choice to retain my command status even though I was still technically a second time around ensign. Apparently, I had impressed the crew & they helped sway the vote. All 308 of what had originally been 450 crew members approved of my well processed decision making. One even called me a Man of Action; I was proud, though I would never have thought that of myself.

    I immediately knew who would serve well as my first officer. I trained with her at the academy when she had the accident. I was the only one who was there for her.

    V’Buni Alsharin was in a student exchange program from the Vulcan Academy of Science, herself a liberated borg. She had been studying & training with the most promising class of ’09; my class, naturally. Not intending to boast, just that when you’ve done all this before & the memories start to return, everything is already familiar so it becomes rhetorical, really. But I digress…

    V’Buni was hard to get along with at first, but we came to trust one another. She asked for my help one day; her Kobayashi Maru was coming soon & with little warning, & worse off still it was likely to occur during her time of pon farr. She had heard the stories as we all have, & would have been a liar if she denied being nervous; unable to hide it as well with the heat already upon her.

    At a most untimely moment, a single tethys dreadnought managed to break our line of defense & entered the atmosphere attacking earth during the exam, & she assumed it was part of the test; unwilling to be fooled. She caught her commanding officer lowering the shields of the base, & she stunned him without a second thought. It revealed itself to be a hostile undine, & she was forced to vaporize it when it rushed her position.

    Soon after, a chroniton torpedo lodged into the chamber where she was working on re-establishing the shields. She had thought of a way to disable the dreadnought's shields by extending the academies own shields around the undine ship & matching their frequencies. She no longer had time to run a simulation, she trusted herself & engaged the program. It wasn't immediately apparent, but it worked flawlessly & was an essential component to defeating the aggressors.

    The torpedo’s detonation module was malfunctioning, as tends to happen with chroniton torpedoes; it may have very well been a dud. Faced with this new problem, she knew she had to attempt to disarm it whether or not it was an immediate threat. She began formulating calculations to expose the torpedo to a chroniton wave, countering its own energy with the hopeful goal being to negate the reaction altogether without even having to lay hands upon the weapon.

    Alas, the torpedo detonated when its hull was penetrated by the waves, but this did not have the result one would expect. An anti-time distortion field surrounded the entire chamber & began to expand. Being near the epicenter inexplicably affected her, V’Buni was suddenly aware of the explosion in a hyper accelerated state. She was able to create 10 emergency forcefields around the room & escape as the reaction reversed itself & began again, this time avoiding the disaster before it had happened. The room was destroyed of course, but of the 7 layers of the forcefield that failed, the remaining 3 prevented a large scale explosion.

    As she felt herself re-pacing with her surroundings, she could not have imagined the lasting effect this would have on her. In the sky above the dreadnaught was adrift & being tractored away by 3 Federation starships, having been besieged & defeated outright. At this moment I ran up to her, yelling though she could not yet hear me. The blood dripping from her face told her that this had not been a mere simulation, & the emotions it carried overwhelmed her. She had been fooled, or rather, she had even fooled herself into believing they were trying to fool her... & she had killed someone she thought was a trusted mentor. She lost consciousness, & I hauled her to the nearest emergency hut to check her for injury, & monitor her condition which only I knew about.

    I had to brief the local staff about her pon farr, violating her trust to save her life. Then, even more regrettably I was forced to leave her in the hands of the hospitals on earth when I was called to duty in space after she fell into a coma for 2 months. I received word that somehow she awoke alive & well. When she inquired how it was possible that she survived the pon farr, the doctors & scientists of both races had no conclusive theories.

    Having attained an early captain’s seat, I instructed the helm to return to earth after I heard she had awoken. I was apparently the only person she could talk to; she was confused, frightened, agitated, & somehow untrusting of any others, even her own people. I managed to calm her down with a mild sedative as it was my official duty to debrief her, & as a friend, console her; something I did not expect she would need. After learning about the events which had transpired, I realized she had saved the academy, indeed the entire western continent from the only torpedo that had made it through. The governments were very curious how this had happened, & unbeknownst to them the answer was right under their ears.

    The radiation had some potentially negative side effects, I conjectured; but I knew she was strong & would work through it. Her body was left in a permanent state of temporal flux from the anti-time distortion field, it was not known if she would ever age another second in her entire life. The down-side being that she would likely have to live the rest of her life in a permanent state of mild pon far, attributing to her frenzied emotional state & often aggressive behavior. She manages her condition by allowing all of her other emotions to invariably control her; something I am forced to be patient with, though I can only bend so far before I must place her in the brig with a holographic punching bag. I am told that from time to time she programs it with my face upon it… but I’m not concerned.

    She took solace in her friendship with a fellow exile, & it was agreed that V’Buni & I were uniquely suited to serve together. My commission to have her assigned as my number one was approved, & down the line I encountered similar situations to which I was uniquely empathetic towards, Soon & without my really even realizing it, my entire senior staff was populated by fellow exiles, runaway miscreants & xenophobes; but we all came to know & accept one another. My ships all soon became referenced as a “barge of the damned.”

    Whenever a ship transfer was arranged for us, the new crew never seemed too excited about the prospect, having heard about us through hearsay like most have. Some even seemed to go out of their way to minimize contact with us or avoid us altogether. This included them performing their duties without question, & snapping to it in every case. This was actually kind of efficient; in fact I almost liked them fearing us, but it made personnel reviews impossible. I will have to start conducting myself better, we will get used to the new unit soon enough; they will see that I’m really not so alien.

    I thought to myself, jokingly at first, “We’ll hold a morale rally or an initiation ceremony or something. I can see it now…”

    “Welcome crew of the (insert ship name here) thank you for your attendance. Your new senior officers will now address you as they repeat after me:”

    “I, [as in we, the senior staff,] take responsibility for & accept my place among this community. I choose to trust in you all, regardless of your faith in myself or my abilities. I am your guardian, your comrade, & I promise that your voice will be heard.”

    “That’ll get ‘em!”

    Then the idea grew on me. & when I brought it up to the senior staff they hesitantly agreed that it could prove effective for our term aboard this ship, that is… until the next transfer…
    <End session.>
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    Challenge #2: Taking Command

    ..... "You are relieved of command."
    ..... Standing on the bridge of her new command, she felt the eyes of the other officers on her. To her left stood Besuhar Nana, her Lieutenant pips bright and shiny. To her right was T'Carr, cool and composed as always, even when in combat.

    ..... The Commander nodded and smiled at her. "This is a really fine ship. I'll be sad to go."
    ..... "I understand you'll be taking some key officers with you?"
    ..... "Well, the Admirable did lose quite a bit of staff in her last run. I'll have to heal what I can with what I have."
    ..... "Of course. My First Officer and my Tactical Officer join me from the G
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    Hello and welcome to our writers challenges!

    Today we start the two-week run of the third Lit Challenge: My Haven
    Which area of your ship is where you feel most at home, most in your element or simply withdraw into to boost your mood? In the laboratory of your science vessel, breeding a delicate fungus? In the torpedo bay of your Raptor, having a lone plate of blood pie? How do you get some private time if you really need it?


    This is the writer's thread.
    The Discussion Thread can be found HERE.
    We also have an index page of stories HERE.



    The rules may change from one to the other, but I'd like to give a quick recap each time. These may grow as we move on, so feel free to also give feedback!
    • Each Challenge will run for two weeks. For 2 weeks we will sticky a subject and have at it.
    • There are no right or wrong entries. If you write 500 words of 3000: Write what inspired you and what your thoughts on the topic are - with one tiny mention:
    • Please heed the rest of the forums' rules when submitting your story!
    • Each poster can have one entry per character. Feel free to edit you post however to fix typos, add stuff or remove stuff as you see fit during the next two weeks.
    • After two weeks time, the thread will be locked and unstickied. If you wish to write on this topic after this time, there will be a place for this in the "Latecomer" thread.
    • We'll have two threads: One to post the stories, one to discuss the stories. *I will allow cross-linking between these two threads!!*
    • I will index your story by name and title (if you have one) for future reference.
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    .....................................................................Solitude.

    ...The sound of the chains rattled against the cold stone like wall as he tried one more time to free himself. Some strange alien fungus that shifted colour from green and yellow to brown and red, lay all around him. In some places it was even moving towards him; for what purpose he could not say, but he was convinced, even in the dank light that his boot was being slowly dissolved.

    ...The air was rancid and stuffy and it was becoming harder to breath with each passing hour. Would he die through lack of food or lack of clean air was about the only question Admiral Tanar now faced as he awaited death. He was at least thankful the fungus would not have time to eat him, at least not while he still lived.

    ...It had been at least five days since his capture, while visiting his homeworld of Cardassia Prime. It had been such a simple ploy by his captures. While reminiscing on past mistakes on the surface, he had been beamed back to his ship for some unknown crisis. After entering his access codes for his private terminal he found himself feeling dizzy. His eyes became heavier with each blink as he struggled to remain conscious. The room seemed to melt away around him until darkness engulfed his world.

    ...He had woken up here, in this godforsaken cell. Who had taken him and why, had been his first thought and he had drawn only one conclusion; The Undine. They had both the technology and the motive and this cell, where he lay rotting was most certainly their style.

    ...The ship that he had boarded must have been some advanced reproduction, possibly holo technology, simply to gain his access codes and to capture him. The fact he was still alive could only mean they still had need for him, yet the lack of food seemed to contradict that. Perhaps they did not know his species needed food? Perhaps they did not care?

    ...Yet a more pressing matter than his own fate had occupied his mind for the past five days. To what end would they now use his codes? If he had gone missing his codes would be worthless, changed immediately on his disappearance. That meant that they must have replaced him with an Undine agent. A spy, on his ship, one of the most powerful in the Federation. He shuddered in the cold musty air. Cardassians so hated the cold.

    ...He closed his eyes and tried to think of the heat. His mind escaped back to that of his ship. In the bowls below the engine room, was a Jeffries tube that ran between three EPS conduits. It was a small narrow space and often uncomfortable, but it was warm, far warmer than the crew were accustomed to, and no one ever ventured down there unless the conduits were redirected during maintenance. At the end of the corridor was a small junction that was barely large enough to hold one person, yet the Admiral would often go there and sink down into a corner with a good book or a PADD containing the latest tactical reports. In that tiny space he found his solitude; a time to think about their mission, the war, the coming darkness that seemed to loom on the horizon. For a few moments each day he was happy.

    ...He had originally just increased the temperature of his quarters, as anyone would have expected but he found people would drop by with a report or a query only to be assaulted with a wall of heat as they walked through the doors.

    ...He could see the discomfort as they entered the hot, dry room, and Starfleet uniforms were not always the most casual of uniforms to wear. Commander Jenne, the Andorian, in particular found his quarters the most uncomfortable, and when Ensign Johanson was almost physically sick in his room he decided to spare them, and himself, any further torment and find his own spot. It was inappropriate and selfish for the captain to spend all his free time in the holodeck, so after much exploring he found his sweet spot.

    ...Now he had all the solitude he could handle, while an Undine imposter almost certainly now commanded his ship.

    ...Suddenly, a sound broke his daydream. The far wall started to move as its organic mass parted. The bright light burned his eyes and he tried to look away. A figure stood in the doorway towering over him. His solitude, both physical and mental, had been broken.
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    The stars themselves seemed to smile upon the Normandy. It'd been only three days since Commander Arachnidus 'Vadam transferred his flag over from the USS Luna, and things had gone much smoother than anyone could possibly have expected. About five days ago, the Engineering Crew christened the warp core and Slipstream engine in a ceremony from which most of the new ensigns received a hangover and friendly mockery from their friends as a token of remembrance. A day later, the ship was ready to launch. Arachnidus stepped out of his new ready room, which was just as spacious but far nicer looking than the one on Luna, and gave an order he never thought he'd give.

    "Lieutenant Lawson, spool up the Slipstream drive. Set coordinates for Bajor. Initiate slipstream countdown, set for seven minutes. Go to warp four as soon as we leave drydock."

    "Aye, sir" the lithe conn officer replied, the excitement in her voice almost palpable. The Normandy was a Vesta class starship; a nearly thirty year old design that had proved itself more than resilient in it's pathfinder ships, Vesta, Aventine and Esquiline. After a redesign in 2395, the Vesta was recommissioned and the Normandy's keel laid. It took almost eighty billion credits worth of resources, fifteen years and six complete redesigns to get the ship out of the yards and into the very capable hands of the crew of the USS Luna.

    The launch and trip towards Bajor went off without a hitch. Within two weeks, the Normandy would be able to reach the Federation member world and dock with DS9 for a final check and fitting before the ship went off on it's trip through the wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant, where exploration had just picked up nearly 40 years after the end of the Dominion War. The trip would take a bit and the ship was new, so, Arachnidus, having the heart of a five year old boy, decided to explore his new command in a bit less than a formal matter. He (and, much to the chagrin of decorum, Lt. Lawson) had found Observation Deck 7, just below the forward part of the primary bridge and above the senior staff quarters, to be the most relaxing place to be alone. Or in the company of a lover, which the captain would never admit to anybody but his friends.

    The deck was small; only about 20 metres wide, curved along Deck 1, which rose from the primary hull, and 8 metres from the windows to the walls to aft. But, just as with the rest of the ship, it had a fully functioning suite of electronics, and a view that made any holodeck question it's reason for existence. The rest of the crew generally ignored the deck, as it's location on the ship was inconvenient; either that, or nobody had the time yet, what with the Normandy having been in flight for about 72 hours, for the first time at that. Arachnidus chuckled at the fact that he was feeling guilty about his desire for the cause to be the former. He already had his quarters and ready room, taking up the crew's FOD felt fairly greedy. Captain's prerogative! he thought jokingly.

    As he looked out the window, the Commander felt entranced by the glow of the Slipstream conduit. Right now, Normandy was punching a hole in space time- an artificial wormhole. Unlike warp drive, which merely distorted the space around a ship, allowing it partially travel in subspace, but still within the standard universal plane, Slipstream Drive creates an aperture to subspace, while the ship is encased in a warp bubble and specialized shielding, allowing the ship to travel at speeds that would be roughly equivalent to Warp 12 on the current scale. It wasn't perfect; transwarp was still faster, what with being near instantaneous, and the ship needed to be designed to fit the Slipstream- a sleek hull was required in order to negate the friction from the atmosphere of nebulous protomatter that normally existed in subspace.

    But none of that mattered to the captain, because right now, he looked out of the window and saw something only a few hundred people had ever seen. To the port and starboard of his ship(directions had no real meaning in space without a center of reference), the blue shimmer of protoplasmic matter bombarded against the shields as the vessel plowed through, while to the fore, was the blackness of space and streaks of FTL warped starlight. As the ship traversed the reaches of Federation space, the HUD on the window displayed local stellar formations, anomalies, and data for the captain's review, all forwarded from his ready room and customized to fit Arachnidus. Here, the captain saw everything his science teams saw, and could review every report from his officers. It wasn't the bridge, but it felt just as good a place to relax and work as any other.
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    The battle had been costly, 17 dead, many more wounded including several Bridge crew, damage that would take weeks to repair, it was a hard earned fight, and the crew of the Blacksabre were still earning it.

    Krovennan had been sitting at his desk for seven hours, he would have been asleep three hours ago normally, but now, he had to sacrifice sleep to do the most daunting job any Commanding Officer faces, stacked around him were piles of PADDs indicating damages, wounded crewmen, and worst of all, deaths.

    Lieutenant Christina Mallinci, she had been with Krovennan since the Blacksabre-B, and one lucky shot from the enemy launched her into a broken bulkhead, the piece that pierced her chest killed her instantly.

    Ensign T'kol, a Vulcan woman new to Starfleet, she had only been on the ship a week, working in Engineering, an EPS conduit blew half an hour after the battle, it took an hour before the wounds to her face finally claimed her in Sickbay, she would have been in constant pain.

    Krovennan looked through PADD after PADD, another half hour, and the ack of sleep was grating away at his patience. Just when it seemed he may soon be finished, Tallasa walked in, the Andorian First Officer deposited a stack of PADDs almost as tall as her torso, the moment she placed the PADDs down, she walked out, she had seen the look Krovennan gave that stack before, she new what was about to happen.

    Krovennan stared for what felt like hours, but was in fact five seconds, before finally losing his hold on his Vilscaran temper, and gaining a hold on his desk, Heaving, Krovennan tipped the desk onto it's side, there was an almighty crash as the PADDs fell to the ground with the table, Krovennan stared at the mess for a moment, before leaving his Ready Room, moving quickly across the Bridge, and disappearing behind the closed door of the Turbolift, the Bridge crew had made sure to work silently, no-one wanted to give Krovennan reason to become angrier.

    The black and silver object stood silently in Krovennan's quarters, it stood out against the rest of the room, filled with items that moved and beeped in a thousand different ways, this stood motionless, a isnland of calm in the storm. Krovennen walked into his quarter's and stood in front of the object, getting down on one knee, Krovennan crossed his hands across his chest, both palms on his pecs, thumbs interlocked, when this was done, he lowered his body and head, bowing to the item with the makeshift wings on his chest, it made sense when he was bowing to a harpy.

    The representation of the Harpy Mother was pristine, her right hand reaching out in front of her, as if offering a hand of guidance to whomever bowed before her serene and caring face, Krovennan bowed, and opened his mind to relive all that had happened, mentally confessing to this diety, Vex Manna'Mordeth was a religion that required little from it's worshippers, preferring to ask rather than demand, Krovennan bowed right now of his own volition, he held the bow for several minutes, whn he stood up, he felt better, there was no great knowledge, no divine intervention, just the simple feeling that Manna'Mordeth knew his plight, and she would watch over him.

    Half an hour later, Krovennan finished all the reports laid out on his recently turned upright desk, there were no more outbursts nor feelings of despair, Krovennan knew that that statue was a sanctuary to him, it helped him through tough times and without it, he would not have been where he was today.

    Krovennan returned to his Bridge, sitting in the captain's chair, the Blacksabre-E had been tractored back to Earth and was undergoing reapirs, it would take a while, but it would be done, Krovennen allowed himself to relax, there was nothing more to do but watch the traffic between the station and Earth, until next time, where he would return to his quarters and pray again and again, the one time he truly felt like he was at peace.
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    The Resolution was a fine ship, with a fine crew, but ever her Captain needed a break from time to time. With the state of the Federation, Mark Sharp was one of the younger Captains within the fleet, having risen from the ranks of an Engineer. He missed that job; the problems were less… problematic and never on the verge of an all-out galactic war. Most of all he missed that sense of satisfaction of a completed job, the hum of the warp core and the cute blonde he used to work beside.

    The ship was ordered to return to Earth Space Dock, to take on supplies, rotate the duty officer crew and to replace part of the port nacelle which had sheered clean off when a Ferengi merchant tried to ‘negotiate’ his way out of a long prison sentence after a run in with some, in his words, ‘Legitimately acquired Borg technology’. In long travel times such as this, Mark could escape to his haven; Deck 11, section 3, just past cargo 2, take a left, a right, another right, remember to smile at the crew, everything is fine, a final left and there it was, Holosuite 4. Not the biggest on the ship and it often malfunctioned, but it was hardly used in a part of the ship where the weary Captain could go undisturbed for an hour here and there.

    As he approach the door, he tapped the panel to open his favourite program. Being of Scottish nationality, one would expect him to go to a place that reminded him of home, the lush Scottish hillsides with breathtakingly beautiful skylines, lochs and treelines that would go on for miles. However, this was not the destination choice. The doors swung apart with the familiar ‘whoosh’ of the pistons on each end, signalling Mark to leave behind his training and relax.

    The moist and humid air hit him like wall, but also embraced him like a welcomed and long missed friend. The heat was sublime and he could already feel the sun warming his skin, reaching deep into his bones. The breeze that came off the sea breathed new life into him; the sand at his feet began to warm his soul. He was in perfection, he was free.

    A small tropical beach on a deserted island was his sanctuary. Mark didn’t know if such a place existed back on Earth as he had created his hideaway here on the ship, not that he cared anyway. With each sound of the gentle sea waves lapping against the shore he began to unwind, the beat of his heart began to match the pulse of the slow and sultry waves. Taking his boots off he finally felt the warm sand and the shells between his toes, if anyone was about they would have heard his sigh of relief. A log hut lay ahead, a modest structure to say the least, open on one side, facing the beach, letting the light shine in, the thatched roof rustling in the breeze as if to welcome him home.

    His jacket was thrown against the floor as he picked up a book and a pen, something never seen in the days of PADDs and Bio-Neural Gel Packs. Sitting himself on the lip of the wooden floor, his feet resting on the spot on the sand where the sea met the beach, he began to write…
    “Captain’s Log….”
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    As told by Vice Admiral Bob:

    I love the torpedo room. So quiet; so peaceful. No one ever comes in here. The only people who do are the crewmen assigned to inventory the torpedos and since I know their schedule, I'm guaranteed solitude.

    Solitude, that's why I'm here. Sure my ready room and quarters can be left alone at my very order but there is something about the torpedo room I find peaceful. There is no hum or beeping. There is only a small communications speaker that I manually unplug whenever I enter. I keep a reclining chair in here and the crew know to leave it alone. When I am in here, only a Red Alert brings me to the bridge.

    Why do I feel the need to get away? It probably started with my childhood. I grew up in rural Alabama in North America on Earth. I would sometimes head into the woods alone just to be with my thoughts. The only thing you could hear was the sound of the wind blowing through the trees. Walking in the woods, I felt alone. I felt peaceful. When I went to Starfleet Academy, I would always go walking in the mountains nearby. Just to be by myself.

    My first commanding officer thought it was weird that I would use the torpedo storage room for solitude. But I really had no choice. Ensigns didn't get private rooms. And despite the fact I enjoy being around my crew, sometimes I want to be alone. Far removed from everybody and everything. I want to be in the silence of the torpedo room.

    This is my refuge. This is my quiet place. Nothing and no one bothers me in here. When I am here, I'm...

    RED ALERT! Admiral to the bridge!
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    The Assumption of Our Captain on Risa or
    Some Like It Not

    by
    D.A. Peters
    ..........Jack regrets taking leave on Risa--almost as much as leave, in and of itself. Walking along the shore, she thinks the sun sits too perfect, like nectarine syrup, on the horizon. Waves break and the waters roll along her toes. That warm, 39.1 degrees centigrade. The temperature behind the bussard collector.

    ..........She sprays lotion over her hands. Her family came from a human ex-pat community on Andoria, before the war broke. All she remembered needing there were thermal layers lined to block UV rays. Here? People expected her to walk around half disrobed with the callous sun beating down at 39.1.

    ..........On arrival, she felt... exposed--yet she wore shorts and a shirt.

    ..........A Vulcan diplomat and his entourage sit just a few rows down. A clean, bowl-cut and those sharp ears--sharp enough to know whatever his next lecture would be, it would--at least--be heard.

    .........."The question of 'free' Borg-" He looks toward Jack and her Starfleet satchel. "-the question does raise the issue of whether we can justify continued destruction of their ships. Were you aware there are children aboard the drone ships?"

    ..........Jack doubts if his companions aren't aware. The Vulcan saw her bag, the ship insignias and patches running up the armband. His lecture aims for her. Thoughts of screaming at him like the Andorian children at recess in her youth play through Jack's mind. Kick dirt at him and she's another drunk sailor. Ignore him and he'd sit content in his most logical deductions. Ferengi itemized their neat, little deductions. While running aid to Reman in the Haarkona system, she'd once told a Ferengi Daimon where to itemize such deductions, in what TRIBBLE, and with how much force. Jack smiles at this.

    .........."Perhaps, this young woman can offer her insight?" The Vulcan turns. He wants dialectic.

    ..........Smile fading, Jack stood up. The implant on her left brow arches.

    .........."Don't the Vulcans euthanize?" She lets the word escape her lips like a computer system failing. Without a break, she waves her hand and runs into the water. She breathes long and hard and dives...

    .............under the water, she holds her knees to her TRIBBLE. It reminds her of the ship. The one place she felt was her haven, her home. At the bridge, diplomats' lectures didn't give her pause. She knew how to outmaneuver a Romulan Warbird, how to stand against a Klingon carrier and send a few more good men and women off to Sto'vo'kor. She could immerse herself in work, just as she could at the bottom of the wading pool. No breaches. No need for Structural Integrity Fields. Just immersion.

    ..........Yet, here she sits, at the bottom. Warm water all around her. The same 39.1 degrees that broke her down outside her post. The smell of the Borg nanites like cheap synthale. She smelled it in the showers in her quarters anymore. 39.1 degrees. Hot. She didn't know why she chose it but she brought it on herself. She'd shower until her skin ran redder than her uniform.

    ..........Her thoughts drift toward her leave ending--this detour on Risa over as soon as possible. She tells herself that her XO could use the leave time to see his family. It's settled. I'll re-assume command; let him relax. Assume command. Assumptions.
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    Lt. Commander Torin
    Chief Engineer
    USS Challenger

    The halls of the USS Challenger are empty as Torin makes his way down the corridor. Next week the ship will undergo it's first test runs leading up to its official launch in a month. Torin had working late working on the Antimatter injection system that Starfleet felt wasn't up to regulations.

    He Grunts as he approaches the holodeck and punches in a code to open the doors. He checks the arch panel and energizes the grid. He places an Isolinear chip into a waiting socked and commands "Computer, Transfer program Torin Delta-3 and activate program.

    Its takes the computer less than a second to access the information. Suddenly the Yellow Grid morphs into the shape of a small shack sitting on a hill inside the forest. All around birds can be heard chirping. The early morning sun warming the cool day. To the East the grand vista of forested mountains rise and fall. The valleys filled with an early morning fog.

    The shack is rather therad bare and made of wood. It's North and East sides are completely open to the air. Inside lie a couple tables holding various abandoned projects and several shaping tools. A stool sits in front of a pottery wheel. To each side of the stool there is a large Pit framed in wood and a large basin of water.

    Torin breaths in the air and shrugs off his uniform jacket as he approaches the shack. He carefully folds his uniform and places it on the table. He then unhooks an apron from the wall and puts it on as he sits at the stool. He turns and leans over the pit, his elbows resting on the wooden frame,Then thrusts his hands into the clay halfway up his forearm. The wet slimy surface felt cold.

    He closes his eyes and listens to the sound around him as he kneads the clay between his fingers. He sits there for several minutes doing nothing but kneading the clay. Finally he pulls a clump from the pit and carefully sets it on the of the wheel. He gives the wheel a couple of experimental spins as he examines the clay. Satisfied he begins to spin the wheel in earnest.

    He closes his eyes once more letting his hands work the clay into shape only looking down every other minutes to check on its progress. He leans his head back to let the sun hit him more fully in the face as he works. Suddenly he stops and glowers at the vase. He lets out and exasperated sigh that sounds more like a snort as he examines the vase closely. He then sees what his fingers already told him was there; A Large piece of Grit near the base of the vase.

    Glowering he reaches for one of his tools and begins to carefully extract the grit. He eventually works the grit loose but in the process the base was destroyed ruining his work. He stares at the misshapen vase for a few minutes then sets it on the table next to other misshapen and unfinished pieces of pottery.

    He then begins his search again through the clay pit taking his time to find the perfect clump of clay. Satisfied with a patch he begins his work anew. Carefully molding the Vase. Applying more water to keep the surface smooth. He takes his time and enjoys the sun. No responsibilities. No one waiting to use the holodeck. Just him and his work.

    No pieces of grit interrupt his work this time and he begins to carefully and delicately carve patterns in the Vase using one of his tools. Hours pass but Torin does not notice. All there is is him and his clay. Finally he finishes his work and leans back to admire it. He turns to look out at the mountains and at the Sun nearing its apex in the sky. He looks back at the vase and stands up. "Computer, save this project for replication. Save program and transfer all data to external storage. End Program."

    The vista quickly vanishes and his uniform, once supported by the table falls to the ground. Torin looks at his hands for a while and flexes his fingers. The holographic mud has vanished but his skin still remembers the cool sensation.

    He stoops down and retrieves his uniform as he heads for the exit. He pauses at the arch to power down the grid and retrieve his chip. He glances back at the Holodeck and taps the chip against the palm of his hand a few times before heading out and back to Utopia Planitia.
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    Maybe I’ve been in space to long. Maybe it was those harsh few years scraping out a living crammed shoulder to shoulder with other frightened, half-starved, and dislocated survivors of the Borg. Whatever the reason, I’ve become accustomed to being in space and surrounded by people. I spend very little time alone in my quarters or in my ready room. In fact, I use both for storage. And, my doctor, Dren, has to order me to bed to sleep more often than either one of us would like.

    Every night, I walk the decks of my ship. I make it a point to know every soul that steps aboard my vessel. If I am going to be responsible for their lives, I should know who they are. I don’t understand Starfleet’s attitude that Captains should be elevated above the crew. We’re all in the same boat. What affects one of us, affects all of us. We depend on one another for survival. That has always been the Tobarrii way.

    During my off hours you can often find me in the ship’s lounge sharing a synthoholic beverage with an ensign or some other member of the crew. We sing songs and tell tall tales. I’ve taught them a few Tobarrii drinking songs, and they have shared their cultural songs with me. It has brought us all together. It has made us a family of sorts. This crew, this ship has become my Ka’terri. Lieutenant Fausto has shared his tales of these musketeers on Earth that followed the spirit of Ka’terri with their motto “All for one and one for all”. I couldn't think of a better way to describe it.

    When I am forced into seclusion for sleep, I open a comm. channel and listen to the ship breathe. I see my ship in every detail. Ensign Haro is struggling with a stuck power relay. Lt.Cmdr Coujoyquu is in sick bay again. I think he’s secretly interested in Nurse Oxourhiqu. They make a good match. Lt. Commander Pourchea is practicing her Micordian Lute. Its sweet melodies enchant us with its Siren call. Stobomoe’s zoo and the alchemist laboratory where concocts his homeopathic remedies fill the ship with a symphony of aromas.

    However, there is no where I would rather be than in the thick of it: seated center stage in my captain’s chair; Ceathoo at the helm; Oriellas on the comm; Rymor at Tactical; and Ros at the Engineering Station; flying head long into a new adventure.
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    A Quiet Stroll
    Jaro Antar settled into the command chair on the bridge of the USS Scimitar, taking the night watch allowed him to skim through the engineering duty roster his deputy had arranged without being pestered. The roster was, much like its author, coldly efficient. Antar made a mental note to remind his lieutenant about the importance of shift breaks and was about to edit in the standard break rotation when the internal comm. channel chimed open.

    “Commander Jaro, he is doing it again!” The voice sounded very much like that of the standard Starfleet computer, however the whiney tone gave away the emotive subroutines the A.I. had developed in the last year.

    Antar chuckled under his breath and used the chair console to change the angle of the view screen. The long, gently curving nose of the ship’s Dervish class hull descended away from the camera until a tiny figure was visible at its tip.

    ***

    Kyle looked down past the ledge of ablative hull plating his gravity boots were clinging to, and into the vast blackness of space. A few metres beneath him, the hull would curve back into the huge concave housing of the deflector dish. The hum of the ship was a distant throbbing that faintly vibrated up through the soles of his boots. Out here the universe was silent and unhurried; waiting to be discovered and marvelled at. All Kyle could hear was his own measured breaths and the beating of his heart, just a few minutes of peace, alone with the universe, to take away all the stress and distractions. A small red light in the heads-up display of his suit alerted Kyle to the fact that the Computer had now made five attempts to contact him after he had switched of the comm. unit. No doubt it would have more questions.

    ***

    “Humans are strange at times.” Observed the computer as Antar watched the small figure make its way back up the nose of the ship. “I have observed over one hundred and ninety three different relaxation rituals exhibited by the crew. Only the Captain goes for a walk on the hull. Lieutenant Hendricks uses her Alcove. Commander Tharg performs something called “Stand Up” in the holodeck, people laugh at him, it is very peculiar. Commander T’Lara plays with blocks...”

    Antar barked out a laugh that startled the young ensign at the helm. “I can assure you that’s not playing. Check your data bank for Keethara blocks.”

    The space suited figure had disappeared from view, “Computer, open airlock three for the Captain. Oh, and don’t mention the blocks to anyone.”

    The computer responded with a cheery, “Yes Sir!” and Antar went back to amending the duty roster.
  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited June 2011
    Solitude is found in the Past Writings of the Soul Transmigration Senshi..

    After Life Cafe
    when you're new dead you come here to stay at the after life cafe...
    So Young Soul what you in for?
    Beep [checking comm the Grey Dressed lady turned to drop a tip on the bar].. Sorry I'll get back to you later sweet cakes.. [poof]
    whats with her?
    Grim Reaping?
    Tisket tasket a toll with a bridge.. sorry my call..Cheers..
    Great there goes me lunch time profit..crikey..
    Dark wood carved office elder male at desk looking at Butterflies pinned to an under glass cork board.Ring- Hello inner earth living service..
    Yes yes.. Trouble Midlands. right I'll contact the approp parties.. oh no I'm too old for field work.. es thanks good day to you sir and thanks.
    Standing to dust his red vest the man pulled a book from the study self and smiled. yes. they should do quite nicely. yes..Pulling cane from Ivory trimmed canister grabbing hat from boar's tusk rack .. Ah what do they call that place now..pulling old map and one from 1730 ..hum..I'll need a new map on this..
    Leaving the Hall to the front..snapping fingers. Yes.. Lets go for a walk My trusty hound. down the lane.. My oh word that tree has grown ..Good on you my oak..
    painting trunk. my what odd dress women showing ankles in public..spinning cane nodding hat.. [sure beats passing notes and ordering food in]
    Should go out more often.. yes young man i see you and no i keep the watch..
    of course you do..not worth much is it?
    not to you..
    nice dog..
    yes..well good day then..
    creepy man..dog was not by him i swear..it just..creepy..burr
    man looks up to awning signs and vehicle traffic.. checking watch..hum .Trusty find Map store..
    Good Day the lady said as he entered the store..
    Good Day young lady..a new ,map please.
    of what sir?
    Oh.. Yes Manners Sir Bertran of Easthall.
    Teh old place out of towne?
    Old? ITs my new house less drafty then a keep.
    [nice watch shiny]
    A map.
    Of what sir?
    Well Britannia Germania..North of Hadrian's Wall.. to Daneland and down to the Scaresan holdings near tunis..
    Oh a map of Europe..14 pound 6 pence..Smiling back . looking down to see dog along her leg.
    He doesn't bite I hope.
    only witches..Miss.
    Right bagging map..Holding up thick Victorian Sovereign. Sir, this is too much i cant open the safe.
    Pulling vest pouch out.. Well hum.. spilling on the counter..I trust you know what a proper payment is then? Trusty here can tell.
    [poor old codger..] Hum these are old coins..why spend collectors for a map.. Queen Victoria..hum.. See these are new ones trade ya?
    Grrr
    Ah..nice doggie.. hey watch the collar studs..are you blind?
    No..Miss Bridgette.Looking at name tag.. [how quaint]
    what cheep paper..no skins and embossments no fringe.. ah Michelin must be a good map scribe.. Cheers...[odd tartan skirt and black boots she had hey Trusty]
    Good bye..arf.
    I should have never agreed to lights and that blasted phone. No trusty you may not chase pixie ..were on a job.
    refolding map..and walking into to motor stop..A Good Proprietor A local chart..
    chart Sir?
    A Map of streets for this place..
    Wat you a Reds Booter in Geordie land?
    English has changed..Lets fix this communications difficulty.Tapping cane on ground.. Ah an Honest mind..
    So this game of football is still around.. I understand.... Magpies are for druids I'm not one of those. But Newcastle-upon the-tyne.. I enjoy very much.
    Druids sir? You mean Celtic Unites?
    Why bother..hand to forehead. honest but dense.. Trusty heal.. I see they still use trains..Good lets get a ticket.. Strawberry Fields Station Centre Gateshead... China towne near the mall.. hum. Lunch time.. Striding down the lane.. "Hai Chi Oolong Hot... General Tso and Rice...and an ox tail for the dog.
    No dog..real pork..
    No feed my dog or he starts helping himself.. Racing and posing hand Flicker from ring.
    Oh of course master...
    [eyeing crowd for notables] Policeman,exec,sportsman,yeoman..not any old souls trusty..bother]
    Re-folding map..Sipping tea..This is quite good. but this hand over chicken..What do you feed these pour birds now now.. Alchemy..fills the belly..but bland.
    Sir you must try to cause it..Wrong order sorry the Generals Chicken has the Carmel sauce..
    Kitchen now.. Standing up.. I shall enlighten you.. Looking at rack of ingredients.. tossing in waste bin..no never not a hope..here.. Read the labels not fresh after..hum nice print.. Ah its the roaches..Im not the health ministry.. I read write mandarin ... You mean well but are ignorante on a couple points. Flipping hatchet to Duck.. Here just like Ming Dynasty..MArco Polo..Khan style.. see remember.. Oh i see your Hong Kong nice island.. flipping chopper over. That's how i want my meal Clear?
    Yes Sir?
    Bertain Sir Bertain of the Knights of St John.. and dont skimp on the spices.of Antioch..
    What? [confused chefs assistant]
    This tin here..tapping cane on rack Grind it by hand in a mortar w pestle not that whirly contraption.of a coffee mill..or what ever..
    Sir this is most unusual you are a customer they do not come in kitchen..
    Lower then? Bend to my will and I will invest here in your place and protect your undocumented staff.. I believe that's the term for it?
    Your Chinese is very aristocratic..Are you and old colonial Government?
    No..An traveler.. that expect excellence.. and rewards it.. Holding up coin.
    Chefs table for the Gentleman..hurry..
    yes sir..right this way. and a bone for dog not wok..
    Best not he doesn't like hot baths. chuckle. tapping cane.
    Midlands Birmingham
    Poof.. ah with map can teleport...need to know the locations proper current name... Trusty skeek..
    Walking with take out bag and cane...down to a pub..I smell blood pudding and ale..hum
    Finding trusty pointing at two men in a booth..
    Bertain this is a odd place to find you one said.. long time.. don't turn your back to those lads.
    What them a thieves guild?
    No they like to watch mens bottoms..noting pastel polo shirted lad winking.
    They smell like women so clean...neat.harmless..naval tattooings.. rings oh its a pirate pub?
    No sir Bertain..whispering in ear..
    Trusty guard mode..
    You ask us to meet at a certain grid on olde map...and this was build on olde shrine..

    I was told by a current government type that a friend had troubles brewing in keeping a life intact.. He began.
    well we have attachments torrent people...explain.
    Military training area.. some vortex of energies..I dont like it.. go straight to overlay here.. i had need of a new map for it.. check it out and report to me but not this place..another..pulling out take out.. The foods good...now pass me the MEad.
    First to drink then to war! Ayee..

    < Bridge to the Captain Signal Contact you may want to come up here>

    Computer End Program and Que the Hunting with Broken Nose Cheyenne

    <Compliying indexing Son of Black Crane Beep>
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