Toko tolerance through acceptance - similar to the earth phrase patience from understanding but bears high influence as the most sacred law of the dominiqai.
........The dominiqai, native to the gamma quadrant, are the most emotionally unstable beings in the galaxy if they are not properly educated in the ways of persistence & endurance over their seething nature. At the core, all dominiqai could be described as inherently evil. This stems from the fact they are genetically disposed towards an entirely selfish pursuance of their tio, an ultimate goal idolized as the high rise at the end of vi-mal mari the path of ambitions. A Tsli-kmo takes the low road, & travels alongside said path, always keeping it in near sight.
........Dominiqai consider the majority of their species to have the perfect balance of brains & brawn, though these can become highly unbalanced. For example, if one focuses too much on strategy in a battle they begin to enter a state of vi-bolra, the regression - their body begins to shrivel & shrink into what are referred to as vi-dompshi the minion form. This can be advantageous in a battle to lose ones opponent; such a drastic change in appearance is extremely misleading. Their skin becomes a pale grey, due to the blood being farther from the skins surface. Their horns retract, folding back over their cranium & a tuft of hair grows over them in their stead. Their pupils fill out their eyes which in turn begin to bulge from their sockets, increasing visual acuity. Their jaws collapse & a rim of sharp teeth emerges around the lips & along the cheeks & chin. It is quite a sight to behold, one might even suggest that it defies all explicable nature; then again the same was said of shape shifters in the early days before it was known how common a trait this was.
........It is not truly known why such bodily changes are necessary as the dominiqai, being such an ancient race, have never been able to trace the roots along the evolutionary ladder of their planet. Fortunately they do know that in order to regain their stature, they must exercise force & push their bodies to the limit, or their intelligence will also begin to suffer until they have a mental capacity of a child.
........Though this species maturation is usually complete within their first 3 years of life, trauma such as the bolra can take a lifetime to repair. It is then up to the family, if they have one, to decide whether the life still has premise. Often, since they wont achieve a well rounded skill set in time to be of use to their social structure, those inflicted will be trained just enough to make a decision whether or not to end their own life. With an average lifespan of 130 years, this is a shocking reality.
........Dominiqai children are born as dompshi, & the sooner they begin their paja kin, or influx of knowledge, a telepathic ceremony performed by parents & peers to share history & theory, the sooner & faster they will grow. In order for the mind of a dominiqai to be properly prepared to handle the paja kin, they must literally exercise their brain muscles. The thinking process causes their neurons to wiggle, stimulating further growth of the mind & body priming their muscles for training.
........Dominiqai language is short & simple, only using 13 alphanumeric sets of symbolic characters that can be interpreted as either letters or numbers depending on the context or the amount of space between words. Bereft of most prepositions &/or conjunctions common to known languages, the sentence structure is designed to be spat out as quickly & fluidly as possible to comprehend. Most conversations are epically abrupt as delving into ones personal life too much is considered offensive, even if it is with/from your own mate. An interpersonal query of ones vacation may consist of ira vash ala-li enjoy your time? the response simply being: tui kmo sha - I sensed joy.
........The spiritual robes of the Tsli-kmo or Shaman of Sensation are always comprised of an uncomfortable, itchy material evocative of tweed. The fastenings are crude combinations of snaps, buttons & drawstrings, ensuring that the dressing process takes at least a finar, the equivalent of 27 earth minutes. It is dyed the least desired or least complimentary color of the wearer. The robes are to bear no adornments, & they may not be made to liken any desirable object or be modified to make oneself appear desirable. A symbol of their fortitude, this tradition dates back for 3 million generations on their world. Signifying completion of this rite of passage, any dominiqai wearing these robes are eligible for off-world activity, since they may interact with other species with confidence that they will not do them harm for a superfluous reason.
........An undergarment, standard to all members of this race, is fitted using a super-elastic polymer of light fibers that can split apart to a point of resistance & then begins mending itself back together. This was invented by researchers of the jshel, beasts that create nests out of excretions from their mucus membranes. This rare near-indestructible material can bind together & stretch & contract to fit their eggs, keeping them warm & safe. It was adapted to suit dominiqai who may inadvertently transmute into dompshi so they might still retain their dignity. They are worn as a one-piece like long-johns.
........As one of their most revolutionary discoveries, it was christened with the longest single word in their language. Kreeen, as it was named, is malleable like metal yet soft like spandex, conforming to the contours of any design they see fit. The material is also used to make carriers, not unlike a backpack or satchel on earth; though these ones come in only one size & can carry something as small as change, or something as large as a load of ore - roughly the amount you could fit into a wheel barrel. Neither the weight nor jaggedness of any object could pierce the material. They do recommend against carrying unsheathed blades, however; as they could, in a large enough quantity, be sharp to the touch when the material is stressed around its contours.
........90% of their planetary culture has evolved beyond their primal urges, however the remaining percentages go insane trying to keep themselves in check or merely embrace their dark side. Once in a while, a fractured mind may either swindle its way onto the committee or unknowingly deceive others if their condition is not identified, due to being well hidden or simply not showing symptoms. This can lead to disaster as the votes must always be 3/5 to approve any action, & though only 10% of the population reverts to such a state, it just so happens that exactly 3/5 of those afflicted live in rural areas & pursue facets of administration due to their inclined superiority complex.
........Due to this fact, if at any given moment there are 6 or more members on the committee who have or are susceptible to this contagious mental illness, they may sway a vote that would deny necessitations or enact a bill of war. Their people take great medical precautions to avoid this, but it has happened recently in documented history. One such offset of balance had devastating consequences leading to their involvement in the Dominion War, & initially denied their entrance into the federation.
........The dominiqai encountered the jemhadar in an interplanetary skirmish while they mediated a territorial dispute. Of course, the jemhadar were actually there under this pretense to make a land grab for resources, under the flag of the growing dominion fleet. The dominiqai were bartering for a planet in Geltak territory, about 43 parsecs from the beta-Q wormhole when the jemhadar laid claim to the area after instilling fear in the local populace, insinuating that a painful death would ensue if they did not give up without a fight. More openly admitted to protecting their own interests than to defending the weak but thriving commercial civilization, the dominiqai stepped in & annihilated the dominion in that region.
........For a short time, the dominion attempted to negotiate with these seemingly ruthless enemies. Eventually outthought & outgunned, the vorta & changeling leadership inevitably bowed down to their new masters, whom they dubbed Demon Lords.
........Several thousand jemhadar saw this as a sign of weakness of their masters & rebelled against all sympathizers. Others openly objected or just absconded from the dominion; the vorta wished to have them hunted & executed but couldnt get approval from the changelings, as they knew this would never pass approval with their lordship. The demon lords retained reign over the dominion to gain access to the bajoran wormhole. At this point the dominion had outlived their usefulness & so the demon lords turned them loose with a threat bearing little more than a slap on the wrist.
........Basking in the adamant reverence these acts had earned them throughout the quadrant, the dominiqai clung to the name their dominion pets had given them. All distinguished members of their race would henceforth be referred to as Demon Lords. Corruption & arrogance began to stir within the secondary fleet of the dominiqai, the committee aboard the lead vessel had been swayed to ally themselves with the dominion & helped them eradicate several federation colonies. In the hopes of preserving the peace, several well trained Tsli-kmo monks opened negotiations with the Federation & eventually joined their ranks. They infiltrated the Demon Lord fleet under the guise of True Way allies, & managed to cause them to destroy themselves from the inside out, crippling the supercilious supremacy the dominion had so reveled in.
........Two of their most notable officers & veterans of this event, Lords Svihra & Sam-Al, now head a frontline blockade against the borg alongside battle group omega.
From the journals of Grbl3dor Stardate 157463.06 -- June 18, 2480
I first met Fleet Admiral Hastings over 70 years ago, before I'd left Starfleet to become a full-time writer. In fact, I served under him when he first joined the Admiralty and I was a green officer with my first command.
Admiral Hastings was awfully young for an Admiral, but then in those dark days, they all were. Everyone was young -- too young. The saying at Starfleet Academy was that when you graduated, you got a plaque with your hardcopy diploma, a pin for your dress whites, and the command codes to a cruiser. Like any truly good joke, that wasn't far from the truth; my first command came with my promotion to Lieutenant.
And the Admiral knew this. He didn't have a crew of season veterans; his ship commanders often didn't know the difference between warp coils and entertainment provisions, but we were all eager and ready to fight in the wars. The Admiral gave us the support we needed to become better commanders, and really, what more can you ask?
But as I said, that was a long time ago. Starfleet is a distant memory for me, and Fleet Admiral Starlin Jeffrey Hastings, retired, is dying.
Stardate 157463.34
I've arrived at his home near San Jose, California. Naturally he never left the Bay Area; you can take the Admiral out of Starfleet, etc. etc.
My original plan was to conduct an interview with him, but he's unconscious and not expected to wake.
Stardate 157463.98
Admiral Hastings died a few moments ago at the age of 106.
Stardate 157465.51 -- June 19, 2480
Evidently there is a small ceremony called a "Will Reading" this afternoon that I have been asked to attend. As I understand it, humans have a custom of "passing on" certain possessions or objects to friends and family. Often these items have sentimental or symbolic meaning. It's only done for a few possessions; the majority of items are simply recycled. And although he wasn't human, he was raised as one and lived his life as one.
I have been asked to attend because, evidently, I have been named in this "will." I confess I am surprised: I knew the Admiral (never "Jeff" -- I could never call him that) well enough to share an occasional dinner with, but we were hardly the best of friends.
Stardate 157466.07
Several others have arrived for the ceremony. Most I don't know. The Admiral's daughter, Ashley, I've met. She's about as unlike the Admiral as anyone I've seen: she never went near Starfleet and became an artist instead. Yet they were very close. Who knows, perhaps they liked the same holovids, but it's hard for me to see what they had in common.
Admiral Khaotik, of course, will not be attending, and I don't think we need to rehash that old story.
Fleet Admiral Amara has arrived. If you've never met her, you cannot possibly be prepared for her. You expect a senior Vulcan Admiral to be a certain way, have a certain personality...but Admiral Amara is nothing like those expectations. Most Vulcans seem to exude an intimidating calm. Not her. "The Hormonal Vulcan," I've heard her called (though never to her face!). Raised by humans, she's emotional, but like anything Vulcans attempt, she's very good at it. Hyper-emotional, you might say.
She and Admiral Hastings worked side by side since their early careers, and while they were never romantic (so far as I know, anyway) they were close indeed. You can see it now on Admiral Amara's face: pain, sadness, tears. She just went around the room and hugged everyone, including people she'd never met. Then she started crying again.
The Estate Administrator just came out to begin the ceremony. It's not much of a ceremony, frankly; he just walks around the room, handing each person his/her/its item. He just now handed me mine: a plaque with hardcopies of my first command assignment announcement and my first mission report affixed. I had no idea he even had such a thing. I guess I made more of an impression than I realized.
Now he just walked over to Admiral Amara and handed her...a pebble. A very plain, unremarkable pebble. And Admiral Amara broke down completely, sobbing and wailing so loudly I had to cover my ears.
What could the significance of that pebble possibly be?
Stardate 157470.97 -- June 21, 2480
I'm on my way to see another retired Admiral: Fleet Admiral Jeffrey Davison. He's nearly 130 now, I think, but as a young Rear Admiral he first recruited then-Commander Hastings, then-Commander Amara and then-Commander Khaotik to form a "strike team" of ship commanders who could work independently, short-circuit the fleet bureaucracy and "get the job done."
I land my skimmer right next to Admiral Davison's house on the beach. It's a gorgeous San Diego morning (but aren't they all?). I knock on his door, and after a few minutes he answers, and grins. He advises me to get used to stooping, as his house wasn't built for people my size (I'm nearly 8 feet tall).
I follow him into a large room with a huge picture window that overlooks the ocean. We sit down, exchange pleasantries, and then get down to it.
Me: I assume you heard about Admiral Hastings.
Davison: Yep. Wished I could've attended, but at my age, traveling is risky.
Me: Did you know the Admiral well?
Davison: Hell, I knew Jeff as a green Ensign. Always Jeff nobody called him Starlin. We spent enough time together that people would get confused -- since we were both "Jeff" -- so people started calling me "Proper Jeff" -- because I was senior -- and him "Other Jeff" for clarity.
Me: And of course, you know Admiral Amara.
Davison: Yep, though I didn't meet her until after she had her command. In fact, I met her because of Jeff: if you follow his career, you pretty much have to follow hers. They were quite the team.
Me: And Admiral Khaotik?
(Now the grin fades for the first time.)
Davison: Yes. Him too.
Me: At the Will Reading, the administrator gave Admiral Amara a pebble. She took one look at it and collapsed in grief. Any idea what the significance of that pebble is?
Davison: No idea. Have you asked Amara?
Me: Not yet. She was pretty upset, and I figured she'd need a bit of time.
Davison: Probably, yeah. But I don't know what the pebble is about. I wonder if it's related to their first mission together? I don't remember all the details, but I think I have the ID somewhere.
(Admiral Davison slowly rises, then shuffles over to a bookcase and pulls down a box full of data solids. He rummages through them, then apparently finds the one he's looking for. He slides it into a reader, then scrolls through the data on the viewscreen.)
Davison: Here it is.
(He pops a blank solid into a slot, hits a key, then ejects the solid and tosses it to me.)
Davison: That's the mission ID. You can apply for access to the logs; I doubt much of the mission is classified anymore.
(We continue chatting for a while, and then make our farewells.)
Stardate 157471.54
After the interview this morning, I did apply to the Starfleet Press Office for access to the mission logs. SPO said they would get back to me "soon."
Meanwhile, I'm en route to Memory Alpha. I've got an interview set up with Vice Admiral Stike in the morning. Stike worked under Admiral Davison, and provided scientific and technological support to his strike team. I figure he's probably got some insight into the team that might prove illuminating.
Stardate 157473.70 -- June 22, 2480
Vice Admiral Stike has been working at Memory Alpha for over sixty years. Legend has it that he and his team figured out a way to create warp-14 engines out of a kettle and some string, and while that's obviously apocryphal, it's not by much. Like most Vulcans, he has no use for pleasantries, so we exchange none.
Me: How well did you know Admiral Hastings?
Stike: The question is not logical. There's no scale or measurement on which to base a response. How do you quantify, "well?"
Me: Let me rephrase. Are you familiar with the details of most of his missions for Admiral Davison?
Stike: My familiarity varies with each individual mission, depending on the level of support I was required to provide.
(This is the problem with interviewing Vulcans. You have to phrase things very carefully if you have any hope of learning anything at all.)
Me: Are you specifically familiar with all of the details of the first mission that Admiral Hastings and Admiral Amara worked together?
Stike: No. However, I am familiar with many of the details. Would you like me to list them for you?
Me: Please.
Stike: Stardate 86363.13. Hastings and Amara are ordered to Regulus IV, where the Klingons are supposed to be meeting with Miral Paris. Upon arriving they meet with armed resistance -- both in space and on the planet's surface. The Klingons had planted spatial charges on a number of facilities on the planet, including the Federation Embassy. Hastings and Amara defuse the charges, and survive an attack by Klingon Ambassador B'Vat, who then escaped.
Me: What support were you required to provide?
Stike: I was not required to provide any support, which is why I do not know all of the details of the mission.
Me (nonplussed): Um, OK. If I were to tell you that Admiral Hastings had a pebble given to Admiral Amara at his Will Reading ceremony, and that Admiral Amara had an emotional reaction to this gesture, would you have any idea as to why?
Stike: Unknown. It would depend on when you told me such a thing. Do you think it is likely you will tell me such a thing in the near future?
(If he was not Vulcan, I would accuse him of teasing me right about now.)
Me: Admiral Hastings had a pebble given to Admiral Amara at his Will Reading ceremony. Admiral Amara had an emotional reaction to this gesture; would you have any idea as to why?
Stike: No. Emotional reactions are never logical, so it is pointless to try to determine what causes them using reason. Furthermore, I have no knowledge of any pebble that might have any significance, real or perceived, on the part of either Admiral Hastings or Admiral Amara.
(I ask a few more perfunctory questions and then end the interview.)
Stardate 157474.39
SPO has responded to my request for the mission logs. There's not much of interest in the logs beyond what Admiral Stike had already related. There is, however, a small note that then-Lieutenant Amara's life was saved by then-Lieutenant Hastings. This isn't unusual; I'm sure Starfleet Officers save each other's lives all the time. But it's a new data point, anyway.
I think I'm going to have to talk to Admiral Amara.
Fleet Admiral Amara has consented to speak with me. As I am ushered into her office at Starfleet Command, I am once again struck at the "feeling" she gives off.
We all make assumptions about people. We expect them to act a certain way, say certain things, etc. This is a sort of mental short-cut that we have to do, because doing a detailed analysis of every person and every gesture would drive us mad with paralysis.
And I think that's what freaks people out when they meet Amara. Physically, she's Vulcan and she looks it. She may be well over 100 but she appears to be a human in her mid-30s, except of course for the ears and eyebrows. Her face, when set, looks like a regal, Vulcan face...until she cracks a huge smile and bounds over the desk to shake your hand. It's the wrong signal for what you expect. Her body language just confuses the hell out of your brain. And her reactions aren't exactly human, either; if anything, she's over-expressive. And hyper. A Vulcan with ADHD, can you imagine?
After a hearty "hello" hug she bounds back over the desk and into her chair, gesturing to another chair for me to sit in. I sit down and thank her for agreeing to meet with me. She smiles warmly.
Amara: Jeffy was a terrific friend. Anything I can do to help.
Me: Well, I don't know about "help" but I do have a question. It's almost certainly personal, so feel free to refuse to answer...but I hope you do answer.
Amara (warily): Go on.
Me: Tell me about the pebble.
(Silence. It drags on for what seems like hours, though I am sure it lasted no longer than a few seconds. Her eyes well up, and she sighs.)
Amara: I doubt it will make sense to anyone but me or Jeff.
Me: Perhaps, but I'd still like to hear the story. Was it related to the mission on Regulus IV?
Amara: You've been doing your homework, I see. Well. Yes, it does. But you have to understand that Jeffy and I were very close. Not in the salacious way some people implied; we were friends. Almost like siblings, but without the fighting. And he was excited about everything. Hell, the day he got his promotion to Captain, he came bounding into my ready room. "'Mara, 'Mara, guess what, guess what?" Like that.
(At this memory she smiles a sad smile.)
Amara: That closeness came very fast for us. Yes, we were on Regulus IV. It was one of the first real big missions either of us did. We'd met purely by random chance one day at Earth Space Dock, and before you knew it, we were teaming up to go protect Miral Paris.
At one point we're running across a beach, dodging fire from Klingons and Orions. Some stupid KDF lobbed a photon grenade at me. My personal shields were exhausted and I was hurt badly; that grenade would've wiped me out, or at least put me in the hospital for a very long time. Jeffy came running up and shoved me out of the way, taking the full force itself.
It's not as big a deal as it sounds. This sort of thing happens all the time on away missions. But we were young and scared. Anyway, I took that opportunity to wheel around and vaporize the munitions officer. Then I ran to check on Jeffy.
He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at me. I told him he probably just saved my life. He grinned and said, "You owe me, 'Mara! Your life! Or, in exchange, I'll accept your most valuable possession."
Possession? Hell, I didn't even own a holo-viewer. I sat down next to him and thought for a moment. Then I looked at the bottom of one of my boots and found a pebble jammed in the treads. I pried it out and handed it to him. "Here you go," I said. "Most valuable thing I've got. All yours. Treat it right, Jeffy, or I'll break your collar bone."
He took the pebble and looked at it with a solemn expression. He opened a sealed compartment on his belt, carefully placed the pebble inside, then re-sealed the compartment. He looked up at me and said, "I'll treasure it always, Amara." Then, after a moment, he grinned widely and shoved me so I fell over. Then he took off running.
When the administrator handed that pebble back to me the other day, I was overwhelmed. I had no idea he'd kept it all these years. Afterwards I tracked his daughter down.
(ARGH! Why didn't I think to interview his daughter? Bad Grbl3dor! Bad!)
Amara: She told me her father had shown her the pebble before. To him it represented a friendship so strong that it could last forever. Like stone. And he was returning it to me as an apology. "An apology?" I asked. "Yes," she said. "Dad was sorry that the friendship wasn't going to last longer."
Of course, you could hardly blame him. He lived to 106 after all; it's not like he was abandoning me. But I know that I'll never experience another friendship like that, and that's the saddest part of all.
Character: Admiral Starlin Jeffrey Hastings
Prized Possession: a pebble
Sickbay was a busy place, but Trin was already on the way out before Renesia could continue her rant about Starfleet, politics, and Ferengi cuisine Days like this didnt exist for Trin before he had joined the Dre symbiont. Yet, they have been haunting him ever since. Within minutes he could feel his usual calm disappear, from now until long after his shift was over he would snap commands at those who had to listen, and would continue to argue with the voices of former hosts, or with those unfortunate crew members who happened to engage him in conversation.
When Trin steped out of the Turbolift to enter the bridge, a young talaxian ensign approaches him just to be directed elsewhere by Todd the first officer. The way in which the ensign was carrying his data padd, made it very clear that he had just arrived from the academy. When Todd prevented the new crewmember from facing his captain, saving Trin and the ensign from embarrassment. Commander Todd, I ll be in my ready room Trin announced somewhat more formal then was common for him. Todd understood, if only Trin could better comprehend what triggered these fits of bad temper in him.
Pouring ale from his personal stack into a glass he sat at his desk. The Verthrax had been on relief duties for quite some time. Its relatively large cargo holds were filled with supplies, to be delivered to various planets across the Regulus sector and the bordering Arucanis arm. The expanded medical facilities were filled with wounded casualties of a natural disaster in a nearby system. Nothing seemed to require his immediate attention.
On normal days MhaiDre's voice would be his most trusted adviser. He always admired her resolve and cunning, as much her unceasing passion for doing the right thing. They had become inseparable parts of him. It was hard to understand why Mhai would suddenly target her passions against Trin. What could upset a woman of her composure and go completely unnoticed by Trin? Unlike the memories of other hosts, it was as if Mhai prevented Trin from simply accessing her memories. Most of her life was filled with secrecy after she had fallen in love with a Romulan commander. Both Nveid and Mhai would have been outcast if their love had been conducted publicly. But before either had to choose sides, their relationship continued in secrecy for almost 15 standard years.
Trin focused on the time his mood swing had started earlier. He was standing in sickbay, surrounded by civilian causalities of the planetary disaster. Of the 280 patients that had beamed on board, Renesias team had miraculously managed to save 278. Thinking about his medical officer, Trin felt a sudden sense of pride. He had trusted and supported the sometimes impatient and eccentric Betazoid. But once she had discovered her interest in medicine her record was one of the most impressive in Starfleet history.
Mhai never liked Betazoids or any telepaths. In an attempt to protect herself and Nveid, Mhai had undertaken years of training among Vulcan reunificationists, who subverted various levels of both the Romulan Star Empire and Starfleet in an attempt to work together. The group was a mix of Vulcans, Romulans and Remans who trained each other to use their mental capacities as a means of protection. Had she not had the experiences of the Dre symbiont, it would have been impossible for her to distribute her mind so freely among this group, and yet finding a way back into her own persona. After years of practice, she had learned to interfere her normal stream of consciousness by jumping into the thought patterns and memories of previous hosts. The only thing that Mhai never anticipated was the way in which her powers to disguise her emotions and thoughts would prevent even future hosts from accessing her conscious. Until this day it felt like no one but Nveid would ever know the truth about Mhair.
Trin had only vague recollections of Mhais interrogations on board the USS Malis. Mhais training prevented that. She was captured by a Vulcan spy from Starfleet intelligence at a secret meeting on Earth. Her training successfully prevented her from revealing other members of her cell. So the intensity of the interrogations began to increase. Mhai realized that Starfleet would always find a way to make the golden rules and principals of the Federation be coherent but simply not apply in cases where they were inconvenient. How else could her interrogators torture her, a citizen of the UFP?
For 10 days the Vulcan accompanied by his Betazoid colleagues were trying to break into her consciousness. It felt like she had to relive every death of a loved one, all the horror and pain of her previous hosts two times over, always at the brick of loosing herself in a net of lies designed for her to reveal other members of her cell. There were brief moments of foolish victory when she succeeded in unlocking the blocks that ensured the logical purity of her Vulcan interrogator. Those rare moments of triumph were followed by brief spans in which she could guide her own consciousness ascension to its rightful place. She had managed to conceal a small tissue, and it became her sole anker to reality.
When Nveid and the crew of the Terix located and destroyed the Malis to liberate her, there was no return to the Federation or the Trill homeworld. She was a criminal for seeking peace with the wrong people. Mhai underwent cosmetic surgery, papers and evidence were forged, and she joined the Terix crew. At long last she could be with Nveid. Although the original tissue had been destroyed when the Terix crew broke into her cell, the habit of always carrying a tissue stayed with her until their retirement on Romulus.
Once more Trin, dwelled on the fact that there would never be Romulan silk again after the Hobus incident. Computer, show me the report on the two civilian casualties on board. Processing . But Trin didnt need to look at the screen anymore, he suddenly new what Mhai had immediately recognized while he was to busy looking elsewhere. He stood up, and went to the mortuary. The two corpses were lying in a stasis field waiting to be buried according to the customs of the disaster victims. An elderly couple, and in the left hand of the female corpse there it was, a piece of grey fabric, shimmering in the cold light of the stasis field.
Although little pieces of Romulan silk had always been popular around the galaxy, their subtleties were usually lost on those who owned them. Unlike their replicated counterparts, Romulan silk remained a craft and Romulan craftsmen took pride in their work. Their pride was only second to their pride into the empire, and on occasions not even that. The intense dedication to such seemingly mundane objects embedded a special quality in them. Thanks to Mhai, Trin immediately realized that the silk came from a master crafter of the southern River delta of Jullha province. This was not the cheap junk that still found its way from the outer colonies of Psi Velorum, how did it end up here?
He caught a glimpse of Mhais reflection in one of the LCARS screens:
You have always been more Vulcan then any of them, stop fighting your grief. We have taken the children and wives of previous hosts to their graves. Suppressing or clinging to grief will only consume us both. Remember, after the Borg had killed Aev, how Nveid wouldnt stop reciting classical Vulcan poetry in his lousy accent until you gave up and faced you emotions openly? Share your pain, and pride with me, so I can honor their memory.
Oh those are fancy napkins, I didnt know the replicator could make these Renesia said while sitting at the dinner table inside Trindres quarters. It was obvious that she sensed their significance to her CO and decided to let her curiosity get the better of her. Romulan Silk, crafted in Jullha province, some of the finest ever made. Trin replied, Oh another one of those presents you inherited from Mhai? Todd said while enjoying his meal, Yes, just like these daily meals with my officers. It was important to Mhai to be herself around her crew, I like the idea.
Tiran exited the testing facility, her head held high and a triumphant smile on her face. The Presidio area of San Francisco where Starfleet Academy was located was uncomfortably warm for Tirans Andorian blood, but even that discomfort couldnt dampen her spirits. She had passed. No, more than that. She had excelled!
She paused at the top of the steps and looked around, eventually spotting the two members of her parental quad who had accompanied her to Earth of her entrance exams. Jeysa and Thaleb were a striking couple as they shared the shade of one of the massive oak trees on the campus. They were both warriors, though Thalebs focus had turned to using his knowledge of fighting to craft some of the finest, and most sought after weapons on Andoria. There had been bitter arguments in the family home when Tiran announced her desire to join Starfleet, but Jesya and Thaleb had never wavered in their support of her desire.
Tiran bounded down the stairs toward her parents who both looked up expectantly. I passed, she announced happily, throwing herself into Thalebs arms and receiving a crushing embrace.
We knew that you would, her fathers deep rumbling voice assured her before he released her and showed her his broad grin.
Your great grandfather would be proud, Jeysa assured Tiran and suddenly the shadow of her great-grandfather, the famed General Shran, hovered about them. It was quite a lot to live up to, Tiran realized, trepidation eroding her smile a little.
Well, we cannot have our daughter going into space without adequate protection, Thaleb said, adroitly changing the subject and drawing Tirans attention back to him. He reached into Jeysas bag and pulled out a bundle of dark blue silk which bore the crest of their keth, or clan, upon it.
For me? Tiran asked, looking between her parents with wide eyes as her smile returned.
Jeysa nodded as Tiran took the bundle and carefully folded back the cloth. Nestled within it was a brand new chaka, the ceremonial dueling blade of Andoria. It was clearly Thalebs work and the metal had the distinctive bluish tint that he imparted to his pieces. Carefully, Tiran picked the weapon up and tested its balance. She then stepped back and performed a series of quick thrusts and slashes with the weapon, the alarmed looks from other parents and newly-minted cadets unheeded.
After satisfying herself that the blade had been perfectly crafted to fit in her hand, Tiran straightened up and smiled. I will make you proud, she said, bowing to her parents as she removed her old chaka from the sheath at the small of her back and replaced it with the new one. She resolved that from that day forward, the weapon would always be at hand; not only as protection, but as a tangible reminder of her familys love and her duty toward them.
'Odd Squad'. That's what they'd called themselves at the Academy. The three of them: Arkim, Oz and Jun... a Trill xenobiologist, a Betazoid chemical engineer and a Human political historian. Odd Squad had been their affectionately self-deprecating creation, their Academy quiz team name, and their gentle protest against the athletes, tacticians, and command-track heroes selected for the officially-sanctioned elite of Red Squad.
Thirty years after graduation, Captain Arkim once again sat in the old drinking hole of his Academy days. He was light years away from Earth, streaking across space at Warp 9.5 in the starship he now commanded; but in the holodeck, in a recreation of Boothby's as it had appeared in 2379, Arkim sat at a table near the back of the bar, full of nostalgia and allowing himself to believe, for now at least, that he was back in the cadets' bar on the grounds of the San Francisco campus. He raised a square glass to his lips and took a sip from the replicated Samarian Sunset it contained, reminiscing and patiently waiting for his old friend Oz to patch in.
The Odd Squad trio had remained close friends over the years, despite the fact that their careers had taken them to different starships, which in turn had carried them off to different and distant corners of the galaxy. At this moment, Arkim was patrolling the Bajor sector in the Alpha Quadrant, while Oz was on a five-year diplomatic and reconnaissance mission in the Delta Quadrant. Through the wonders of transwarp micro-threading through the MIDAS array, the two old friends were about to rendezvous for a drink, exchanging holographic feeds in real time for a meeting in a shared holographic setting, each man interacting with a hologram of the other. Arkim had chosen the setting on this occasion; it was an important day, and this was the most appropriate place in the galaxy that he could think of to remember an old friend.
As he waited, Arkim savored the drink and the reassuring embrace of familiar surroundings, his mind battling against an onslaught of grief using an army of happy memories of Oz and Jun. He loved those two, without condition, and as deeply as if they were members of his own family. Ties stronger than blood or water bound these three together. They had literally saved the galaxy together. They had watched each other grow up, raise families and build careers. They had been counselors and champions for each other, they had spoken the truth whenever it needed to be heard, they had laughed and joked, they had entertained the crowd at Pelios Station with their impromptu three-piece rendition of Melor Famagal, and they had grown old in each other's unwavering company.
Friends for life, they'd always said. And beyond, Arkim thought, in a moment of realization that he had never had until this moment. Jun was gone, the victim of a terminal Betazoid neurological condition. Almost three years since her death and still, in moments of quiet reflection and in many unguarded thoughts in between, the vacuum Jun had left behind her pulled at Arkim like an inescapable black hole. He had refused to ever mark the anniversary of her death, but he met with Oz each year on Jun's birthday, reuniting the Odd Squad in spirit and conversation, just as they would today.
Arkim absentmindedly ran his fingers over a small wooden box he had brought with him into the holographic Boothby's. The box was almost black in color, made from ebony with deep grooves carved into its dark surface that divided the faces of the box into triangles and diamonds. The lid was thicker than the rest of the box, hinged at the back and with a simple hook at the front that swiveled down to clasp a small stud to keep the box closed.
His mind drifted back from treasured memories to the little treasure chest between his fingers, the box reasserting itself into his consciousness, his little collection of things he never wanted to forget.
He freed the metal hook from its latch and pushed the top of the box open. A feint but pleasing and familiar whiff of old wood greeted his nostrils, and he smiled wistfully as he gazed down at the assorted keepsakes the box contained. He began to finger through the lifetime's worth of mementos: his first mission patch, showing the stylized logo of Starfleet's Medical Relief Effort to Cardassia; a metal whistle from the bazaar in Rakantha; a blue pebble from the foot of the Cliffs of Bole; his mother's hand-written recipe for steamed azna; a small bottle of Mintakan mead; a picture of Jun on stage at the Academy Revue in full costume as Jean Luc B'stard, an affectionate parody of the famed Federation ambassador and her former mentor; and a Dabo chip from Drozana Station, taken as a souvenir on the eve of Oz's wedding.
At the back of the box was a white envelope, with Arkim's name written upon it, opened but with the flap tucked back inside to protect what lay within. His fingers paused, almost unwilling to open the envelope despite the fact that this was the thing he loved the most.
He sighed gently and curled thumb and forefinger around the envelope, lifting it out of the box as his eyes welled up with tears. It was a letter from Jun, handwritten on real paper in the months leading up to her death and given to him at the funeral by her daughter.
He opened the envelope now, half expecting this time, as he had done when he first opened it three years ago and every time since, that it would contain a long correspondence from his old friend. But instead, as always, it contained only a single folded sheet of white paper.
He unfolded the paper and looked down at the words written upon it in black ink.
It bore just two short words, written in Juns hand, in the very center of the page.
Lieutenant Muk'da entered his Captains office and snapped a Salute. "You wanted to see me?"
Q'loveH glances up from his computer terminal and gives a quick nod before tossing a Padd across his desk. "Give these to Kobor. This approach is going to be tricky."
"Yes, sir" Muk'da replies as he scoops up the Padd.
Several Seconds pass and out of the corner of his eye Q'loveH notices Muk'da Hovering over near his desk still. Q'loveH turns to his officer, "Is there a problem Lieutenant?"
Startled Muk'da straightens and replies "No sir. uh.. I. It's nothing."
"If you have something to add then out with it."
"It's nothing important. I was just trying to place the symbol on the badge on your desk. I noticed the same symbol behind an old panel in Engineering while running some diagnostics."
Q'loveH turns his gaze to a small badge perched atop a small Pedestal on his desk and plucks it up in his hand. He examines it for a few seconds causing Muk'da to shift uneasily as the silence fills the room. Q'loveH traces the symbol with his thumb and finally speaks. "It's the mark of house Siqta'qu."
"I'm not familiar with that house."
"You are young and that SiQta'qu was never part of the High Council. At our height we were poised to challenge for a seat but that is long gone."
Muk'da's face grew a puzzled expression "Your house? I though your house..."
Q'loveH cut him off with a wave "I was once a member of that house. This ship was once part of that house. SiQta'qu however is no more. Poor leadership shattered what we had and those of us who remained joined other houses or started a new one as I did." Q'loveH indicated the badge in his hand "Only one other followed me on my path although he stubbornly clung to the old house. His name was Qoloth."
"Kholoth? The Dahar master?"
Q'loveH laughs and shakes his head, "No. Not that Kholoth. He was a good and loyal friends none the less. We served together aboard this very ship for many years and shared glory in countless battles."
"I see. He is dead then?"
Q'loveH grew more somber and nodded "He died just as the war with the Gorn began."
"He died in battle then?"
Q'loveH again grew silent and placed the badge back on it's pedestal. "There will be time enough for stories another time. I need you to get those calculations up to the bridge. We will be arriving in several hours."
Muk'da snaps to attention once more and says, "Yes sir. I appreciate you indulging my curiosity." Then left for the bridge
Q'loveH to his console and pours over the Intel for what seems the hundredth time. Several hours pass and his studies are interrupted by a call from the Bridge. "We are approaching the target system sir."
Q'loveH acknowledged the summons and stood to leave. He paused only briefly and plucked up the badge once more. "You will enjoy this fight old friend. Outnumbered and deep behind enemy lines." He grins again and tucks the Badge into his belt before leaving for the bridge.
QloveH and Qoloth rides to battle aboard the yaybom once more.
The duties of Starfleet were many, especially in an environment as war torn as the galaxy seemed to be. For the Bajoran Vice Admiral, Talar Bazran some of the occurances he understood all too well. People doing what they must to survive even that commander of the Tal Shiar Hakeev, in his own way.
However there was so much more that made little sense the Hirogen. Hunting others for sport? That made no sense from a tactical perspective nor from any other really. The True Way had some ideological basis but hurting their own people to cow them into submission? That wasnt survival that was something else entirely.
He had become tired of war, tired of having to make decisions that resulted in peoples lives being lost, tired of having to continually defend himself and others from the aggressions of others but most importantly tired emotionally.
However there was one thing that he had that kept him fighting. His fathers earring, it had been taken when his father had been killed during the occupation but ten years ago almost exactly to the day. A young Cardassian had sought him out and returned the earring to Bazran. He didnt ask why or hat drove the Cardassian to return it but finally once again he had a link back to his father.
Every time he held it he knew he couldnt stop fighting for what was right. He could not let himself forget his father and his dogged determination to fight against the Cardassians for a free Bajor then and now Talar Bazran could only fight for those that needed help whether it was through the branch of diplomacy or through the end of a phaser. His work still had to go on.
It was my very first command.. back on the USS Jonas Grumby... now that was a ship. Every time we took it past warp 7, the bulkheads started creaking. The Jonas was old and tired, but it was new to me then. The whole idea of being actually in command, all on my own.. it was frightening honestly. After all the training, and checking out.. serving as First officer to someone else. It's not the same you know. The first time you're out there, and everyone is looking to you for the answers.
It must have been about two weeks out, on our first tour, when we received the distress call. A colony out on the outer rim. It was an automated message.. you know the type "please send help, any Starfleet vessel, please respond immediately." We were doing the standard colony patrol run in those days.. the Jonas Grumby was honestly little more than a freighter. An old Miranda Class ship that had been rebuilt from scrap so many times, well like I said, it wasn't a top-of-the-line ship.
We travelled to the colony as fast as we could, hailing them all along the way. No response. By the time we received their distress call, it had been repeating for several days. You know that feeling of dread when you know you're probably too late? Yeah, we were all feeling that.
Well when we got there, we scanned the area.. no alien ships, no weapons signatures, and inconclusive life signs on the planet below. From orbit, there's only so much you can tell, especially with the marginal sensors on the Jonas. We could scan for atmospheric gasses, radiation, etc, but you couldn't tell if people were dead or dying, and if they were dying, whether they were dying from some kind of virus, or weapons fire. We had to go down there. I mean, you HAVE to try and help, right?
We took every precaution. Shuttles, Environment Suits, Double DeCon procedure, both leaving the ship and coming back.
When we got there.. it was like a ghost town. It was one of those borderline M-Class planets.. you know "M for We'll Manage". It was a dry planet, a bit like a desert town, at least that's what the area around the colony was like. Everything was silent, and still. The streets were deserted, the vehicles parked.. honestly it seemed like everyone had just stayed home one day, like they'd all called in sick.
That's where we found them.. in their homes. They'd been dead, maybe a week. The warm, dry air, and the relative lack of microbes meant that there wasn't really much decomposition. Each of them, huddled in their beds, bundled up in blankets like they were trying to ward off a chill.
It took us nearly a month of the most dreadful work to process, identify, and bury all the bodies. Four thousand colonists.. men, women, children.. Farmers, ranchers, teachers... and yet, a medic on the very first team, a kid really, not 6 months out of the academy, and she determines what killed them all in less than 15 minutes.
Four thousand lives snuffed out in the span of a few days, by a drug-resistant strain of Andorian Flu that hitched a ride in a damned cargo container. The colony was equipped with medical replicators, protein resequencers, everything they could possibly need to combat the disease. Worst of all, the damned virus in question had a cure on file for the last 60 years in the Starfleet Medical database.
We sat in orbit for another week.. waiting for Starfleet to decide how we should proceed. It took a toll on the crew.. and a toll on me too, and the mood on the ship was just awful. That's when the ship's Quartermaster asked me what we should do with the cargo that was meant for the colonists. The Chief Science Officer, a Denobulan named Hajen, was within earshot when the QM called me, and so the two of us went down to the cargobay to talk to him and scope out the situation.
And as we stood there, looking at the pallets of cargo, and Hajen was looking over the manifest as the QM and I started arguing over what to re-direct, what to move to Ship's stores or recycle, what to pass on to other colonies, and what to just dump.. and all of a sudden Hajen threw the padd on the floor, and he walked over and began pulling apart the pallets and boxes, all the time mumbling "8931" until he came up with this one cargo container. You don't usually see a Denobulan get angry, but Hajen was like a man possessed. He popped that container open, and dumped the contents out onto the floor, rummaging around in the pile of various wire harnesses, tricorder cases, medkits, and so on, and he pulled out this little box of green Isolinear chips, And then he just stood there.. staring at the damned box.
There had been a fire at the colony's Medical Center about a year before, and their only medical database uplink terminal had been damaged in the fire. They'd ordered a replacement and three backup units as well, so they'd never have that happen again. The replacement units had arrived 6 months earlier, but for whatever reason, the terminals shipped with a bug in their coding. It wasn't anything major really.. it just kept the uplink from accessing about 0.1% of the Starfleet medical database.
And this isolinear chip right here.. one of the very ones that Hajen pulled out of the cargo container, contains the damned software update that would have fixed the problem. And the only reason we had them in our shipment, is because an Andorian dock worker, nursing a mild case of the flu, accidentally left the pack of Isolinear chips out of the last cargo shipment to come to the colony before ours.
Every time we leave starbase, after fresh crew rotations.. I do the standard "Welcome aboard" pep-talk speech for all the crew, new and old. And every time I give that speech, I take this Isolinear chip with me. And I tell the new recruits the story, of how an honest mistake can cost thousands of lives. And then I tell them this:
Space travel is a dirty, difficult business. One tiny mistake, even an honest mistake, can indeed cost lives. Each of us, at one time or another, will do something, forget something, take too long to decide what to do, hesitate, miss a shot, TRIBBLE up a number, and every once in a while, press the wrong button. God knows there's plenty of buttons to press on a Starship. Even a Vulcan mathematics expert can't anticipate all the angles. I don't care who you are, or how good you are, perfection is simply impossible. While I expect my crew to do their very best, I insist that they have the ability to acknowledge when they make a mistake, and to do their very best to amend that mistake as soon as it's noticed, and try and find ways to avoid, or prevent that sort of mistake in the future. You can let a mistake defeat you, or let it challenge you to do better.
That Andorian dock worker.. he went on to develop the triple-scan cargo tracking system that all Federation Starbases use now, and he helped change the way that software updates are distributed through the various Federation Medical, Science, and even Astro-Navigation databases. It's all automated with triple redundancies now, and happens in the blink of an eye. No more waiting 2 months for a box of isolinear chips.
The Promenade was bustling on Deep Space Nine ... it was always bustling.
Among the many (and often colourful) aliens walked Jijan Tyr, captain of the USS Caroline. With the ship undergoing minor repairs and resupplying he had allowed some shore leave for himself and the crew. He loved looking at the stations visitors, or talking to them. It reminded him of why he joined Starfleet: to seek out and explore new cultures.
Seeing as he still had some time before he met up with Thryiss at the Replimat he walked towards one of the newer shops. Undoubtedly she wants to review tactical evaluation reports, he thought by himself as he stepped through the sliding door. The idea of sitting through an hour of that in his spare time sent shivers along his spots. Its not exactly Starfleet regulation but maybe I should *try* teach her how to have a good time.
The inside of the small store was a mixture of an antique store and a flea market. Many of the items stalled out were esthetically incompatible with the overpowering Cardassian architecture, but the storeowner had gone to great lengths to cover large portions of the walls with tapestries and shelves. Without thinking he began to examine certain objects or simply hold them, Trill hands were always cold and this allowed them to appreciate the warmth of an object along with its other artistic features. As he was musing on all this he let his hands carry on like they had a life of itheir own, they took him to a container filled with paper books. As he was shifting through a dozen or so copies of The teachings of Surak he felt something familiar. He looked down and saw an old thick leather-bound book, with loads of extra papers and drawings sticking out from all sides. He looked at it intently for a few seconds and suddenly
He was a little girl listening to mother telling bedtime stories of the lyriads, a legendary race of aquatic people that lived in oceans and beneath the ice caps near Tenaren. Not unlike Earth mermaids.
She was sitting on a pier overlooking the ocean, the little girl (now a bit older) dreaming of what life would be like under those waves. She reveled as they crashed on the shore and the spray hit her feet while the breeze whipped through her hair.
Another later memory: a voyage at sea inspired a now grown up Esja to start writing a novel. She looked for ages to find a hand-made paper book and in the end had to resort to making one herself.
Writers block, Esja goes diving out of season, the cold water nearly kills her but she has some great stories to tell.
Days and days of sitting locked up in her room and writing, writing, writing Must get out, OUT!! Run barefoot through the grassy hills maybe??
Disaster, Esja goes out for tea and her bag gets stolen, along with her novel. She spends days searching every garbage disposal unit and another week talking to people in order to find a lead. In the end she has to conclude that she will never be able to finish the story she wanted to tell since childhood. Esja spends the rest of the week crying herself to sleep, trying to remember what she wrote down, but knowing it is hopeless, rewriting it from scratch would deprive it of its soul.
The excentric Trill artist paints one of her greatest masterpieces called the Lyriad, she literally mixes her tears with the paint. When it is done her time of mourning is over.
With a colossal effort Jijan braces himself from the flood of memories. The experience was so intense that his eyes are all watery. He looks down at the little book, wondering what to do. His first instinct is to put the it back. There is a stigma on having any sort of connection with a past life, this novel certainly qualifies as one. Yet as his hand moves slowly back to the container it seems like something inside him is tearing at the walls of his heart, screaming for him to stop putting it away and embrace it.
Are you alright.
Yeah, sure, Jijan looks at the Bajoran shopkeepster who looks at him with a worried smile. Im sorry but, could you tell me where you got this?
Oh that thing. I bought it from a Ferengi merchant for ten slips of latinum. He *claimed* it was an old religious text in some forgotten language. She sighed and looked a little embarrassed. I shouldnt have believed him. Turns out its nothing but an old folk legend written in modern Trill. Are you interested? Its yours for two slips I just want to get rid of it.
He paid the shopkeeper twelve slips and went to his quarters first to put it safely away before arriving a little late to meet up with Thryiss.
Where did you get this, Tnya asked as she grabbed hold of something odd and leathery on the captains desk.
Be careful with that, its very old!
Its in Trill isnt it? Why isnt it written on a PADD?
My first host, Esja, believed it would suck the soul out of anything if she used electronic recording devices", he answered with a chuckle.
Wéll that may be so but now I have no idea what it says here, I dont read Trill.
Its ok its unfinished anyway. Jijan gingerly takes the novel back and puts it in a drawer under his desk.
Why dont you finish it?
Wha , the question took him a little by surprise, because its forbidden to pick up a past life. Wed never get done with all our unfinished bussiness
And yet here you have a book written by one of your old hosts.
Still, if I were to publish something written by an artist who lived 250 years ago, especially if she was me the symbiosis commission would freak ... for starters
Who says anything about publishing? Do it for yourself! She pointed at his heart and then, thinking otherwise, pointed at his abdomen. What would *she* want you to do? Just, think about it okay? It would be so cool if you did. And with that Tnya walked out the door.
Captain Tyr stood looking at the doorway for a long time. Eventually he said: Computer, one fountain pen of Trill Jaladen design and add a large purple feather to it.
T'Shani, ever efficient in her duties, had two styluses at hand. Most of the crew who have visited her quarters never took much note of it and simply wrote it off as the usual 'Vulcans are always prepared' excuse. And it mattered less considering she only used one---the more logically updated one for her paperwork as opposed to the other one collecting dust on her desk, looking old enough to be around when the Federation once were allies with the Klingon Empire.
But they had never seen her work privately in her quarters, sitting as primly as possible as she worked on schematics, the old stylus twirling between her long fingers, and if they did, it would be an alarming sight. You see, it was a rather human thing to do, like when someone's leg shakes absently if they sat still for too long. Vulcans have a more stronger control on their bodies to not warrant such a subconscious reaction and yet here was their Vulcan captain, spinning the stylus absently as her focus remained solely on the work in front of her.
There was nothing special about this stylus as far as her crew was concerned. Vulcans do not hold such favors over inanimate objects. It was simply not a logical past time to do. However not logical, it did not mean that T'Shani believed in it.
It belonged to her human lover, who had passed on. A momento of the first time they had met.
Illogical, She had said quietly, watching a man no older than twenty-five passing the time away in a cramped conference room by spinning a stylus obscenely fast and with a begrudging precision. What use do you have with creating arc motions with a stylus?
If anything, the spinning was starting to grate on her nerves and not even a quiet meditation could quell it. Perhaps it was the lowered temperature of the room to suit the human visitors or the way the young man barely out of the academy seemed so...nonchalant about precious dilithium shipments between colonies?
I'm bored. This is a dying art for the bored. Not everyone can do this anymore. Takes skill. The man said with a long suffering sigh. T'Shani raised an eyebrow.
I am unfamiliar with this practice, She admitted, not all too familiar about Earth customs. Which was reprehensible. As soon as she returned home, she will have to brush up on it if she was to ever mingle with the Human populous again. Does spinning an object like a stylus cure your ineptitude to concentrate?
The man paused and stared at the stylus, as if contemplating the universe before looking back at her and shrugged. It is what it is.
I do not understand.
It's hard to explain why I do it, I just do. He then grinned, which for some reason, affronted her. Want me to teach you?
It was a rather eventful thirty minutes.
She was startled out of her silent reverie when First Officer Shelana buzzed and entered her quarters, carrying what looked like a cracked dilithium crystal. Captain, we're down another one. Orders? The Andorian's antennae twitched in what looked like irritation. Her First Officer may still be blaming Lorita for the blowout after the long battle with Orion pirates. T'Shani quietly admitted that the Human engineer was a bit too trigger-happy regarding their engines.
T'Shani set the stylus down and rose from her seat, falling into her efficient Captain mode. Continue course to Sol System for repairs. We'll drop impulse power to fifty percent this time. It would be more logical to move slower than risk another blackout.
Affirmative, Captain, Shelana nodded and paused, halfway out the door, her eyes moving toward the old stylus on the desk. Uh...were you, twirling that stylus? T'Shani felt heat rise up in her cheeks, but she wasn't blushing. Vulcans do not blush. And they do not lie either.
Yes.
May I ask why?
Raising an eyebrow, she slowly rolled her shoulders back in a shrug, giving Shelana her best answer. It is what it is.
"The Pashtir ambassador is refusing to speak to anyone for the next four hours Admiral," Lieutenant Connors said in a sheepish tone.
"I see. He simply wishes to recapture the initiative in the negotiations. Pashtir are long game players. Let him have his four hours, but at hour three, message the ambassadors aides that we will restart the negotiations in the observation deck. I want engineering to check the environmental systems in the briefing room we have been using," the Starfleet admiral behind the desk replied in her even tone.
The lieutenant had a perplexed expression, "Admiral? The environmental system seemed to be working fine."
"Correct. The change of venue will serve to neutralize any initiative advantage the Pashtir ambassador expects to gain. They are a very territorial species and relocating the negotiations will force him to reacclimatize to the physical area. At twenty minutes into the negotiations, bring in a tray of Kitarian chocolates and some Trixian bubble juice. The Pashtir ambassador likes both and it will help settle the discomfort of being relocated with little warning just enough," the Admiral replied.
"Understood."
"Dismissed, Lieutenant."
The door to Vice Admiral Selir Kadests ready room hissed shut, leaving her alone save for the gently pulsing hum of the ship's systems. Despite her half Vulcan heritage, Selir found herself grasping for patience which remained as illusive as smoke on a windy day. Her other half, the Kelsaati side, urged action. Decisive action fueled by emotion.
After a week of moderating the negotiations between the Pashtir and the Ven'tai, little progress had been made. Each side was recalcitrant and, in the Pashtir's case, downright belligerent. The two species had been fighting for over sixty years and the conflict had drained each power's economy and spirit. They had asked for Federation help in mediating a peace treaty. In response, the U.S.S. Ascendant had been dispatched and Selir had been placed in charge of the mission.
In her long career with Starfleet, Selir had never considered herself a skilled diplomat. The numerous commendations and honors that filled her service record were all tied to her participation in conflicts or exploration. Of course, she had served in a diplomatic role numerous times during her fifty-five year career, but in comparison to her other accomplishments, those assignments had been few and far between.
The dark haired woman rose from behind her desk and crossed the spacious ready room. She paused in front of a small glass and wood shelf that had a few personal items on it and crouched down so she could reach the bottom shelf. Selir ignored everything but a simple wooden carving of a Sehlat that sat on the bottommost shelf.
Slowly, she reached for the pale wooden feline and traced the tips of her fingers along the figurines sloping back. The woodcrafter had paid careful attention to the shape of the carving, ensuring that every curve was accurate to the real creature. What it lacked was detail; the eyes were simple indentations, the toes were rounded and lacked distinct claws, and there was no clear shape that indicated the creature was furry.
What it did have were the very distinct fangs that most beings associated with the Sehlat species. Selir carefully picked up the wooden figurine and walked back over to her desk. She placed it in the center of the flat black desktop and took her seat again. Selir's brilliant green eyes focused on the object and then inhaled deeply. With steady control, Selir released the breath very slowly until it was entirely expended. The action was repeated several more times and, as she went through the meditative technique, Selir allowed part of her mind to journey into memory.
As a child of five, she had created the small item for her mother out of a piece of Tishal wood. It hadn't been voluntary. Her Vulcan mother had attempted to use the act of carving the wooden figure as an exercise in patience. Patience Selir had lacked as a child. Physically, she was more Kelsaati than Vulcan, but emotionally, she took after her mother's people. When she was younger, those emotions were very difficult for her to rein in. So much so that she had come into violent conflict with the Kelsaati children she played with more than once.
Selir distinctly remembered how gleefully she carved the fangs of the Sehlat and how much attention she had paid to the accuracy of their curve and sharpness of their points. At the time, she was angry that she wasn't allowed to go play and had imagined the small wooden figure biting her mother. That had been the predatory side of her personality, the Kelsaati side.
The Kelsaati had evolved from a felinoid species that had to compete to survive against numerous other predators that stalked the jungles of their homeworld. Like many of the creatures on their homeworld, they had evolved the ability to change shape and that had allowed them to view other creatures from a different point of view. It was that adaptation that had given them the ability to evolve true sentience and pull themselves out of a brutal existence of simple survival. It had taken them thousands of years to gain that control and then master their world.
As a people the Kelsaati were very harmonious and lived in large family groups that increased survivability on a dangerous world. They worked together as well as played together for the greater good of all. Conflicts were solved by ritual challenge versus warfare but Selir remembered conflicting more often than not.
Her father had told Selir the history of their people numerous times, and of their rise. He made her memorize the tales and take the shapes of the various creatures in them as a means of understanding herself and others. Unlike Selir's mother, her father made the lessons fun.
Selir felt a slight tinge of anger towards her mother, but pushed it away and let it flow back into the river of her mind. It was a holdover from her childhood. The two women had mended fences long ago. There was still occasional tension between mother and daughter but outright anger had been banished. Though Selir had never fully embraced her Vulcan heritage as her mother had hoped, she had taken the best of it and combined it with the best of her father's people.
That thought drew Selir forward in time. She remembered the day she arrived at the monastery on Vulcan as if it were happening at that very moment.
Anger had filled every part of a ten-year-old Selir as she stood before the large stone monastery. She had beamed down from the Kelsaati ship and was immediately struck by how hot and dry Vulcan was. At the time, she considered that the bleak unforgiving nature of the planet had mirrored itself in the people who evolved there, especially her mother. She was sent off with only a single bag that contained one change of clothes and one personal item from each of her parents.
Her father had given Selir his favorite Shrral blade, a short curving blade that was used for utility as much as it was for hunting and combat. Selir's mother had returned the wooden carving of the Shoat to her. At the time, Selir had perceived the gesture as a physical representation of her mother's revenge. The wise Vulcan woman had known exactly why Selir had put so much attention into the Sehlat's fangs and immediately called Selir out about it. Of course, it was a calm, logical, and emotionless discourse, but Selir had applied numerous emotional tags to what her mother had said.
Now, her mother was paying her back by exiling her from Kelsaat under the guise of learning emotional control. It had taken Selir over a year to fit in to the Vulcan monasterys society. Calm was always elusive and there was never a chance to truly play. She had hated it and hated everyone around her.
It wasn't until Master Talvak returned from P'Jem that Selir found someone she could get along with. The relatively young Vulcan master reminded Selir of her father and displayed patience with her antics and temper just as he had. No matter how angry she grew at him, he would act as if Selir's demeanor were as serene as the desert after a sandstorm. Once Selir realized that nothing she could do would anger Talvak, her own fury seemed inconsequential and ebbed away.
Talvak challenged Selir to understand the Vulcan way and the reasons for why the Vulcan people reined in their own emotions. He had challenged her to be a wise Kelsaati hunter and learn how a Vulcan behaved and why so that she could never be bested by one. It had taken months to accomplish, but once that understanding had been achieved, Selir learned to love the Vulcan people as much as the Kelsaati.
As a reward, Talvak schooled Selir in the martial arts of Ponn-ifla and Kareel-ifla, though in the later she excelled. The more aggressive Kareel-ifla appealed to Selir's Kelsaati blood while the more defensive Ponn-ifla helped her find serenity. Learning the two styles let Selir find the balance she needed. It closed the rift between the Vulcan and the Kelsaati sides of her psyche. For the first time in her life, she felt whole.
After ten years in the monastery, Selir announced her decision to apply for Starfleet Academy. Though Master Talvak understood Selir's desire to move on, her mother did not. Shortly after her announcement, Selir's mother arrived on Vulcan in an attempt to dissuade her from leaving. The argument that resulted was a battle of logic that seemed to stun Selir's mother. For once, Selir was calm and measured in her response as opposed to belligerent and hostile. In the end, her mother relented, acknowledging that her daughter had matured to an acceptable level. Then, Selir presented her mother with the wooden figurine that was as pristine as it had been the day it had been made and exited the room.
It would be years before Selir would see the figurine again. This time, it was at her wedding. Selir seemed to have a talent for disappointing her mother, and her choice of husband was no different.
Tellost Ker was a Joined Trill and a Lieutenant Commander in Starfleet. He and Selir had met on Risa five years prior and their brief but intense relationship had left them both wanting more. However, duty had called both of them away. Later, they had encountered one another on Deep Space Nine shortly before the Dominion War. They were both moving to their new posts on the Akira class cruiser, Helios. It hadn't taken long for each of them to realize that they wanted to make a commitment to one another.
Tellost was charming and funny and brought out those traits in the normally reserved Selir. As charming as Tellost was, he could also be infuriating. The Trill engineer had a penchant for speaking his mind when tact was better served and, in private, he would challenge Selir's patience by injecting chaos into her ordered life. Still, Selir felt more whole with his presence in her life than without.
Their relationship had also caused some contention in Starfleet as Selir was the first officer of the U.S.S. Helios and Tellost was to be its Chief Engineer. There was a worry about conflict of interest and the first officer being unwilling to sacrifice their loved one if it were necessary. Starfleet's regulations concerning officer's being allowed to honor their cultural traditions saved the couple's relationship. The Kelsaati routinely crewed their ships with mates, siblings, and parents, so the decision was made to allow Selir and Tellost to remain at their posts for a probationary period. Selir, in true Vulcan fashion, managed to keep her detachment and Starfleet made the arrangement permanent. A year later, the couple was married on Deep Space Nine.
At the end of the reception, Selir's mother presented her with the figurine once more. It seemed to be their strongest bond. There were few words exchanged concerning the small wooden Sehlat.
You will need this. Her mother said simply.
The sound of the ready room's door chime pulled Selir back to the here and now and she looked up from the figurine. "Enter."
Lieutenant Connors walked in and stood before Selir's desk. "Admiral, all of the requested preparations have been completed. I also made sure to add a few food items for all of the participants. Was there anything else?"
Selir shook her head and looked up at the wiry human man. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Take some time for yourself. We'll be in the thick of it soon enough."
Connors smiled warmly. "You should do the same, Admiral. The Pashtir ambassador seems set on causing you as much frustration as possible."
A reserved smile formed on Selir's lips. She picked up the Sehlat figurine and set it to the side of her desk. "I have three husbands, four wives, and eleven children. I believe I am ready for the Ambassador's tactics."
The young lieutenant chuckled. "It's hard to imagine the negotiations that must take place in your family, Admiral."
"Oh, I can give you quite a bit of detail if you'd like, but it may make you hesitant to get married," Selir said. Her eyes filled with mischief as she shifted from business-like Vulcan to playful Kelsaati.
The Lieutenant laughed quietly. "With all due respect, I think I'll leave the details to my imagination." He motioned to the wooden Sehlat on Selir's desk. "I've been meaning to ask, is that present from one of your children?"
Selir looked down at the figurine again, her fingers tracing the spine of it. "It's my patience."
U.S.S. Black Isle-C
NX- 92274-C
Reasearch Science Vessel (Experimental Class)
Commander Lilleth James
0900hrs
Alpha shift has begun
Lilleth sat up in her ready room as she heard the familiar sound of the computer announcing the beginning of a new day. She tapped her console to life, preparing for the onslaught of reports and requests she knew she was about to receive.
--Door Chime--
She let a small sigh out, knowing exactly who it would be.
Come in
Ah Captain, there you are the shorter, lithe betazoid woman called as she entered. You didn't show up for your appointment this morning she continued, a slight scowl gracing her flawless features. Oh how Lilleth hated those looks.
I know, I'm sorry Bekah. Quinny's had me filling out these idiotic reports and... I lost track of time she lied. One of the benefits of being a Joined Trill is that your poker face is impeccable. Unfortunately, due to her sleep deprived state she forgot who she was trying to fool.
Really Rebecca replied skeptically, pulling off her best vulcan eyebrow look.
Lilleth wasn't about to give in though. What do you want Doctor?
Rebecca was a bit taken aback by this sudden change in attitude and paused for a few moments. Lilleth took this as her cue to return her attention to her console, effectively dismissing the confused doctor.
As the doors slid shut, Lilleth leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes and traced the outline of her new implant. Images flooded her mind, some pleasant, others, not so much.
She knew Rebecca was only trying to help. They all were, but that's not what she needed right now.
2200hrs
Delta Shift has Begun announced the computer.
Lilleth hadn't realised what time it was. 'I must have fallen asleep this morning' she thought to herself.
Cursing, she stood, stretched and then padded to the door. Emerging onto the bridge, her bridge, she watched the various procedures and conversations that accompanied the changing of the watch.
Commander a soft male voice spoke from behind her.
Turning, she found the monstrous looking owner of the voice towering over her.
Yes Karatek She asked of her Reman science officer.
I have been sensing unease from the both of you all day He replied, his eyes penetrating her own. For a moment she thought she could see real concern in his usually fierce features.
She knew Karatek was a skilled telepath, potentially surpassing Bekah's skills, but how could she tell her crew what was going on? Or did he already know?
He pulled her aside, back into the alcove that lead to her ready room.
Lilleth, he intoned in a calm soothing voice, belying his fierce looks. I can feel you're pain. I spoke to Dr Sillars earlier. You know you need help.
She knew what he was saying was true but she would be damned if he thought she wouldn't resist.
Squaring her jaw and steeling her eyes, she stared him down Stand aside Lieutenant.
Before he could react, she brushed passed him and walked straight for the Turbolift.
Deck 2 Section 1 she called as the doors closed behind her. She could feel the dull thud behind her eyes, a tell tale sign of a migraine starting.
The lift slid to a stop. The doors opened.
Resistance Is Futile
A scream pierced the dark assimilation chamber. The scream of a mother trying to protect her child. But there was no mother, there was no child. Only the bloodied form of a Trill, strapped to a table, a symbiont half outside of her body, with borg surrounding their forms. The young woman was desperately trying to fight her way out of her shackles, but it was no use. A device was moving slowly towards her head from above, countless sharp, pointed needles and laser emitters protruding from it.
"NO"
Captain are you alright!
Lilleth looked up and suddenly found the usually stoic Liberated Borg's features a picture of concern.
Three? She questioned.
Yes Captain. We should take you to sickbay, you appear most unwell Three of Four responded, helping Lilleth stand.
No she replied with as much force as she could muster.
But Captain..
No Three, help me to my quarters Lilleth interjected before she could protest again.
To her credit, Three began to aid the Trill, past the small crowd of concerned crew members, to her quarters.
As they entered the slightly chilled room, Three helped set Lilleth down on a lounge chair.
Would you like me to call Commander Smith or Doctor Sillars? Three asked.
No. Thank you Three, Lilleth replied quietly, absently touching the implant above her eye.
Three nodded and turned to walk back out of the door. Just before she crossed the threshold, the former borg turned her head and said, barely in a whisper Treasure your memories, treasure your possessions, treasure your new gift. We're here for you captain.
Today we start the two-week run of the second Lit Challenge: Taking Command
In your time you have taken command of a number of ships and on many of them you walked in with a staff of senior officers to boot! How did you address your new crew? How did you handle officers who disliked you not promoting 'one of their own'? What frictions and what fun moments did you have when doing so?
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.
........Damn! That was close. The Borg scan was off by a mere point-zero-two. As such, it passed right over us. In range, we would have been discovered. There's little a Delta Flyer can do against a Borg Sphere. Yes, I knew the risks. But the data acquisition was essential and necessary. The risks were irrelevant. Lieutenant Commander Det Kel, Major Lorixes, and myself hid within an asteroid's crater while having the Delta Flyer on minimum power. Every few minutes, Major Lorixes fluctuated the power modules of the Delta Flyer to mimic natural radiation. It was a trick he learned in his war with the Tal Shiar.
........We sat and waited for the Borg Sphere to leave. I'm pretty sure it hadn't actually detected us. It may have picked up some ionization from our warp trail, but it couldn't have had anything definitive. We just had to wait until the Borg determined their investigation was inefficient. Shuttle missions are risky business. As captain of a federation starship, I do my best to weigh the risks in relation to the officers who accompany me. I use these occasions to get to know crewmen better. Since both Major Lorixes and Lieutenant Commander Det Kel were recent additions to the crew, it seemed fitting to take them with me on this particular shuttle mission to the B'Tran Cluster deep in Borg Territory.
........"Major Lorixes," I said. "Tell me something about yourself." I took a reading of the Borg scan as it passed over the top of the asteroid's crater. Point-zero-one. The Borg have adjusted slightly. It was almost like they knew we were here. Impossible.
........"My wife was killed by a Tal Shiar hit squad," the Reman soldier stated matter-of-factly. He adjusted the power modules yet again.
........"Tell me about her," I said.
........"Hmmm," Lorixes mumbled. "She was a good mate." He volunteered nothing more.
........"Why did the Tal Shiar kill her?" The Breen asked, the tone of his voice sounding synthesized.
........"She knew things," Lorixes stated.
........"The sphere has launched class-one probes," Det Kel warned. He touched the console and it beeped in compliance. "Four of them, to be exact."
........I sighed in frustration, banging my fist on the console--not hard, but enough of a tap to convey my disgust. "Lieutenant Commander," I said to Det Kel. "Tell me something about yourself." I slid the control of the hull plating's polarization from a nine-two-three grade to a nine-one-seven. The gesture was to mimic radioactive decay and fool the Borg's readings, another Reman trick. The probes flew overhead, oblivious to the Delta Flyer.
........"Captain," Det Kel said. "Is this really the time?" His voice was broken and monotonous, distorted by his helmet.
........"Yes," I answered.
........There was silence. Several seconds passed. Then a full minute.
........"That's an order, Lieutenant Commander," I said.
........"Fine," Det Kel said. "I am an outcast, shamed by my thot, and all because I hesitated."
........"What do you mean," Lorixes asked. He adjusted the power modules, increasing by a few microjoules. His touch was delicate and deliberate. I had set to mind to ask him later how many times he had done this.
........"I was ordered to kill a Deferi slave for defying an order," Det Kel stated. "I didn't fire right away. It was a stupid order. My thot then shot the Deferi and ordered me to back to the base. I..." He didn't finish the thought, but shook his head from side to side.
........I studied Det Kel momentarily. The Breen people had no mercy, no compassion, no care for anyone, not even for another Breen. It was part of their culture, to be detached. Yet, I sensed in that moment Det Kel's inner struggle. It wasn't hesitation due to a weakness. It was conscientious deliberation.
........"Well, Lieutenant Commander," I said to Det Kel. "The Superior's officers are apt to see such qualities as admirable." I took a moment to check my readings on the console, and then turned back to him. "Our humanity is defined by compassion, by mercy."
........"Breenkind," Det Kel interjected, "see such qualities as..." He paused. "The Borg have retrieved their probes. Scans have ceased. They are powering their engines."
........I breathed a sigh of relief.
........The three of us watched our consoles attentively and monitored the Borg's retreat from the area. It only took seconds for the sphere's signal to disappear from our readings.
........"Finish your thought, Lieutenant Commander Det Kel," Major Lorixes stated as a formal command.
........The pause was brief. "Cowardly," Det Kel said. "Breenkind see such qualities as cowardly."
........Lorixes said nothing further. I may have observed a shaking of his head from side to side, as if in disapproval. I studied his body language. I saw pride, confidence, assurety of character typical of Reman freedom fighters. I looked over at Det Kel. Not so with him. He was slouched and dejected, his revelation bearing a heavy burden. He was wounded and surrendered, as if he was merely going through the motions and waiting for whatever was fated. So this is why they haven't been able to get along.
........I realized the three of us were going to need more of these types of shuttle missions.
Ayesu "Senshi" Togowara. Reporting fresh from Medical Advanced Command Training.
Looking up from the Desk Admiral Quinn's Chief of Personal MAnagement Commander Sulu Thumbed through the PADD and cross referenced with
the Casualty Replacement request of Area Task Force and Theater Commanders.
At Ease Frocked Captain. I see you know a Few Vulcans and some Romulan.
SO I am sending you to support Special Unit in the Sierra System of the Alpha Centauri Block. Report to Admiral Zelle and as a courtesy report to ADM T'nae. Hum. You may sit. We see your crew of 100 includes two tactical Andorians.. How are they around Vulcans.. no need to answer its a rhetorical question. I dont see many request for ship Doctors or Field Researchers in Ancient Mars colonial history. What we dont need is Picards .. Can You be a Kirk? Dont answer that. How is your range score?
Hum Before I attach you from the USS Greece whom are you giving that Nova Class to.. I see you were advancing the Trill or Vulcan.. Why? I think you will need your most experienced staff to remain with you unless there is something your not telling me Mister? Well anyway I see when the Shipyard has finished a Dakota Class Cruiser You were requesting Tactical retraining and a Cruiser then when you changed your mind the Grasshopper Science Vessel was given to another commander..Your Last Battle Group Commander never listed wavering and put you near the top of all their private Promotion tracks. in the Regulated Sector. Section 31 has interesting things to say and if you MAke Flag Rank you'll get the access codes to read them. .Quinn just Told Me I was Making Captain and was Getting some Sexy new Ship.. Can you show up on ESD and take assignment Orders from Commander Wittners or LCDR DeSoto?
So The Ambassador likes you and you Clan never occupied either of our Lands in the old world.
So you go from a Ship of 50 to 100 then jump into a Cruiser of 400 and now are tracking for a Corcoran.. of 200. How are you at dealing with Re Staffing as a Higher rank sent out farther from support? How do you get along with Colonial Klingon Members of the federation UFP fleet? You can talk..Ok Im assigning a new Science and Engineer N'Darun and Kuhlaht.. Adm. Quinn wants to see you then the Stateroom formalities of Promotion.. Get the New Pips on that uniform before i see you next time and say "Hello" to Lt Laurel for me.
A new Area a new Corcoran Intrepid class variant. A Serious Rank. Mars Yards..Home.
Two new Klingon Officers, Pulling their Academy records from Captain Frocked Sulu. Finally out ranking those Rear echelons that played the paper game to get back out into the field.
Touching his Comm badge.. Senshi Signaled Greece his old ship that transported him instead of the Heavy Cruiser Shinkoku that had to remain on watch for Gorn incursions on the Psi Canis frontier. Commander Sezori pack your bags and have Transport Command reach Toni Chatzia and Corspa..Captain Sulu is Changing office and felt generous. .and let Slip they have a New Corcoran for us. EXEC a word of caution we are being sent two fine young Female Klingons.
Im jumping the hoops w Chief Operations meet me at the Tailors the Promotions PIPS are on me. Yes that means your getting a bump too. Senshi Out.
Grabbing the Shuttle to the yards new uniforms and PIPs Senshi had the Dedication and Ships Name Plaque and design pattern Virgo all set with ESD .. The 4th officer Kept the Cruiser on station pending command and the LCDR Senshi recommended was kept on the Greece. The Shuttle approach and docked at MArs Transit Officers Billets and rooms were assigned and retraining with Yards on systems upgrades dropped into place .. The Two Klingon officers arrived ahead of time and were a treat to meet both stepped into the ship tour with glee. Looking at Department and Bridge Chairs.. Like he once did. Time for advise Senshi looked at the Ship deployment board and Signaled "Aquila"
Cousin can you speak are we on a secure channel?
Aquilla- Yes Of Course I am half Vulcan after all. The Sela Arch is a fine Galaxy update and DS9 is a fine post. What about you.
Senshi- Romulan Space.. and a Cochrane with the latest updates to long rang.
Aquilla- Things heated up in the provinces since Sales Ascension Bring your new Ship to the Risa orbit in two weeks i have to sortie now.. cant tell you where but Ive been Promoted to Commodore! Im getting a New Sovey!
Senshi- Dont let that Romulan blood come out too far.. or INTEL may mettle.
Of course cousin . Rotate to Alt Command Codes for next Message.. <Aquilla, Out>
Department Heads Meeting Prior to taking the shuttle to dock with the new ship..
Commander Sezori. Set the goals to improve a Science Capabilities
LCDR Toni Set the standards for Engineering with a priority on survival and speed.
LCDR Corps Were back to a smaller ship So go easy on the boarding parties rituals until we whip things into shape.
I expect more from our new Lieutenants we brought with us and the new kids. We will be first on and walk through the ship wit the Yard Transition crew and Set the Plaque on the Bridge after a Christening in the hanger bay. Lt Chatzia take the two new ensigns with you to coordinate all guest staff parties. We Have a new Ship and her name is ARGO! Lets endeavour to keep her of the sirens rocks ..Shall we.
the Ships Standard duty uniform will be SF2.. Informal Dress will Be Wooly Pully .. I will Wear. Away Team Black OPS SCI. Take all Comm badges and run the SEC 31 nanite scans then seal them and re Issue Variant Comm Badges. After we leave the yards we report to our TAsk Force after screening with Theater Command at SB 39. After That we will operate under local command authority Special Unit.. Priorities will be Undine investigations. An Approved Report form will be loaded into your stations and pass through my Captains system. Ships Computer is set to filter all off ship COMM.
WELCOME to SEAL TEAM Senshi. Now See to you divison staffign Reports Dismissed.
Come again, Bob thought to himself as Admiral Quinn handed him the PADD making him the new captain of the USS Huntsville. Bob looked down and it was true:
Ensign Bob Sentell is to take control of the USS Huntsville as of this stardate with all rights and privilege there to.
Admiral, Im just an ensign. Why would you make me captain of a ship? Bob interjected.
Ensign, I have been very impressed with your service record. And we are short on experienced officers. I think you would make a fine addition.
Admiral, this ship has higher ranking people on it. Why make me, an outsider ensign, the captain? There has to be better people.
Most of the crew is to be reassigned soon. You will have an opportunity to select a new crew. As a matter of fact, who do you want to be as your first officer? The admiral grabbed a PADD to start working up the orders.
Bob thought for a moment and answered quite confidently, Ensign Tala, the Andorian I served with on the Von Braun. Tala was a trusted friend who help Bob out of a jam on Drozana. It's easy to start a fight with a Klingon; it's harder to end it. Fortunately, Tala prevented one of the Klingons from stabbing Bob in the back. After that, Bob and she became close friends.
Done, Admiral Quinn handed Bob the PADD. You can pick her up after your first assignment. Beam to your ship; here are your orders. The Admiral slipped Bob yet another PADD. Bob took a quick glance at it and decided hell look through it later once he is aboard his ship. His ship; still doesnt sound right.
Bob walked to the turbolift to head up to the main deck. Once inside he gave his command to the computer and the turbolift shutters as it starts its move. This station is messed up. I like the old design better.
Upon arriving on the main deck, Bob walked to a corner and taps on his com badge, USS Huntsville, this is the his voice hung for a moment, captain. One to beam aboard.
Aye, sir, the voice on the other end of the communicator responded. Energizing. And just as Bob started to feel the tingle of the transporter beam he thought to himself, what am I getting myself into? But the thought was lost as the atoms in his brain were torn apart.
********
As Bob materialized on the transporter pad, he was met by a young lieutenant. She couldnt have been that much older than he if at all and she had the look of fear in her eyes. Her cheeks were red from constantly being wet, but at the moment she was able to compose herself. Her voice slightly cracked as she greeted him, welcome aboard the Huntsville, Captain.
Status report.
We are currently taking on supplies and replacement weapons. We are finishing up three months of repairs and will be ready to leave space dock in 12 hours.
Bobs interest was piqued, why was the ship in for repairs for three months?
The lieutenant almost started sobbing, but was able to catch herself. We were lucky to make it back to Earth. We were on patrol in the Mempa Sector when a Klingon squadron decloaked and attacked us. We didnt even have time to get our shields up when the first volley hit. They had targeted the bridge and the entire senior staff was killed. We were drifting in space when the chief engineer was able to transfer control of the ship to engineering and we were able to survive long enough to meet up with reinforcements.
Over 70% of the crew was lost. The chief engineer and I were the only officers to survive and he was transferred to another ship that also took heavy losses. We were surprised when Starfleet decided to repair this ship rather than scrap it. I have lost a lot of friends here, Captain. I I cant stay here anymore. Her eyes were watery and she started to sob.
Bob reached out and put his hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eyes. With a gentle, yet confident voice he said, I understand. And you will be able to leave after our next assignment if you wish. But until then, I will need everything you can give.
She nodded her head and said, Aye sir. I will do my best.
I know you will, Bob said reassuredly. What is the status of the crew?
We were informed of your arrival and so the crew is gathered in cargo bay one to for you to address them. We are understaffed with many departments having no people at all. You and I are the only officers, the rest of the crew are enlisted.
Bob took in this information and a moment later responded, very well. Lead me to the cargo bay. And it was at the moment Bob understood why Admiral Quinn had selected him to be captain of this ship. This was not a Galaxy-class ship. No, this USS Huntsville was a Miranda-class ship with a skeleton crew that was in need of new life. The old crew had been left without a leader and Admiral Quinn saw that only Bob had the ability to lead.
As Bob turned the corner to enter the cargo bay the door slid open in his presence. As he looked at his crew he had the confidence he needed to lead them. He saw the fear in their eyes and made sure they saw they faith in his. He believed in his crew even though he had never met them; because they more he believed in them, the more they would believe in him.
Title: Plant in Charge Aboard the U.S.S. Bazalope-D, Defiant-refit.
So what do we have here, Ulmek? Captain Talar Bazran asked as he approached Nirol, his most senior science officer who has also a Reman . A blue plant stood in front of him as Ulmek was in the process of examining it. Im just about to a run a series of tests. Im no Xenobotanist but Ive got a friend and theyll be able to us what were once I send all the data to them.
I still dont understand why you wanted to bring it aboard. We see new plant specimens every week.
There is something strange about this particular plant. Its readings are unusual. As if theres... something else to it. He responded finishing up the final preparations for the computer to do its work.
Computer. Perform a level 1 Xenobotanical analysis on plant sample. He instructed the computer.
Commencing Level 1 Xenobotanical analysis. Task expected to be completed in 5 minutes. The computer responded.
Alright, well let me know if you find anything interesting. There was still plenty that Bazran had to do as a captain and not the least of which personnel reports that were starting to pile up. As he turned to leave suddenly the plant seemed to start giving off electrical discharges. Computer, Cease all analysis. Ulmek responded stoically and with authority but not before it was too late. One of the discharges hit the Captain and knocked him to the floor, unconscious.
Sir?! she exclaimed as she knelt down beside him. Ulmek to Sick Bay. The Captain has been struck by some sort of energy discharge. Emergency Transport required.
Moments later, In Sick Bay
There is no profit in you dying, captain! Nirol, a female ferengi and the ships Chief Medical Officer, buzzed about trying to work out what happened. His neural synapses are being repressed. It should be fixed by stimulating the neurochemicals but hes not responding. She exclaimed frustrated at her inability to revive her commanding officer. Theres got to be something else happening, what am I missing? she exclaimed.
Meanwhile, somewhere that has no real location
The deep inky black, it felt like he was swimming in a never ending pool one where breath and time did not matter. There was a ball of something light, perhaps some kind of energy. He could feel it as if it were draining the very energy out of his body.
He futilely tried swinging his fists but it didnt seem to work at all. He was too far away. Who are you, and what are you doing?
There was a moments silence before it spoke. An interesting language you have, Captain Talar of Bajor. So many words so much meaning, so varied and full of life. It spoke in fluent Bajoran dancing switching between it and the Federation Standard. Not only language, but your bodies they are so mobile. So... unstable and yet that is exactly how they are meant to be. You are very interesting indeed. I will have fun in my body. The voice was almost melodic but lacked any real tone. It was as if he was talking to an emotionless thing.
What do you mean; new body?
Never the less despite your advantages you arent used to your own psychic landscape. And a dark place it is.
Answer my question.
Your old body. Im syphoning off your neural energies and will replace them with mine. Therefore your body will become mine. Dont worry. Im not killing in return for your body you shall get mine.
Who are you, what body?
You dont have a name for me. To you I am just a plant something to be examined to be studied. Now youll get to have the greatest chance to study my body as it becomes yours.
This is my body, my earring, my Pagh... You are not taking any of them away from me.
Oh, you are a fighter. A man with a strong will. Yes, I can see that. And I see your past the decisions youve made. Haunted by some memories but proud of others. I knew it would be difficult and I enjoy a challenge and I am getting so much enjoyment out of this. Pity its only a matter of time the longer we fight the stronger I become.
Yeah, well Im used to fighting as the underdog. Somehow as the words were spoken Talar Bazran changed in form to look exactly the same as this intruding consciousness, however with a slight red tinge.
The balls of energy collided together and they seemed to join the red tinge faded and then so did the whole scene.
Back, in the Sick Bay
Neural indicators returning to Normal. Captain are you alright?
The words could be heard but nothing seen though the eyes opened slowly to reveal Nirol. Her short form looming over him on the sick bed.
Nirol, yes. Im fine what happened? he said weakly barely putting much energy behind it.
It looks like you got struck with an energy discharge the discharge created a psychic link between you and the plant Ulmek was studying. We were able to find it and break it. Are you sure youre alright. Yes, just a bit groggy it was a bit of an ordeal.
Yes, I could tell. I knew you were fighting it because there psychic link was fluctuating it was the fluctuation that allowed us to find it in the first place.
Good, dont mind me. Ill just pass out a bit. He said as he sighed and closed his eyes to rest.
Thats to be expected after all the mental exertion that you did. Also a good excuse to deal with the reports any other time, yes?
You read my mind.
It does not take a Ferengis business sense to know that there is, on occasion, profit in rest. Ill leave to re-cuperate. Sleep well Captain.
USS Luna, Standard date May 22, 2411; Captain's Quarters, Deck 2
"Ah, frak." Arachnidus wasn't having the best of days, and thinking about the coming weeks filled him with a sense of begrudging excitement. The Luna was in it's sixth week of it's final mission, for the nearly 25 year old ship was about to be retired. This meant only one thing for the old Luna class deep space explorer- it was time to come home. It had been a rough few months, and they'd taken their toll. Each crisis brought the ship closer and closer back to Sol, as more and more hazards threatened the Federation. The Borg invasion of 2410, the Dominion dreadnought assault later that year, the ongoing hostilities with the Klingon Empire.
All of them had detracted from the original reason Arachnidus joined up with Starfleet; to get out there and explore. In the literally thousands of years since the first spaceborne civilization in the Milky Way took flight, the citizens of the galaxy had only explored maybe 1/100th of it in any sort of detail. There were still thousands of light years left untraversed by any known species, many billions if not trillions of beings left to meet. It would be quite some time before that number got any lower, and Arachnidus wanted to be part of that. All the more reason his mood was bittersweet.
In the nearly three years since he'd taken command of the Luna, and the 7 he'd served on the ship, counting his command, they'd made twelve first contacts with space faring life, discovered almost four hundred new alien species, and covered about 25,000 light years, mostly in the outer reaches of the Beta quadrant. But, next week, that'd all be a distant memory as the crew transferred to a new ship and the Luna was shipped off to the Starfleet museum and fleet yards in orbit of Pluto. The crew was due to transfer to the new ship of the line for the Deep Space explorers- the USS Normandy. A Vesta class.
The design was almost as old as the Luna class to which the Captain's current command was eponymous with, yet the Vesta was decades ahead of it's time at the point of conception. A slip stream drive, next gen armor plating and shields, amazingly(and disturbingly) powerful weapons systems and a full astrometrics and biological suite unmatched by any current ship in the fleet. Even the Luna class or the other modular ships in the fleet with their sensor pods and astrometrics labs reverse engineered from the one installed on Voyager during it's jaunt around the Delta quadrant some 30 odd years ago couldn't hold a candle to the multiband scanners on the Vesta series.
Even with all of these advancements and the promise of getting back to what he really wanted to do with his life, Arachnidus couldn't help but feel a little more than sad about leaving his ship behind. He'd spent the last 11 years of his life, two thirds of his entire Starfleet career, aboard it. From his 21st birthday to now, he'd lived in these quarters, woke up every day to these friends and ate the same boring meals from these replicators. Even though the latter two would be more than present on the Normandy, it didn't make the captain feel any better. As he arose from his desk, where he'd intended to write up a final report to Starfleet Command(a somber note in itself), Arachnidus began to reminisce on the most important day of his life. The day he ascended to the rank and role of captain. As he sat down on his bed, his neck craned towards the oblivion of space and the beautiful backdrop provided by the nearby Azure Nebula, it all came back to him.
USS Luna, Standard Date: February 4th, 2409
Current location: P4X-97G, approximately 4,000ly from Sol System; Gum Nebula
"Captain, the shields are buckling! Power to weapons is dropping steadily!" Lieutenant Parker barked. Arachnidus stood on the bridge of the Luna, frankly a little terrified, even as XO. He tried to hide his fear, but it didn't work out too well- decorum be damned. In the seven years he'd been on the ship prior, they'd been attacked dozens of times. But never had it been this bad. As his best friend and subordinate Mark Parker yelled to Captain Thule over the dulled sounds of impacts on the shields and weapons fire from the ship they were desperately trying to save, Arachnidus looked out the viewscreen. The semi-flat holographic display showed, in the highest resolution possible, the possible harbinger of their doom. A Dominion battleship; something he'd only ever seen in text books, and never expected to see in his career.
The Luna had found it in this uncharted system several hours ago, and the command staff agreed that it was likely a remnant of the Dominion War. It was common knowledge that the Dominion had gotten dangerously close to the core worlds of the Federation by the close of the war, and the Alpha Quadrant bred Jem'hadar were a fair bit more rebellious than their subservient Gamma Quadrant brethren. When the order to surrender was issued, many of them disregarded it and retreated to the various nebulae and stellar clusters off the Federation-Klingon-Romulan triborder and remained hidden. Most, after a few weeks emerged and surrendered after their Ketracel White supplies ran out. Some, like the ones now threatening the Luna, did not.
Flares of purple energy radiated out of the Dominion ship's hull and Captain Thule's confident glare was momentarily defeated by the issuing of an order.
"All hands, brace for impact. Lieutenant Malketh'ar, lock down all bulkheads and divert power to SIF and shields."
The order was delivered just in time to save most of the ship. The bridge crew was not so lucky. One of the polaron torpedoes; a weapon that could easily penetrate Federation standard shields(luckily for the Luna, multiphasic shields were now the new default after the war) had landed right above the hull, on the dorsal side of the saucer, only about ten metres from the bridge which stood at the top of the ship. In space, an explosion was not nearly as powerful as it was in atmosphere, but the massive release of energy from the matter-antimatter detonation was enough- on Earth, it would have been powerful enough to turn most of the North American continent to glass and create a crater big enough to fit a portion of the Indian Ocean. Thanks to the weakened shields and ablative plating on the Luna's hull, most of the blast's energy was directed to space, but enough of it made it to the hull to cause serious damage. The bridge shuddered and fissures opened on the port bulkheads. The roaring sound of decompression drowned out the screams of the bridge crew as they tried to seal the breach and survive long enough for the damage control systems to kick in. After five seconds, which, to Arachnidus, seemed like hours, the emergency forcefield system activated and sealed the three foot long gash in the wall, through which space(and the silver hull of the Luna) was visible.
As the damage control team on the bridge rushed to seal the temporarily covered breach with thick square plates of titanium plating, which would have to do for the time being despite being significantly weaker than most modern ship hulls, Commander Arachnidus 'Vadam looked around the devastated bridge. His best friend, Lt. Parker, had a nasty looking cut along his forehead. Ensign Lawson, a beautiful human female, probably of Australian descent, looked disheveled, soot and burns pockmarking her tactical red uniform. Lt. Malketh'ar Shapek-Uknur, a Choblik male, was the only senior officer that didn't look like he was on the verge of death. His synthetic body parts, notably his arms and tail manipulator, looked a little worn compared to before the battle, but he seemed to be in decent condition as he quickly worked on coordinating damage control. Beyond them and the DC team, not all was well.
To his horror, as he walked back to his chair, he saw his captain sitting there, limp, blood streaming from his neck, chest and his head. On the floor was a bloodied piece of hull plating. Still in a daze, the Commander looked up to the ceiling and saw a hole where there was once a solid bulkhead. He saw the soothing backdrop of the gum nebula, the black void and stars inside it, and the purple-insect-like shape of the Dominion ship preparing to fire. They had maybe twelve seconds before the Luna became a piece of scrap metal. The battle was lost, and they were in no condition to keep firing. The commander ran to the conn and looked to his beautiful friend and, now, second officer, Ensign Lawson, who sat at the chair, and looked at the console. The warp core was still functional and the nacelles were in tact. The engines were spooled up. They could safely reach warp 4 under these circumstances. The now-captain looked up to his crew and was surprised to see faces and nods of approval. He slammed his palm down on the capacitive console and on the screen, the Dominion ship and all the space around it began to blue-shift as the Luna jumped to warp. After a few seconds of disturbing quiet, Lt. Parker issued a report.
"Arachnidus...Captain- we're clear of the battlefield." His bloodied, somber face punctuated the awkward and painful atmosphere. The entire bridge crew and the three NCOs working on making sure the hull didn't peel away around most of the senior staff and the bodies of the former captain and tactical officer were all thinking the same thing, and looked at Arachnidus, even if just for a split second. He was now the captain. Looking around his bridge and at his fellow officers, he pressed his commbadge and spoke.
"This is Commander 'Vadam to all personnel. Captain Thule is dead, I'm sure one of many beloved friends and comrades we've lost today. We're barely holding together right now, and we've still got that ship on our tails. I am assuming command of the ship and I am going to get us out of this. All stations, forward casualty and damage reports to the bridge. Let's finish this. Captain out."
Arachnidus didn't even need to recall what happened after that awkward and rushed speech. He, as the new Captain, managed by the skin of his teeth to get the ship repaired, promoted three junior bridge officers to senior positions, amongst them his best friend and future girlfriend, and, in the end, they took out the Dominion ship. The Luna spent the better part of two months limping home to dry dock, where Arachnidus and his crew all received promotions, trauma counseling and snazzy medals, in addition to some much needed R&R after the funeral for the deceased Captain Thule and the other seventeen crewmembers lost that day, to which the Captain personally attended each and every one. Now, here, three years later, the Arachnidus was preparing to leave it all behind. The ghosts of lost comrades, the faint echoes of the battle that led to his command, and the joyous years of exploration in celebration of his fallen friends. It was time to make new ones. That last sentiment was punctuated by a perfectly timed message from the bridge- by his first officer and best friend, no less.
"Captain, we're approaching the Federation border. We'll be clear to hit the transwarp conduit in about ten minutes."
"Thank you, Mark. I'll be up there in a second." As he stood from his bed and walked to the door, the captain looked back at his quarters. His commemorative plaque from his promotion; a copy of the ship's commisioning plaque; his High School diploma, Master's Degree and Starfleet diploma; a large holopicture of the him and the ship's former command crew, the former captain and tactical officer included.
"Computer, lights."
Sorry for the double post, I went over the 11000 character count limit.
Vice Admiral Nicholas Alben
USS Callisto NCC-93185-F
Elysium Class (Emissary Variant) - Star Cruiser
On my ship my crew still calls me Captain, even though I am an Admiral now. I prefer it that way. They've always called me Captain, as I've always had a problem being called sir, right from the very moment I took command of the USS Avenger when, well...I think you know what happened at Vega colony, so no sense rehashing painful memories...
Oh, right, the reason I'm here. What is my most prized possession? Well, that's a bit trickier than I thought when I first heard about this. See, my ship is my home, has been for a long while now. But the ship is irrelevant without her crew. To that end, I am lucky enough to serve with my two best friends in the world. First, Jennifer Lovell, my XO. Second, Chris Robison, my Chief Tactical Officer. We all attended the Academy together and to this day I'm not sure how we crossed paths as I tracked Engineering, Jenn Science, and Chris Tactical. When I took over permanently as CO of the Avenger, I moved hell and high water to get them on my crew.
It's no secret that serving in the frontier can be a bit, well, lonesome. We did a several month stent in the Delta Volanis cluster that was well...boring seems a bit of an understatement. Never even saw so much as a enemy standoff. Just cataloging spatial anomalies. So the crew was getting a bit stir crazy. I relaxed the rules and decorum a bit, allowing ship's personnel some more free time to pursue their own interests while we finished our mission. That brings me to my most prized possession. Chris and I always shot a few games of pool together at Stardust Bar just outside the Academy grounds. I was rubbish at it. They had an old pinball machine there; it had a space adventure theme, and only worked about half the time, but I loved it. Chris never understood why I spent so much time playing with that antiquated game. Anyway, as per our usual I showed up in the crew mess hall to shoot a game with Chris (one of the perks of being the Captain, I had a table installed on the top right level). When I arrived I saw Jenn and Chris standing there smiling next to that beautiful machine.
"It's not finished," Chris said, "needs an engineer's touch."
"Chris build the structure, I took care of the artwork," Jenn smiled with her arms crossed.
I ran my hand over the smooth surface of the pinball machine. The back glass art showed a beautiful image of the Avenger and the play field was painted like the Sirius sector. It took us another three weeks replicating parts to get that machine up and running. After the battle against the Breen, the Avenger was in sad shape. When Starfleet transfered us and decommissioned that fine ship,I made sure that that pinball machine came with us. After all the assignments I've had, that machine has stood in every mess hall of everyone. Standing a testament to a fine ship now long gone, and as a symbol of great friendship.
So if you're ever in the Gamma Orionis sector block, beam on over and have a go on my most prized possession: my pinball machine.
"Sir, what are your orders?" The bajoran woman's voice asked, in a very concerned tone.
Lt. Tarrak walked out of the turbolift and observed the bridge crew, all looking to him. It was not an unfamiliar scenario that Starfleet officers faced in 2409... they had an attrition rate that was staggering. For years, Starfleet Command had worked with the United Federation of Planets to get more manpower to maintain their massive fleets. Various neutral factions had been granted by Starfleet Command to have their people enlist... even if they were not member worlds. Grand Nagus Rom had served as an engineer on Deep Space Nine during the Dominion War years past... he put forth measures to alter Ferengi society to allow their people another path, than that of just profiteering... the ability to serve as he and his son had without prejudice. The nomadic Pakleds, though appearing to be simple-minded... were enlisting in Starfleet Academy and becoming commissioned officers, showing their own unique skills from years of spacefaring. There were others, still... planets outside Federation borders whose people were petitioning the UFP to draw attention to their planet, and allowing their own people to enlist in Starfleet to prove their societies were fit to join in with the Federation.
But when Starfleet continued to take heavy losses against Chancellor J'mpok's brutal armadas... the Dominion War looked like slap fight by comparison. War makes strange bedfellows, and rules are sometimes bent -- even broken... to maintain security and hold territory.
Starfleet had ships mothballed for some time... all listed to be scrapped and decommissioned. But the 'shipbreakers' were being diverted to other tasks... and the decommissioning of various ships grinded to a halt. After all, space was a very... very big place. And it was cheaper and more efficient to simply refurbish and refit these ships than spend the labor hours breaking them down and shipping the scrap to Utopia Planitia or any of the other overworked fleetyards which were responsible for keeping up with Starfleet's attrition rate...
It was hard to say just how many Miranda-class ships were waiting to be broken down to their raw resources before the orders were halted... they were relics, but more than a few still saw service during the Dominion War. The U.S.S. Tesla was one such vessel... and acted as a survey ship for marking new moons and asteroids for future mining operations when it received the distress call.
The Borg had returned. And in massive numbers. Worlds were threatened in the Gamma Orionis sector, and Vega Colony was being invaded... the Tesla responded, as did many ships that day.
Ensign Tarrak was assigned as a gunnery officer to the Tesla, and was also sometimes called on away missions as a security officer to assist Captain Phenx and the other bridge officers when an additional escort was needed. He had spent that morning sending his reports to his department head, but when the ship entered Vega's space... he was assisting his fellow crew members in loading and launching torpedo after torpedo.
A heavily damaged Borg Cube exited transwarp and locked onto the Miranda-class vessel with a tractor beam. Ensign Tarrak's deck found borg drones beaming in and assimilating the crew. Torpedo control went off-line as Tarrak picked up a phaser rifle and started shooting the boarders. A massive plasma projectile hit the Tesla, sending plasma through almost every deck. Tarrak evacuated five others into Jefferies Tube Six and were making their way to the bridge.
When they arrived at Deck One... they weren't prepared for the horrific scene. The entire bridge had to be decompressed and vented into space... a stabilized forcefield was over the hull breach, but everyone was gone. Captain Phenx, his first officer... the entire bridge crew. Gone.
The other five people were non-commissioned officers. 2 engineers, 2 tactical liasons, and the stellar cartography chief, the bajoran woman. Tarrak moved to the Captain's chair and sat down. The other officers took what positions were available...
The new tactical crewman reported that almost everyone had been killed on the Tesla... out of 200 crew members, only 10 remained, including the five on the bridge. The others had either died in the plasma fires, were assimilated, or died elsewhere in battle. "Engage ramming speed." The vulcan responded coldly. They all knew what they were up against. It was either die here quietly, or die putting up a fight. And they'd rather die in a collision course with the Borg Cube than be assimilated. Noone wanted that to happen.
The Miranda-class lurched forward, and started limping towards the massive hulk... when salvation arrived. The U.S.S. Arbiter, an Emissary-class battleship exited warp near them... it fired off a volley of quantum torpedos that finished off the Borg cube, and beamed the survivors of the Tesla aboard.
When the Arbiter returned to Earth Spacedock, Ensign Tarrak was cleaned up and made to look presentable for his meeting with Fleet Admiral Quinn. The discussion was short... the Tesla was being salvaged. It did not meet its end that day. Ensign Tarrak was being given a field promotion to Lieutenant.
"If this is humor, Admiral. The concept is foreign to me." The vulcan shifted his eyes toward the trill elder with a slightly arched eyebrow.
The Admiral went on to explain that experience mattered more than rank... and that Tarrak was the only surviving officer of the Tesla, making him the ranking officer. There were new cadets fresh out of the Academy arriving on Earth Spacedock in the coming weeks... he was given a PADD containing the duty rosters.
Tarrak was still somewhat skeptical of the situation, but saw the carnage at Vega Colony... their attrition rate would only get worse from here on out.
Weeks passed, and the Tesla was fit for duty. Lt. Tarrak had a ship full of cadets... and only a limited amount of experienced crew. They were all scared, nervous... not only about their missions to come... but the relative inexperience of their new vulcan commanding officer.
"Ensign, how many times have you flown a ship?" He looked at the young bolian helmsman from his chair.
"None, sir..." He replied embarassingly. "Then take us out." Tarrak only nodded.
"Isn't this a little improper? We just left graduation four days ago... and we're thrown on this ship... and you're not even a Captain, you're a Lieutenant. Do you really think we're qualified to run this thing?" The bolian looked up at Tarrak with fear on his face.
Tarrak's eyebrow only raised.
"We're at war, Ensign. The Klingons are threatening our territories and way of existance. One ship has been proven on multiple occasions to maintain the capability of turning the tide of battle. As for my experience, I served Vulcan High Command as one of their top tactical specialists before I transferred to Starfleet. However, I am fully aware of my duties as commanding officer, and if you do not trust my ability to command -- I can send you back to San Francisco, if you prefer. But I am the commanding officer, and if you plan on staying on my ship, you will observe starfleet regulations and ask for permission to speak freely, and I will not tolerate cowardice. Is that understood?" He said cooly and calmly to the blue man.
"Yes, sir." He straightened up and nodded to the vulcan before turning back to the helm.
"Take us out, Mister...?"
"Threnn. Ensign Threnn." He said, introducing himself.
"Take us out, Mister Threnn. Set a course for the Neutral Zone. Maximum warp." He turned towards the tactical officer, an andorian man... "I want this ship fully armed and capable of engaging the Klingons within six hours." The andorian nodded once, "Understood, sir."
The other bridge officers looked away from the commanding officer and turned to their stations... Tarrak had made it clear that they would perform to the best of their ability, and showed he was coldly efficient in the way he would command his ship.
Eventually, he thought to himself... he'd carve his crew into the finest crew in Starfleet. And the cadets of yesterday would become the veterans of tomorrow.
Personal Log
Stardate 88994.40
Vice Admiral Matt Miracle recording.
I just received a communication from Starfleet Command. My half-sisters ship was involved in some heavy fire fighting with the Klingons at PJem. I am pleased that TElanna is ok and that there were no serious casualties reported. I keep staring at my Batleth hanging in my ready room and I am reminded about my blood ties to the Empire.
I was only six when my father was killed when the ship we were traveling to hit a mine left over from the Dominion Wars. Mom and I had only a moment before the deck we were on became open to empty space. We were lucky that a passing Klingon cruiser was coming to our aid. Mom was critical for a while and the Empire tried to locate any of my surviving families only to discover that my mother and I were the only ones left. My adoptive father, Kort, was a young (by Klingon standards) officer on the ship and for who only knows reasons, started talking care of us When Mom was out of critical condition he asked her if she would grant him temporary custody.
After Mom healed, she and Kort spend time together and eventually, fell in love. They were married in a traditional Klingon ceremony when I was 9 and TElanna was born the next year. When I turned 12, I was officially accepted into the House of Kort and began my training as a warrior. My father instructed me on everything. Sometimes, he took into account that I was human while other times he didnt but each time I got knocked down, I got back up. My father used to say that I had Kahless spirit but, due to my human body, the strength of a Grishnar cat. Nonetheless, my father was proud.
My true test as a warrior came years later when my father entered me into a Batleth tournament. The tournament was open to the oldest male in the house under age which left me as the only participant. I was used to being ridiculed by the other Klingons so fighting the insults was a way of life for me. I advanced in the tournament (which I found out later cost a few Klingons their hard earned wages) much to the surprise of all. I made it to the semifinals which my mother called the Final Four (after some old basketball tournament madness) before my skills were tested to their breaking point.
Korlet was a true warrior in every sense of the word. When he drew my name to fight next, he was insulted and would not fight a Pahtak like me. After suffering through this tournament, I was not going to let my honor or my families be called into question. I challenged him and we began our dance with blades. After several minutes, it became clear that I was out matched but I could not back down. My ribs were broken and I was bleeding internally. Losing consciences, I stumbled but did not go down. My opponent, in a show of sportsmanship, asked me to yield and I refused. He held the Batleth to my throat asking again for me to yield and I refused again. That was the last thing I remember before waking up in a hospital bed. The details surrounding my final moments were filled in by my family. At the request of the champion, Korlet, I was to be given third place honor which came with a ceremonial Batleth. That same Batleth is now on display in my ready room reminding me to never forget where I came from and always to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Another cacophanous roar rang out from the crowd in the Mess Hall as another blow was delivered, many of this crew was new and therefore undertrained, they hadn't quite grasped the gravity of their actions yet, but such details were irrelevant to them now. Most of them had family or friends who had been killed or maimed by the Klingons, so when one walks into their midst, there was no thought, no reason, just revenge.
Another blow struck Kri'gak's face, the Klingon was flanked by three Starfleet crewmen, one Human male, a Saurian male, and a Caitian Female, had he wanted to, he could have held them off, but the CO of this ship had just allowed him to join, he knew that harming his oficers would not put him in good stead with Vice Admiral Darksabre, he was already hated by the Klingon Empire for speaking out against the war, he did not want enemies on both sides.
"Whats the matter ridgehead? Wheres your "honour" now? My brother was killed in one of your filthy kind's raiding parties, and now you walk in here like nothing's happened?!"
The Human finished his taunting by delivering another blow to Kri'gak's chin, Kri'gak had been left in an escape pod to die or be shot in the Neutral Zone for an extended period of time, he was already weakened as it was, the blow felt like a charging targ and he lost his balance momentarily, the Female Caitian leapt upon this opprtunity and sweeped her leg out, catching the back of Kri'gak's right leg, Kri'gak felt the floor leave his feet, and moments later, he was on the ground, he soon found himself looking up at a glaring Saurian.
"You kill all these people in the name of some kind of perverted Warrior code, and because of this ridiculous idealism you've dragged this entire Quadrant into war, for that, I hate you, your race, and everything you believe in."
the Human and Saurian began raining blows on Kri'gak, all he could think to do was wait until it was done and take it like a Klingon. Until suddenly, it did stop. Kri'gak was not sure if he had endured all they could give or he had died and gone to Sto'Vo'Kor, tentatively, he opened his bruised eyes to see the Saurian being restrained by a bearded Andorian he recognised as Gyzit, the ship's Chief Engineer, the Caitian was being held by a Human he also recognised frm the Bridge crew, the Human, known as Dale, had twisted the Caitian's left arm behind her back and pushed her head forward, while hooking his right leg around her own, she was effectively paralyzed.
Kri'gak heard a loud crash behind him, he turned around and saw the Vice Admiral himself, the Vilscaran had picked up the Human by the scruff of the neck and pinned him hard against a bulkhead, it was no secret that Krovennan liked to use Vilscaran military procedures to deal with his crew, especially when they went out of line, so it was no suprise when a restraining device was given to him by a member of Security.
"If you hate Kri'gak for his Warrior culture, I'd hate to know what you think about me, you can think it over in the brig with your friends."
the restraining device was placed on the Human, both arms were placed into seperate braces, the familiar sound of holoemitters activating sounded off, and soon the two were connected behind the Human's back with a holographic plate of duranium, but to make it worse, a third holographic restraint was added, to the Human's neck.
Kri'gak knew that the Human was powerless now, there were no safeties on those holograms, if he struggled, he would choke himself long before he could do anything, soon identical restraints were placed on the other two and all three were lead away, Kri'gak wiped his face with the sleeve of his new Starfleet uniform. staining it with pink Klingon blood, he saw the familiar hnd of the vice Admiral extend down to him, he put pride behind him for a moment, took it, and was pulled up by Krovennan.
The strength of the pull reminded Kri'gak that, although Krovennan seemed almost identical to a large Human, he was just as strong as a Klingon, if not stronger. Krovennan turned to address the crew amassed in front of him, whom had fallen deathly silent.
"Is this the actions of a Starfleet Officer? How can you call yourselves peacekeepers when you not only allow this, but take pleasure in it? Were this a Vilscaran ship, I'd have every one of you sent back to the Academy until you were enough of a person to stand by what you claim to be.
I am disgusted at your actions today, when you can answer to me how you expect to be peacekeepers after this, you'll earn my respect again, until then, you can all get back to work, since eating doesn't seem to be on your minds today."
The crowd dispersed to return to their duties, they knew that dinner had just been cancelled, Kovennan surveyed the crowd, a lot of people were simply upset dinner was over, but he could see a couple with true remorse in their eyes and movements, they would be the first to admit their mistake.
Drehera, the ship's Doctor, came to the Mess hall with a small kit of medical instrukments, she set them down on the table next to kri'gak and began to look over his wounds, the visor she wore obscured her blind Betazoid eyes, but Kri'gak knew she was looking at him in ways he could not imagine, as she turned away to calibrate a hypospray and a dermal regenrator Kri'gak decided it was time to speak to the silent Vilscaran.
"Why did you do that sir? You could have easily left me to their mercy, I'd have survived and I would have known that I was able to withstand them, maybe it would have even allowed them to calm down when they had released their anger."
Krovennan had turned his back and folded his arms, staring into the dark space beyond the wndows, obviously deep in thought, he turned to face Kri'gak, his arms never moving from their folded position.
"There is no sense nor honour in a three on one fight, besides, I will not tolerate insubordination aboard this vessel of any sort, you may think this devalues your skill as a warrior, but in truth, it does nothing of the sort. A warrior, a true warrior, does not seek to prove his strength constantly by flashy displays of skill or endurance, a true warrior does not take the blow to prove how thick skulled he is, he avoids it to show how skillful he is, a true warrior is strong of mind before strong of body, a warrior does not hold onto honour like a shield and cries murder when it is slighted, he keeps his composure, even when he loses all honour.
I do not claim to be an expert on what drives the Klingon people, but in many ways, our people are both two of a kind, and at the same time, worlds apart. I do not believe that shows of strength prove your skill, the pureness of heart, sharpness of mind and the strength of will is what I look for, today three of my crew did not show that, and so they will see the error of their ways, even if they do not realise it."
Krovennan left to return to his own duties, Drehera had used the hypo partway through the speech and was now healing Kri'gak's wounds one by one with the dermal regenerator, had this been a Klingon ship, Kri'gak would have dismissed the aid through honour alone, but after hearing what Krovennan said, he resolved to merely sit and let Drehera do her work, perhaps Kri'gak would ask the Vice Admiral to explain more of what he seeks for at some point in the future, but for now, he was conent with knowing that very few problems would arise from now on after what had just happened.
This old thing? well, how I got this old Gibson guitar an interesting story, if you'd like to listen.
Okay. Here we go.
I had taken to some quiet research in Delta Volanis. I may be a Tactical division admiral but sometimes I like to get away from the majority of the fighting out there. I mean, who doesn't? Even the least distinguished of warriors out there deserve a little respite. But I digress...
We had been scanning for days aboard the U.S.S. Doral, finding anomalies, acquiring tech, physical & radiation samples from various sources. I often let Envessa have control of the bridge while I cooked up something in the gallery or help tweak the weapons & sensor arrays. That Betazoid was a natural at finding something that could never be found, even when it had no mental resonance. To our surprise, we found an uninhabited planet with nothing more than lush forests & pristine oceans. We thought about beaming down for several hours & I discussed it with my top officers. Over the discussion, we decided to hit the turf immediately.
I beamed down with my top engineer, a Klingon named Draneh, a liberated Borg Human known as 99 of 100, a Breen refugee who had renamed himself "Red" (his favourite colour) as well as an old tactical schoolmate of mine, a Vulcan named T'mona. We went through a small area of thick forest scanning, researching & taking samples of plants. That's when we got a troubling communique from the Doral...
"Klingon bird-of-prey approaching planet!" They said. "They're beaming down to your location!"
As soon as we turned around, there they were with disruptors in hand.
"Split!" I screamed. My officers & I dived behind fallen trees, rocks & other covers. T'mona managed to dodge her way through the fire & ripped into the Klingon captain with her lirpa, effectively ending his life. The other 4, one Klingon warrior, 2 Orion lieutenants & a Gorn commander continued to put up a fight. Red managed to wear down the first Orion's shields with his Tetryon rifle & landed the killing stroke with a sniper shot. Draneh grabbed 99 of 100 & threw her at the second Orion & she managed to plant a hunting knife right into has heart, taking his life. By now, the bird-of-prey had moved on amongst the confusion & selfishly deserted their remaining commander. The other warrior had beamed away, the coward.
Before I knew it, the Gorn commander had lunged from his hiding spot & managed to knock me off my feet. As we tumbled though the forest, I noticed he had an old guitar in pristine condition slung on his back along with his Bat'leth. Suddenly, we had run out of ground. I landed on the ground at the very edge of the cliff on my belly. The unlucky Gorn flew straight over me & began to fall over. I managed to grab his arm & hold on for his life.
The heft of 250 pounds of lizard meat going through my arm was excruciating!
"Let me die!" He called out. "I'd rather die at the mercy of a warrior like you than live in a Federation prison!"
Then I had an idea. "I'm not going to imprison you! I swear upon my life!"
The Gorn thought to himself a moment as I used ever last bit of strength to support hold on to him. "Pull me up if you can!"
Then, using all I was worth, shouting obscenities & screaming out of pain, I dragged him up over the cliff & back to the edge of the forest.
We sat, catching our breath.
"Is... Is that a guitar?" I asked.
"This musical instrument? Is that what your species named it?" He asked back.
"Yes." I replied. "Would... Would you like me to teach you how to play it?"
"Okay." He replied. "I've... Always liked... What does your species call it.. Rock & roll."
We shared a laugh for a moment.
"My name's Galaranth" I said.
"I'm Thark, It's good to meet a fellow warrior such as yourself. I had no idea the Federation had honorable beings like you." Thark replied.
"There are more like me & you, there are lots of us who'd rather die doing what we love than in a prison."
& that's the story! Thark is now the best medic I've ever had the pleasure of working with. I never regretted the day I met him. He's a lizard of honor through compassion. He gave me that guitar as something to show he was grateful I saved his life & taught him how to play it. I bought him one of his own as a thank you for joining Starfleet.
For me it would have to be my Beech 17 Staggerwing. I grew up in a family of ancient aircraft aficionados My dad used to take me up in his A-26 Invader replica when I was little, and my oldest brother Mark had a TBF replica he used to try to and scare me with.
Dad and Mark taught me to fly when I was nine years old. At first, I just flew simple aircraft, but I really wanted to get more into aerobatics and racing, so they started teaching me on the harder planes.
For my thirteenth birthday, my brother got me a Beech 17 Staggerwing. Originally, it belonged to a family friend named Larry Tennifer, who had a farm in the Willamette Valley. He went to the Academy with my grandfather, and first introduced my dad to flying, and he always had a new plane of some sort. Larry is long gone, now, but I will never forget him. His influence had a lot to do with the career path that Mark and I chose when we both joined Starfleet.
Back to the story, for some reason Larry had picked up a replica of a Beech 17 that he said to Mark he was going to use for cropdusting. Doesn't make a lot of sense to me now, because this particular plane would not be best for that purpose. Either way, Larry wound up not liking it so it just sat in a barn for years.
One season, Mark was helping Larry out with his crop and happened along it and asked if he could have it. Larry agreed, and helped transport it to our farm.
It arrived worn and in pieces. For the next year, Mark and I worked to rebuild it, which I was a little frustrated at first that Mark sent me a plane that was in pieces, but in hindsight I'm glad he did. It was a fun project, and it helped me later when I had to do repairs. Me and that little plane have been together ever since that. I used to fly aerobatics at airshows in it, and I won a few junior air racing trophies in it.
I also loved doing night flights in it. I remember on those clear nights when it was just stars as far as the eye could see, I would point the nose up and pretend I was Hikaru Sulu at the helm of the Enterprise. It was a lot of fun. I may have stalled out a few times doing that, too, but I never told anyone. At least until now.
The last time I flew it was right before my late wife and I got together. She was visiting Earth with a diplomatic delegation, and got permission to come see me while she was there. Keep in mind, this was back in the '80s, so things were a little different politically than they are now. She told me she wanted to see all of Deschutes county, so I said, "ok" and tortured her by shoving her into a tiny cabin and flying her around for a few hours. Well, I wouldn't call it tortured. She seemed to have fun--at least when the plane wasn't upside down.
Of all the planes we owned, that was my favorite. A lot of great memories with that plane.
Since arriving in the 25th century, I haven't had a chance to fly it. I keep a replica of it on the holodeck aboard the Stellar Drift-F, but it's not the same. My nephew, who lives at the farm now, says that it's still there and he's kept it in operating condition in the event I finally get to go home and fly it again.
.........................................................A Matter of Honour.
...Year of Kahless, 1033.
...General Bortan stood at the far side of the bridge watching the unfolding chaos around him. A console exploded to his right, showering him with white hot needles of light. He bore the pain as it raced down his face. Warriors moved around him trying to contain the plasma that had invaded the bridge, slowly consuming the breathable air with a hunger that would only subside after their dying breaths. Asphyxiation is no way for a warrior to die, he thought to himself.
...The Romulan Cruiser was turning for another lateral run against the I.K.S Munchu, a VorCha class cruiser. Their shields were down to less than thirty percent, disrupters were at half strength and the forward torpedo launcher had sustained severe damage that could not be repaired outside of a spacedock. The Romulan cruiser was faring little better; one of its great wings hung together by a few metal beams and forcefields.
...Divert power from life support to the forward disrupters. Target the port wing, and fire all weapons.
...The shipped hummed as they weapons reached their optimum power. The deck plates shuddered as several green bolts of energy erupted from the weapon points and sailed across the vastness of space. They silently struck the damaged wing of the warbird, causing the great mound of metal and machinery to fracture and break away from the green, falcon like ship. It began to spin widely as secondary explosions rippled across its super structure. A second wave of fire struck the ship head on as it continued to spiral out of control. The nose section was decimated instantly, before a third volley split the ship in twain.
...A chorus of cheers echoed through the bridge, as warriors thumped control consoles and slapped each other on the back. Even Bortan, who was no stranger to tense space battles cheered at the doom of his enemy. These were the times when warriors would do great deeds. How we whished he was young again, and could command his own ship, and not be stuck doing the tedious work of Governor of MelBruQ, a small colony on the edge of the Klingon/Tholian border.
...The cheers of the crew died down, as several engineers tried to lock down the plasma leak that still threatened to rob them of a glorious death.
...My lord, another starship is entering the system. It is a Romulan bird of prey. came the sound of a grim voice, almost spitting the word Romulan from his mouth as if it was posion.
...Can we cloak? asked Captain Dulek sharply. Dulek, was a young warrior who had made captain far sooner than his years would suggest. He was the nephew of High Council member Malktus. A scheming and despicable man; one that should never have been born a Klingon, let alone sit on the council.
...Bortan shook his head at the sight of the young man sitting awkwardly in the chair that he had yet to earn. After the death of Chancellor Martok, it would seem the Empire had fallen back into old patterns, where warriors were given honour instead of taking it. Yet this victory had shown there is fight in him. Perhaps he would break way from his families dishonour and prove himself a true warrior. I asked you a question. he snapped to the tactical officer.
...Yes, the cloak is functional. replied the grim voice.
...Then do it. ordered the Captain. Many would consider cloaking and hiding from an enemy to be a dishonourable, even cowardly action, but to a Klingon there was rarely anything dishonourable about winning.
...The bird of prey edged closer into the system, toward the burning wreckage of her fallen ally.
...Has she detected us?
...No, sir. It appears the explosion of the cruiser masked our signature just long enough for us to cloak.
...Bortan looked at the unwitting ship as it grew larger on the view screen. An easy victory perhaps on a level playing field, but a victory that would be perilous in their current condition. A victory that would be well earned.
...Good, take us out of the system. Once we are far enough away from the wreckage take us to warp. Plot a course along- he never had time to finish his orders.
...You mean not to destroy it? The thunderous Voice of Bortan filled the bridge.
...The silence was soon broken. Yes, do you have a problem with that. snarled the captain.
...A quiet rage began to grow in the pit of his stomach. We have a chance for victory, she is unaware of our presence. We should destroy it now, or do you forget what they did to us?
...I am aware of the situation. We have a mission to complete unless you had forgotten that, the very reason you are here. I will not risk this ship over one Romulan vessel. We are falling apart as it is.
...Bortan fist came crashing down on an already broken console. Another wave o sparks shot forth from it. You are a captain in the Imperial fleet; this is a vessel of war. We do not allow our enemies to live. Destroy the ship now, or I will do it myself.
...Dulek snarled at him, his jagged and broken teeth on display. The showing of the teeth was an old Klingon trait stretching back hundreds of thousand of years. A sign that he was willing and able to kill. Everyone on the bridge new was what about to follow. This is my ship, General. We all know your record and what you have done for the Empire, but I will be seen dead before I let you give orders on my ship.
...Bortans dktahg was in his hand before he had even thought to use it. Years of experience had already moved him to the captain left, his weaker position. Then you will be dead. he said, rage and instinct taking over.
...He lunged at the captain, who quickly parried the blade away. Dulek backed off to give himself a few feet of room. The general circled around the massive support frame and lunged a second time. Dulek parried a second time, yet the general had anticipated the parry and threw a left hook into the captain exposed chin. He staged back down two steps into a console. Mortan pounced from his now elevated position as the blade came swooping down towards the captains chest. Dulek narrowly avoided the strike by rolling across the console to his right. He quickly regained his balance and drove his wickedly sharp right boot into the side of the generals ribs. He grimaced at the pain and was lucky to avoid the knife that was aimed at his head.
...Dulek moved forward, trying to trap the general into an edged corner of the bridge, the sounds of the crew chanting rang in his ears as he closed in, the dktahg shimmering with the feint glow of the plasma leak. Now was his turn to lunge. Mortan blocked the blade with his left arm, as it cut deep into his wrist the pain seared through his arm. However the knife was now temporarily lodged in his arm allowing a free opening into the captains exposed body. Without hesitation or regret he rammed the knife into captains chest and twisted as hard as he could.
...Dulek slumped to the ground in almost silence. Only a gargle emanated from his throat, before a trickle of blood seeped out.
...The crew continued to cheer and laugh at the fight. Some nodded in approval while others, who had backed their captain to win, reluctantly gave their respect.
...Bortan slunk into the cold chair and looked at the bird of prey on the screen. Dulek was right, they were in no condition to fight, and even the element of surprise guaranteed them no victory on this day. A day that what every warrior lived for. A good day to die.
...He had taught that lesson to Dulek and to every able body on the bridge. A Klingon must be prepared to win at all costs. This was no time for caution, for planning and regrouping. They were not the children of the Federation, or the cowardly petaQ of the Star Empire. They were Klingons, and this was a time for great warriors to do deeds worthy of song.
...He looked upon his new tactical officer. Arm the weapons, lock targets and drop the cloak. he said as the call of the warrior filled his heart.
Challenges taking command? There's been a couple. Every crew I've had hasn't agreed with some of the aliens I have as my bridge crew; a Reman, Breen and Orion sitting at science, security and helm? I can see how that'd make humans especially uncomfortable. Fortunately after working under fire, you tend to forget your prejudices.
There is the story of the most recent Satusma's crew. A Nebula is somewhat a step down and at first I was given the impression the crew I'd been given was a step down as well. Every face was new. I had no rapport with these people and neither did my senior staff; Kyn, the Breen security officer, had a lot of trouble. Being Breen, his officers wouldn't accept his orders and Kyn isn't the typical sarcastic wall you expect one of his kind to be; he was cut up and lost his motivation for the post. Akabei actually did rather well by contrast, a warp field failure on our maiden voyage and 5 plasma manifold ruptures.
It was the same all through NX-93909-C. The crew were transferees from front line ships, some even from as far back as the Dominion War. They weren't incompetent, they just didn't want to take orders from some young upstarts. Some obviously believed, as I did, that the Satsuma had been demoted to an anomaly counter. I had no idea how to rally these people, stuck in their ways as we were, so I switched positions around. I sent engineers to sick bay, the tactical branch to the hydroponics bay and astrometrics became filled with security officers.
After a while, the crew were drained. A new line of work took it out on all of them and it allowed my senior officers to teach for once. In fact, the switch around created a status quo; the inverted crew seemed to be getting used to their jobs. They weren't complaining any more and the chiefs of staff had things moving but I wasn't satisfied. Each day, for eight weeks, I had one of my senior staff sabotage the ship. Omberi let out some harmless contagion in sick bay, Leila inverted the directional controls at the helm and Mei decided to meld a bunch of holodeck programs together; at least two were Vulcan Love Slave IV and Kahless Does Jazz.
The ship became chaos. In the end, the crew gained an immense respect for each other. They figured out I set them all up and all 750 of us got a kick out of it. We all respected each other's positions and working in a completely different environment increased their transferable skill sets. We still run Mei's program. I can't get enough of Kahless' and Surak's saxophone solos.
COORDINATES LAID IN AND READY ... CAPTAIN
by T.L. Shull
U.S.S. Panthera Onca NCC-90261
Orbit of Earth
Coordinates laid in and ready Captain, announced the helmsman with a hint of joviality.
The Captain looked to the view screen and the scenery of Earths blue hue that filled its breadth.
How in the hell did this end up being a bittersweet moment?
It was always supposed to be the crowning achievement, the pinnacle! He was supposed to be reveling in the pure delight of it all!
Well, in a way he was. He was ecstatic, proud and honored, thrilled to be getting underway in his ship, under his command and yet here he sat in the command chair of the defense ship he knew he was born to lead and yet he still felt like he had lost something rather than gained everything that he had always dreamed of.
It wasnt right!
Sure the celebration was wonderful - Quinn made a point to have a formal promotion ceremony it was a rare treat for a Cat commander to be promoted outright. The "Cats" were known as being the elite defense squadron of the Earth Perimeter Patrol and as such, many others achieved that promotion by losing their commanders in battle, and Quinn wanted to make a real show of it.
His fellow Cat commanders, Farhadian, and Shaughnessy were there; so were his parents, Admirals, Commodores, politicians, even a good number of available his fellow Red Squad alums were present for his promotion but through the entire ceremony he couldnt seem to keep his eyes off of her.
She stood there, the look of pride positively popping off of her gorgeous young face as Quinn reached for his collar to place the fourth pip. He couldnt even remember what that had felt like now he could only remember how black and beautiful Beths eyes were; how soft and gentle the waves of her cocoa brown hair looked as it cascaded over her shoulders; how soft her lips appeared as she smiled at him from across the room.
She had been the one to sit in the command chair and he in the seat next to it for the past four years and now she was gone; moved up herself to admiralty no less.
But the moment he awoke that morning and eagerly dressed himself in his uniform with the brand new pip, he walked out onto the bridge he felt lost. He had utterly forgotten that he would not be seeing her face, those beautiful black eyes, that hair or that smile; and for all the excitement he felt and for all the happiness he took in his own fortunate career, he didnt think it would hurt quite so bad to know that she would not be with him on the bridge anymore ever.
After decades of hard work and dedication he finally got the Panthera Onca, his one true love
and ended up realizing he was missing the love of his life.
Captain? asked the helmsman but he didnt respond.
It was then he decided that he had to try to find a way to get her back into his life as often as possible.
Captain? The helmsman looked behind him curiously, then to the XO.
No, his first day as Captain definitely didnt turn out like he had planned.
Captain? First Officer Baxica questioned curiously.
Alerted, Captain Tristan McGregor shook his head and smiled, but the smile never really did make it all the way across his face. Engage.
Comments
Toko tolerance through acceptance - similar to the earth phrase patience from understanding but bears high influence as the most sacred law of the dominiqai.
........The dominiqai, native to the gamma quadrant, are the most emotionally unstable beings in the galaxy if they are not properly educated in the ways of persistence & endurance over their seething nature. At the core, all dominiqai could be described as inherently evil. This stems from the fact they are genetically disposed towards an entirely selfish pursuance of their tio, an ultimate goal idolized as the high rise at the end of vi-mal mari the path of ambitions. A Tsli-kmo takes the low road, & travels alongside said path, always keeping it in near sight.
........Dominiqai consider the majority of their species to have the perfect balance of brains & brawn, though these can become highly unbalanced. For example, if one focuses too much on strategy in a battle they begin to enter a state of vi-bolra, the regression - their body begins to shrivel & shrink into what are referred to as vi-dompshi the minion form. This can be advantageous in a battle to lose ones opponent; such a drastic change in appearance is extremely misleading. Their skin becomes a pale grey, due to the blood being farther from the skins surface. Their horns retract, folding back over their cranium & a tuft of hair grows over them in their stead. Their pupils fill out their eyes which in turn begin to bulge from their sockets, increasing visual acuity. Their jaws collapse & a rim of sharp teeth emerges around the lips & along the cheeks & chin. It is quite a sight to behold, one might even suggest that it defies all explicable nature; then again the same was said of shape shifters in the early days before it was known how common a trait this was.
........It is not truly known why such bodily changes are necessary as the dominiqai, being such an ancient race, have never been able to trace the roots along the evolutionary ladder of their planet. Fortunately they do know that in order to regain their stature, they must exercise force & push their bodies to the limit, or their intelligence will also begin to suffer until they have a mental capacity of a child.
........Though this species maturation is usually complete within their first 3 years of life, trauma such as the bolra can take a lifetime to repair. It is then up to the family, if they have one, to decide whether the life still has premise. Often, since they wont achieve a well rounded skill set in time to be of use to their social structure, those inflicted will be trained just enough to make a decision whether or not to end their own life. With an average lifespan of 130 years, this is a shocking reality.
........Dominiqai children are born as dompshi, & the sooner they begin their paja kin, or influx of knowledge, a telepathic ceremony performed by parents & peers to share history & theory, the sooner & faster they will grow. In order for the mind of a dominiqai to be properly prepared to handle the paja kin, they must literally exercise their brain muscles. The thinking process causes their neurons to wiggle, stimulating further growth of the mind & body priming their muscles for training.
........Dominiqai language is short & simple, only using 13 alphanumeric sets of symbolic characters that can be interpreted as either letters or numbers depending on the context or the amount of space between words. Bereft of most prepositions &/or conjunctions common to known languages, the sentence structure is designed to be spat out as quickly & fluidly as possible to comprehend. Most conversations are epically abrupt as delving into ones personal life too much is considered offensive, even if it is with/from your own mate. An interpersonal query of ones vacation may consist of ira vash ala-li enjoy your time? the response simply being: tui kmo sha - I sensed joy.
........The spiritual robes of the Tsli-kmo or Shaman of Sensation are always comprised of an uncomfortable, itchy material evocative of tweed. The fastenings are crude combinations of snaps, buttons & drawstrings, ensuring that the dressing process takes at least a finar, the equivalent of 27 earth minutes. It is dyed the least desired or least complimentary color of the wearer. The robes are to bear no adornments, & they may not be made to liken any desirable object or be modified to make oneself appear desirable. A symbol of their fortitude, this tradition dates back for 3 million generations on their world. Signifying completion of this rite of passage, any dominiqai wearing these robes are eligible for off-world activity, since they may interact with other species with confidence that they will not do them harm for a superfluous reason.
........An undergarment, standard to all members of this race, is fitted using a super-elastic polymer of light fibers that can split apart to a point of resistance & then begins mending itself back together. This was invented by researchers of the jshel, beasts that create nests out of excretions from their mucus membranes. This rare near-indestructible material can bind together & stretch & contract to fit their eggs, keeping them warm & safe. It was adapted to suit dominiqai who may inadvertently transmute into dompshi so they might still retain their dignity. They are worn as a one-piece like long-johns.
........As one of their most revolutionary discoveries, it was christened with the longest single word in their language. Kreeen, as it was named, is malleable like metal yet soft like spandex, conforming to the contours of any design they see fit. The material is also used to make carriers, not unlike a backpack or satchel on earth; though these ones come in only one size & can carry something as small as change, or something as large as a load of ore - roughly the amount you could fit into a wheel barrel. Neither the weight nor jaggedness of any object could pierce the material. They do recommend against carrying unsheathed blades, however; as they could, in a large enough quantity, be sharp to the touch when the material is stressed around its contours.
........90% of their planetary culture has evolved beyond their primal urges, however the remaining percentages go insane trying to keep themselves in check or merely embrace their dark side. Once in a while, a fractured mind may either swindle its way onto the committee or unknowingly deceive others if their condition is not identified, due to being well hidden or simply not showing symptoms. This can lead to disaster as the votes must always be 3/5 to approve any action, & though only 10% of the population reverts to such a state, it just so happens that exactly 3/5 of those afflicted live in rural areas & pursue facets of administration due to their inclined superiority complex.
........Due to this fact, if at any given moment there are 6 or more members on the committee who have or are susceptible to this contagious mental illness, they may sway a vote that would deny necessitations or enact a bill of war. Their people take great medical precautions to avoid this, but it has happened recently in documented history. One such offset of balance had devastating consequences leading to their involvement in the Dominion War, & initially denied their entrance into the federation.
........The dominiqai encountered the jemhadar in an interplanetary skirmish while they mediated a territorial dispute. Of course, the jemhadar were actually there under this pretense to make a land grab for resources, under the flag of the growing dominion fleet. The dominiqai were bartering for a planet in Geltak territory, about 43 parsecs from the beta-Q wormhole when the jemhadar laid claim to the area after instilling fear in the local populace, insinuating that a painful death would ensue if they did not give up without a fight. More openly admitted to protecting their own interests than to defending the weak but thriving commercial civilization, the dominiqai stepped in & annihilated the dominion in that region.
........For a short time, the dominion attempted to negotiate with these seemingly ruthless enemies. Eventually outthought & outgunned, the vorta & changeling leadership inevitably bowed down to their new masters, whom they dubbed Demon Lords.
........Several thousand jemhadar saw this as a sign of weakness of their masters & rebelled against all sympathizers. Others openly objected or just absconded from the dominion; the vorta wished to have them hunted & executed but couldnt get approval from the changelings, as they knew this would never pass approval with their lordship. The demon lords retained reign over the dominion to gain access to the bajoran wormhole. At this point the dominion had outlived their usefulness & so the demon lords turned them loose with a threat bearing little more than a slap on the wrist.
........Basking in the adamant reverence these acts had earned them throughout the quadrant, the dominiqai clung to the name their dominion pets had given them. All distinguished members of their race would henceforth be referred to as Demon Lords. Corruption & arrogance began to stir within the secondary fleet of the dominiqai, the committee aboard the lead vessel had been swayed to ally themselves with the dominion & helped them eradicate several federation colonies. In the hopes of preserving the peace, several well trained Tsli-kmo monks opened negotiations with the Federation & eventually joined their ranks. They infiltrated the Demon Lord fleet under the guise of True Way allies, & managed to cause them to destroy themselves from the inside out, crippling the supercilious supremacy the dominion had so reveled in.
........Two of their most notable officers & veterans of this event, Lords Svihra & Sam-Al, now head a frontline blockade against the borg alongside battle group omega.
Stardate 157463.06 -- June 18, 2480
I first met Fleet Admiral Hastings over 70 years ago, before I'd left Starfleet to become a full-time writer. In fact, I served under him when he first joined the Admiralty and I was a green officer with my first command.
Admiral Hastings was awfully young for an Admiral, but then in those dark days, they all were. Everyone was young -- too young. The saying at Starfleet Academy was that when you graduated, you got a plaque with your hardcopy diploma, a pin for your dress whites, and the command codes to a cruiser. Like any truly good joke, that wasn't far from the truth; my first command came with my promotion to Lieutenant.
And the Admiral knew this. He didn't have a crew of season veterans; his ship commanders often didn't know the difference between warp coils and entertainment provisions, but we were all eager and ready to fight in the wars. The Admiral gave us the support we needed to become better commanders, and really, what more can you ask?
But as I said, that was a long time ago. Starfleet is a distant memory for me, and Fleet Admiral Starlin Jeffrey Hastings, retired, is dying.
Stardate 157463.34
I've arrived at his home near San Jose, California. Naturally he never left the Bay Area; you can take the Admiral out of Starfleet, etc. etc.
My original plan was to conduct an interview with him, but he's unconscious and not expected to wake.
Stardate 157463.98
Admiral Hastings died a few moments ago at the age of 106.
Stardate 157465.51 -- June 19, 2480
Evidently there is a small ceremony called a "Will Reading" this afternoon that I have been asked to attend. As I understand it, humans have a custom of "passing on" certain possessions or objects to friends and family. Often these items have sentimental or symbolic meaning. It's only done for a few possessions; the majority of items are simply recycled. And although he wasn't human, he was raised as one and lived his life as one.
I have been asked to attend because, evidently, I have been named in this "will." I confess I am surprised: I knew the Admiral (never "Jeff" -- I could never call him that) well enough to share an occasional dinner with, but we were hardly the best of friends.
Stardate 157466.07
Several others have arrived for the ceremony. Most I don't know. The Admiral's daughter, Ashley, I've met. She's about as unlike the Admiral as anyone I've seen: she never went near Starfleet and became an artist instead. Yet they were very close. Who knows, perhaps they liked the same holovids, but it's hard for me to see what they had in common.
Admiral Khaotik, of course, will not be attending, and I don't think we need to rehash that old story.
Fleet Admiral Amara has arrived. If you've never met her, you cannot possibly be prepared for her. You expect a senior Vulcan Admiral to be a certain way, have a certain personality...but Admiral Amara is nothing like those expectations. Most Vulcans seem to exude an intimidating calm. Not her. "The Hormonal Vulcan," I've heard her called (though never to her face!). Raised by humans, she's emotional, but like anything Vulcans attempt, she's very good at it. Hyper-emotional, you might say.
She and Admiral Hastings worked side by side since their early careers, and while they were never romantic (so far as I know, anyway) they were close indeed. You can see it now on Admiral Amara's face: pain, sadness, tears. She just went around the room and hugged everyone, including people she'd never met. Then she started crying again.
The Estate Administrator just came out to begin the ceremony. It's not much of a ceremony, frankly; he just walks around the room, handing each person his/her/its item. He just now handed me mine: a plaque with hardcopies of my first command assignment announcement and my first mission report affixed. I had no idea he even had such a thing. I guess I made more of an impression than I realized.
Now he just walked over to Admiral Amara and handed her...a pebble. A very plain, unremarkable pebble. And Admiral Amara broke down completely, sobbing and wailing so loudly I had to cover my ears.
What could the significance of that pebble possibly be?
Stardate 157470.97 -- June 21, 2480
I'm on my way to see another retired Admiral: Fleet Admiral Jeffrey Davison. He's nearly 130 now, I think, but as a young Rear Admiral he first recruited then-Commander Hastings, then-Commander Amara and then-Commander Khaotik to form a "strike team" of ship commanders who could work independently, short-circuit the fleet bureaucracy and "get the job done."
I land my skimmer right next to Admiral Davison's house on the beach. It's a gorgeous San Diego morning (but aren't they all?). I knock on his door, and after a few minutes he answers, and grins. He advises me to get used to stooping, as his house wasn't built for people my size (I'm nearly 8 feet tall).
I follow him into a large room with a huge picture window that overlooks the ocean. We sit down, exchange pleasantries, and then get down to it.
Me: I assume you heard about Admiral Hastings.
Davison: Yep. Wished I could've attended, but at my age, traveling is risky.
Me: Did you know the Admiral well?
Davison: Hell, I knew Jeff as a green Ensign. Always Jeff nobody called him Starlin. We spent enough time together that people would get confused -- since we were both "Jeff" -- so people started calling me "Proper Jeff" -- because I was senior -- and him "Other Jeff" for clarity.
Me: And of course, you know Admiral Amara.
Davison: Yep, though I didn't meet her until after she had her command. In fact, I met her because of Jeff: if you follow his career, you pretty much have to follow hers. They were quite the team.
Me: And Admiral Khaotik?
(Now the grin fades for the first time.)
Davison: Yes. Him too.
Me: At the Will Reading, the administrator gave Admiral Amara a pebble. She took one look at it and collapsed in grief. Any idea what the significance of that pebble is?
Davison: No idea. Have you asked Amara?
Me: Not yet. She was pretty upset, and I figured she'd need a bit of time.
Davison: Probably, yeah. But I don't know what the pebble is about. I wonder if it's related to their first mission together? I don't remember all the details, but I think I have the ID somewhere.
(Admiral Davison slowly rises, then shuffles over to a bookcase and pulls down a box full of data solids. He rummages through them, then apparently finds the one he's looking for. He slides it into a reader, then scrolls through the data on the viewscreen.)
Davison: Here it is.
(He pops a blank solid into a slot, hits a key, then ejects the solid and tosses it to me.)
Davison: That's the mission ID. You can apply for access to the logs; I doubt much of the mission is classified anymore.
(We continue chatting for a while, and then make our farewells.)
Stardate 157471.54
After the interview this morning, I did apply to the Starfleet Press Office for access to the mission logs. SPO said they would get back to me "soon."
Meanwhile, I'm en route to Memory Alpha. I've got an interview set up with Vice Admiral Stike in the morning. Stike worked under Admiral Davison, and provided scientific and technological support to his strike team. I figure he's probably got some insight into the team that might prove illuminating.
Stardate 157473.70 -- June 22, 2480
Vice Admiral Stike has been working at Memory Alpha for over sixty years. Legend has it that he and his team figured out a way to create warp-14 engines out of a kettle and some string, and while that's obviously apocryphal, it's not by much. Like most Vulcans, he has no use for pleasantries, so we exchange none.
Me: How well did you know Admiral Hastings?
Stike: The question is not logical. There's no scale or measurement on which to base a response. How do you quantify, "well?"
Me: Let me rephrase. Are you familiar with the details of most of his missions for Admiral Davison?
Stike: My familiarity varies with each individual mission, depending on the level of support I was required to provide.
(This is the problem with interviewing Vulcans. You have to phrase things very carefully if you have any hope of learning anything at all.)
Me: Are you specifically familiar with all of the details of the first mission that Admiral Hastings and Admiral Amara worked together?
Stike: No. However, I am familiar with many of the details. Would you like me to list them for you?
Me: Please.
Stike: Stardate 86363.13. Hastings and Amara are ordered to Regulus IV, where the Klingons are supposed to be meeting with Miral Paris. Upon arriving they meet with armed resistance -- both in space and on the planet's surface. The Klingons had planted spatial charges on a number of facilities on the planet, including the Federation Embassy. Hastings and Amara defuse the charges, and survive an attack by Klingon Ambassador B'Vat, who then escaped.
Me: What support were you required to provide?
Stike: I was not required to provide any support, which is why I do not know all of the details of the mission.
Me (nonplussed): Um, OK. If I were to tell you that Admiral Hastings had a pebble given to Admiral Amara at his Will Reading ceremony, and that Admiral Amara had an emotional reaction to this gesture, would you have any idea as to why?
Stike: Unknown. It would depend on when you told me such a thing. Do you think it is likely you will tell me such a thing in the near future?
(If he was not Vulcan, I would accuse him of teasing me right about now.)
Me: Admiral Hastings had a pebble given to Admiral Amara at his Will Reading ceremony. Admiral Amara had an emotional reaction to this gesture; would you have any idea as to why?
Stike: No. Emotional reactions are never logical, so it is pointless to try to determine what causes them using reason. Furthermore, I have no knowledge of any pebble that might have any significance, real or perceived, on the part of either Admiral Hastings or Admiral Amara.
(I ask a few more perfunctory questions and then end the interview.)
Stardate 157474.39
SPO has responded to my request for the mission logs. There's not much of interest in the logs beyond what Admiral Stike had already related. There is, however, a small note that then-Lieutenant Amara's life was saved by then-Lieutenant Hastings. This isn't unusual; I'm sure Starfleet Officers save each other's lives all the time. But it's a new data point, anyway.
I think I'm going to have to talk to Admiral Amara.
<end of part 1>
Stardate 157479.17 -- June 24, 2480
Fleet Admiral Amara has consented to speak with me. As I am ushered into her office at Starfleet Command, I am once again struck at the "feeling" she gives off.
We all make assumptions about people. We expect them to act a certain way, say certain things, etc. This is a sort of mental short-cut that we have to do, because doing a detailed analysis of every person and every gesture would drive us mad with paralysis.
And I think that's what freaks people out when they meet Amara. Physically, she's Vulcan and she looks it. She may be well over 100 but she appears to be a human in her mid-30s, except of course for the ears and eyebrows. Her face, when set, looks like a regal, Vulcan face...until she cracks a huge smile and bounds over the desk to shake your hand. It's the wrong signal for what you expect. Her body language just confuses the hell out of your brain. And her reactions aren't exactly human, either; if anything, she's over-expressive. And hyper. A Vulcan with ADHD, can you imagine?
After a hearty "hello" hug she bounds back over the desk and into her chair, gesturing to another chair for me to sit in. I sit down and thank her for agreeing to meet with me. She smiles warmly.
Amara: Jeffy was a terrific friend. Anything I can do to help.
Me: Well, I don't know about "help" but I do have a question. It's almost certainly personal, so feel free to refuse to answer...but I hope you do answer.
Amara (warily): Go on.
Me: Tell me about the pebble.
(Silence. It drags on for what seems like hours, though I am sure it lasted no longer than a few seconds. Her eyes well up, and she sighs.)
Amara: I doubt it will make sense to anyone but me or Jeff.
Me: Perhaps, but I'd still like to hear the story. Was it related to the mission on Regulus IV?
Amara: You've been doing your homework, I see. Well. Yes, it does. But you have to understand that Jeffy and I were very close. Not in the salacious way some people implied; we were friends. Almost like siblings, but without the fighting. And he was excited about everything. Hell, the day he got his promotion to Captain, he came bounding into my ready room. "'Mara, 'Mara, guess what, guess what?" Like that.
(At this memory she smiles a sad smile.)
Amara: That closeness came very fast for us. Yes, we were on Regulus IV. It was one of the first real big missions either of us did. We'd met purely by random chance one day at Earth Space Dock, and before you knew it, we were teaming up to go protect Miral Paris.
At one point we're running across a beach, dodging fire from Klingons and Orions. Some stupid KDF lobbed a photon grenade at me. My personal shields were exhausted and I was hurt badly; that grenade would've wiped me out, or at least put me in the hospital for a very long time. Jeffy came running up and shoved me out of the way, taking the full force itself.
It's not as big a deal as it sounds. This sort of thing happens all the time on away missions. But we were young and scared. Anyway, I took that opportunity to wheel around and vaporize the munitions officer. Then I ran to check on Jeffy.
He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at me. I told him he probably just saved my life. He grinned and said, "You owe me, 'Mara! Your life! Or, in exchange, I'll accept your most valuable possession."
Possession? Hell, I didn't even own a holo-viewer. I sat down next to him and thought for a moment. Then I looked at the bottom of one of my boots and found a pebble jammed in the treads. I pried it out and handed it to him. "Here you go," I said. "Most valuable thing I've got. All yours. Treat it right, Jeffy, or I'll break your collar bone."
He took the pebble and looked at it with a solemn expression. He opened a sealed compartment on his belt, carefully placed the pebble inside, then re-sealed the compartment. He looked up at me and said, "I'll treasure it always, Amara." Then, after a moment, he grinned widely and shoved me so I fell over. Then he took off running.
When the administrator handed that pebble back to me the other day, I was overwhelmed. I had no idea he'd kept it all these years. Afterwards I tracked his daughter down.
(ARGH! Why didn't I think to interview his daughter? Bad Grbl3dor! Bad!)
Amara: She told me her father had shown her the pebble before. To him it represented a friendship so strong that it could last forever. Like stone. And he was returning it to me as an apology. "An apology?" I asked. "Yes," she said. "Dad was sorry that the friendship wasn't going to last longer."
Of course, you could hardly blame him. He lived to 106 after all; it's not like he was abandoning me. But I know that I'll never experience another friendship like that, and that's the saddest part of all.
Character: Admiral Starlin Jeffrey Hastings
Prized Possession: a pebble
When Trin steped out of the Turbolift to enter the bridge, a young talaxian ensign approaches him just to be directed elsewhere by Todd the first officer. The way in which the ensign was carrying his data padd, made it very clear that he had just arrived from the academy. When Todd prevented the new crewmember from facing his captain, saving Trin and the ensign from embarrassment. Commander Todd, I ll be in my ready room Trin announced somewhat more formal then was common for him. Todd understood, if only Trin could better comprehend what triggered these fits of bad temper in him.
Pouring ale from his personal stack into a glass he sat at his desk. The Verthrax had been on relief duties for quite some time. Its relatively large cargo holds were filled with supplies, to be delivered to various planets across the Regulus sector and the bordering Arucanis arm. The expanded medical facilities were filled with wounded casualties of a natural disaster in a nearby system. Nothing seemed to require his immediate attention.
On normal days MhaiDre's voice would be his most trusted adviser. He always admired her resolve and cunning, as much her unceasing passion for doing the right thing. They had become inseparable parts of him. It was hard to understand why Mhai would suddenly target her passions against Trin. What could upset a woman of her composure and go completely unnoticed by Trin? Unlike the memories of other hosts, it was as if Mhai prevented Trin from simply accessing her memories. Most of her life was filled with secrecy after she had fallen in love with a Romulan commander. Both Nveid and Mhai would have been outcast if their love had been conducted publicly. But before either had to choose sides, their relationship continued in secrecy for almost 15 standard years.
Trin focused on the time his mood swing had started earlier. He was standing in sickbay, surrounded by civilian causalities of the planetary disaster. Of the 280 patients that had beamed on board, Renesias team had miraculously managed to save 278. Thinking about his medical officer, Trin felt a sudden sense of pride. He had trusted and supported the sometimes impatient and eccentric Betazoid. But once she had discovered her interest in medicine her record was one of the most impressive in Starfleet history.
Mhai never liked Betazoids or any telepaths. In an attempt to protect herself and Nveid, Mhai had undertaken years of training among Vulcan reunificationists, who subverted various levels of both the Romulan Star Empire and Starfleet in an attempt to work together. The group was a mix of Vulcans, Romulans and Remans who trained each other to use their mental capacities as a means of protection. Had she not had the experiences of the Dre symbiont, it would have been impossible for her to distribute her mind so freely among this group, and yet finding a way back into her own persona. After years of practice, she had learned to interfere her normal stream of consciousness by jumping into the thought patterns and memories of previous hosts. The only thing that Mhai never anticipated was the way in which her powers to disguise her emotions and thoughts would prevent even future hosts from accessing her conscious. Until this day it felt like no one but Nveid would ever know the truth about Mhair.
Trin had only vague recollections of Mhais interrogations on board the USS Malis. Mhais training prevented that. She was captured by a Vulcan spy from Starfleet intelligence at a secret meeting on Earth. Her training successfully prevented her from revealing other members of her cell. So the intensity of the interrogations began to increase. Mhai realized that Starfleet would always find a way to make the golden rules and principals of the Federation be coherent but simply not apply in cases where they were inconvenient. How else could her interrogators torture her, a citizen of the UFP?
For 10 days the Vulcan accompanied by his Betazoid colleagues were trying to break into her consciousness. It felt like she had to relive every death of a loved one, all the horror and pain of her previous hosts two times over, always at the brick of loosing herself in a net of lies designed for her to reveal other members of her cell. There were brief moments of foolish victory when she succeeded in unlocking the blocks that ensured the logical purity of her Vulcan interrogator. Those rare moments of triumph were followed by brief spans in which she could guide her own consciousness ascension to its rightful place. She had managed to conceal a small tissue, and it became her sole anker to reality.
When Nveid and the crew of the Terix located and destroyed the Malis to liberate her, there was no return to the Federation or the Trill homeworld. She was a criminal for seeking peace with the wrong people. Mhai underwent cosmetic surgery, papers and evidence were forged, and she joined the Terix crew. At long last she could be with Nveid. Although the original tissue had been destroyed when the Terix crew broke into her cell, the habit of always carrying a tissue stayed with her until their retirement on Romulus.
Once more Trin, dwelled on the fact that there would never be Romulan silk again after the Hobus incident. Computer, show me the report on the two civilian casualties on board. Processing . But Trin didnt need to look at the screen anymore, he suddenly new what Mhai had immediately recognized while he was to busy looking elsewhere. He stood up, and went to the mortuary. The two corpses were lying in a stasis field waiting to be buried according to the customs of the disaster victims. An elderly couple, and in the left hand of the female corpse there it was, a piece of grey fabric, shimmering in the cold light of the stasis field.
Although little pieces of Romulan silk had always been popular around the galaxy, their subtleties were usually lost on those who owned them. Unlike their replicated counterparts, Romulan silk remained a craft and Romulan craftsmen took pride in their work. Their pride was only second to their pride into the empire, and on occasions not even that. The intense dedication to such seemingly mundane objects embedded a special quality in them. Thanks to Mhai, Trin immediately realized that the silk came from a master crafter of the southern River delta of Jullha province. This was not the cheap junk that still found its way from the outer colonies of Psi Velorum, how did it end up here?
He caught a glimpse of Mhais reflection in one of the LCARS screens:
You have always been more Vulcan then any of them, stop fighting your grief. We have taken the children and wives of previous hosts to their graves. Suppressing or clinging to grief will only consume us both. Remember, after the Borg had killed Aev, how Nveid wouldnt stop reciting classical Vulcan poetry in his lousy accent until you gave up and faced you emotions openly? Share your pain, and pride with me, so I can honor their memory.
Oh those are fancy napkins, I didnt know the replicator could make these Renesia said while sitting at the dinner table inside Trindres quarters. It was obvious that she sensed their significance to her CO and decided to let her curiosity get the better of her. Romulan Silk, crafted in Jullha province, some of the finest ever made. Trin replied, Oh another one of those presents you inherited from Mhai? Todd said while enjoying his meal, Yes, just like these daily meals with my officers. It was important to Mhai to be herself around her crew, I like the idea.
She paused at the top of the steps and looked around, eventually spotting the two members of her parental quad who had accompanied her to Earth of her entrance exams. Jeysa and Thaleb were a striking couple as they shared the shade of one of the massive oak trees on the campus. They were both warriors, though Thalebs focus had turned to using his knowledge of fighting to craft some of the finest, and most sought after weapons on Andoria. There had been bitter arguments in the family home when Tiran announced her desire to join Starfleet, but Jesya and Thaleb had never wavered in their support of her desire.
Tiran bounded down the stairs toward her parents who both looked up expectantly. I passed, she announced happily, throwing herself into Thalebs arms and receiving a crushing embrace.
We knew that you would, her fathers deep rumbling voice assured her before he released her and showed her his broad grin.
Your great grandfather would be proud, Jeysa assured Tiran and suddenly the shadow of her great-grandfather, the famed General Shran, hovered about them. It was quite a lot to live up to, Tiran realized, trepidation eroding her smile a little.
Well, we cannot have our daughter going into space without adequate protection, Thaleb said, adroitly changing the subject and drawing Tirans attention back to him. He reached into Jeysas bag and pulled out a bundle of dark blue silk which bore the crest of their keth, or clan, upon it.
For me? Tiran asked, looking between her parents with wide eyes as her smile returned.
Jeysa nodded as Tiran took the bundle and carefully folded back the cloth. Nestled within it was a brand new chaka, the ceremonial dueling blade of Andoria. It was clearly Thalebs work and the metal had the distinctive bluish tint that he imparted to his pieces. Carefully, Tiran picked the weapon up and tested its balance. She then stepped back and performed a series of quick thrusts and slashes with the weapon, the alarmed looks from other parents and newly-minted cadets unheeded.
After satisfying herself that the blade had been perfectly crafted to fit in her hand, Tiran straightened up and smiled. I will make you proud, she said, bowing to her parents as she removed her old chaka from the sheath at the small of her back and replaced it with the new one. She resolved that from that day forward, the weapon would always be at hand; not only as protection, but as a tangible reminder of her familys love and her duty toward them.
Thirty years after graduation, Captain Arkim once again sat in the old drinking hole of his Academy days. He was light years away from Earth, streaking across space at Warp 9.5 in the starship he now commanded; but in the holodeck, in a recreation of Boothby's as it had appeared in 2379, Arkim sat at a table near the back of the bar, full of nostalgia and allowing himself to believe, for now at least, that he was back in the cadets' bar on the grounds of the San Francisco campus. He raised a square glass to his lips and took a sip from the replicated Samarian Sunset it contained, reminiscing and patiently waiting for his old friend Oz to patch in.
The Odd Squad trio had remained close friends over the years, despite the fact that their careers had taken them to different starships, which in turn had carried them off to different and distant corners of the galaxy. At this moment, Arkim was patrolling the Bajor sector in the Alpha Quadrant, while Oz was on a five-year diplomatic and reconnaissance mission in the Delta Quadrant. Through the wonders of transwarp micro-threading through the MIDAS array, the two old friends were about to rendezvous for a drink, exchanging holographic feeds in real time for a meeting in a shared holographic setting, each man interacting with a hologram of the other. Arkim had chosen the setting on this occasion; it was an important day, and this was the most appropriate place in the galaxy that he could think of to remember an old friend.
As he waited, Arkim savored the drink and the reassuring embrace of familiar surroundings, his mind battling against an onslaught of grief using an army of happy memories of Oz and Jun. He loved those two, without condition, and as deeply as if they were members of his own family. Ties stronger than blood or water bound these three together. They had literally saved the galaxy together. They had watched each other grow up, raise families and build careers. They had been counselors and champions for each other, they had spoken the truth whenever it needed to be heard, they had laughed and joked, they had entertained the crowd at Pelios Station with their impromptu three-piece rendition of Melor Famagal, and they had grown old in each other's unwavering company.
Friends for life, they'd always said. And beyond, Arkim thought, in a moment of realization that he had never had until this moment. Jun was gone, the victim of a terminal Betazoid neurological condition. Almost three years since her death and still, in moments of quiet reflection and in many unguarded thoughts in between, the vacuum Jun had left behind her pulled at Arkim like an inescapable black hole. He had refused to ever mark the anniversary of her death, but he met with Oz each year on Jun's birthday, reuniting the Odd Squad in spirit and conversation, just as they would today.
Arkim absentmindedly ran his fingers over a small wooden box he had brought with him into the holographic Boothby's. The box was almost black in color, made from ebony with deep grooves carved into its dark surface that divided the faces of the box into triangles and diamonds. The lid was thicker than the rest of the box, hinged at the back and with a simple hook at the front that swiveled down to clasp a small stud to keep the box closed.
His mind drifted back from treasured memories to the little treasure chest between his fingers, the box reasserting itself into his consciousness, his little collection of things he never wanted to forget.
He freed the metal hook from its latch and pushed the top of the box open. A feint but pleasing and familiar whiff of old wood greeted his nostrils, and he smiled wistfully as he gazed down at the assorted keepsakes the box contained. He began to finger through the lifetime's worth of mementos: his first mission patch, showing the stylized logo of Starfleet's Medical Relief Effort to Cardassia; a metal whistle from the bazaar in Rakantha; a blue pebble from the foot of the Cliffs of Bole; his mother's hand-written recipe for steamed azna; a small bottle of Mintakan mead; a picture of Jun on stage at the Academy Revue in full costume as Jean Luc B'stard, an affectionate parody of the famed Federation ambassador and her former mentor; and a Dabo chip from Drozana Station, taken as a souvenir on the eve of Oz's wedding.
At the back of the box was a white envelope, with Arkim's name written upon it, opened but with the flap tucked back inside to protect what lay within. His fingers paused, almost unwilling to open the envelope despite the fact that this was the thing he loved the most.
He sighed gently and curled thumb and forefinger around the envelope, lifting it out of the box as his eyes welled up with tears. It was a letter from Jun, handwritten on real paper in the months leading up to her death and given to him at the funeral by her daughter.
He opened the envelope now, half expecting this time, as he had done when he first opened it three years ago and every time since, that it would contain a long correspondence from his old friend. But instead, as always, it contained only a single folded sheet of white paper.
He unfolded the paper and looked down at the words written upon it in black ink.
It bore just two short words, written in Juns hand, in the very center of the page.
Thank you.
Captain Q'loveH, Son of Kerla
*****
Lieutenant Muk'da entered his Captains office and snapped a Salute. "You wanted to see me?"
Q'loveH glances up from his computer terminal and gives a quick nod before tossing a Padd across his desk. "Give these to Kobor. This approach is going to be tricky."
"Yes, sir" Muk'da replies as he scoops up the Padd.
Several Seconds pass and out of the corner of his eye Q'loveH notices Muk'da Hovering over near his desk still. Q'loveH turns to his officer, "Is there a problem Lieutenant?"
Startled Muk'da straightens and replies "No sir. uh.. I. It's nothing."
"If you have something to add then out with it."
"It's nothing important. I was just trying to place the symbol on the badge on your desk. I noticed the same symbol behind an old panel in Engineering while running some diagnostics."
Q'loveH turns his gaze to a small badge perched atop a small Pedestal on his desk and plucks it up in his hand. He examines it for a few seconds causing Muk'da to shift uneasily as the silence fills the room. Q'loveH traces the symbol with his thumb and finally speaks. "It's the mark of house Siqta'qu."
"I'm not familiar with that house."
"You are young and that SiQta'qu was never part of the High Council. At our height we were poised to challenge for a seat but that is long gone."
Muk'da's face grew a puzzled expression "Your house? I though your house..."
Q'loveH cut him off with a wave "I was once a member of that house. This ship was once part of that house. SiQta'qu however is no more. Poor leadership shattered what we had and those of us who remained joined other houses or started a new one as I did." Q'loveH indicated the badge in his hand "Only one other followed me on my path although he stubbornly clung to the old house. His name was Qoloth."
"Kholoth? The Dahar master?"
Q'loveH laughs and shakes his head, "No. Not that Kholoth. He was a good and loyal friends none the less. We served together aboard this very ship for many years and shared glory in countless battles."
"I see. He is dead then?"
Q'loveH grew more somber and nodded "He died just as the war with the Gorn began."
"He died in battle then?"
Q'loveH again grew silent and placed the badge back on it's pedestal. "There will be time enough for stories another time. I need you to get those calculations up to the bridge. We will be arriving in several hours."
Muk'da snaps to attention once more and says, "Yes sir. I appreciate you indulging my curiosity." Then left for the bridge
Q'loveH to his console and pours over the Intel for what seems the hundredth time. Several hours pass and his studies are interrupted by a call from the Bridge. "We are approaching the target system sir."
Q'loveH acknowledged the summons and stood to leave. He paused only briefly and plucked up the badge once more. "You will enjoy this fight old friend. Outnumbered and deep behind enemy lines." He grins again and tucks the Badge into his belt before leaving for the bridge.
QloveH and Qoloth rides to battle aboard the yaybom once more.
By Bazag
The duties of Starfleet were many, especially in an environment as war torn as the galaxy seemed to be. For the Bajoran Vice Admiral, Talar Bazran some of the occurances he understood all too well. People doing what they must to survive even that commander of the Tal Shiar Hakeev, in his own way.
However there was so much more that made little sense the Hirogen. Hunting others for sport? That made no sense from a tactical perspective nor from any other really. The True Way had some ideological basis but hurting their own people to cow them into submission? That wasnt survival that was something else entirely.
He had become tired of war, tired of having to make decisions that resulted in peoples lives being lost, tired of having to continually defend himself and others from the aggressions of others but most importantly tired emotionally.
However there was one thing that he had that kept him fighting. His fathers earring, it had been taken when his father had been killed during the occupation but ten years ago almost exactly to the day. A young Cardassian had sought him out and returned the earring to Bazran. He didnt ask why or hat drove the Cardassian to return it but finally once again he had a link back to his father.
Every time he held it he knew he couldnt stop fighting for what was right. He could not let himself forget his father and his dogged determination to fight against the Cardassians for a free Bajor then and now Talar Bazran could only fight for those that needed help whether it was through the branch of diplomacy or through the end of a phaser. His work still had to go on.
It must have been about two weeks out, on our first tour, when we received the distress call. A colony out on the outer rim. It was an automated message.. you know the type "please send help, any Starfleet vessel, please respond immediately." We were doing the standard colony patrol run in those days.. the Jonas Grumby was honestly little more than a freighter. An old Miranda Class ship that had been rebuilt from scrap so many times, well like I said, it wasn't a top-of-the-line ship.
We travelled to the colony as fast as we could, hailing them all along the way. No response. By the time we received their distress call, it had been repeating for several days. You know that feeling of dread when you know you're probably too late? Yeah, we were all feeling that.
Well when we got there, we scanned the area.. no alien ships, no weapons signatures, and inconclusive life signs on the planet below. From orbit, there's only so much you can tell, especially with the marginal sensors on the Jonas. We could scan for atmospheric gasses, radiation, etc, but you couldn't tell if people were dead or dying, and if they were dying, whether they were dying from some kind of virus, or weapons fire. We had to go down there. I mean, you HAVE to try and help, right?
We took every precaution. Shuttles, Environment Suits, Double DeCon procedure, both leaving the ship and coming back.
When we got there.. it was like a ghost town. It was one of those borderline M-Class planets.. you know "M for We'll Manage". It was a dry planet, a bit like a desert town, at least that's what the area around the colony was like. Everything was silent, and still. The streets were deserted, the vehicles parked.. honestly it seemed like everyone had just stayed home one day, like they'd all called in sick.
That's where we found them.. in their homes. They'd been dead, maybe a week. The warm, dry air, and the relative lack of microbes meant that there wasn't really much decomposition. Each of them, huddled in their beds, bundled up in blankets like they were trying to ward off a chill.
It took us nearly a month of the most dreadful work to process, identify, and bury all the bodies. Four thousand colonists.. men, women, children.. Farmers, ranchers, teachers... and yet, a medic on the very first team, a kid really, not 6 months out of the academy, and she determines what killed them all in less than 15 minutes.
Four thousand lives snuffed out in the span of a few days, by a drug-resistant strain of Andorian Flu that hitched a ride in a damned cargo container. The colony was equipped with medical replicators, protein resequencers, everything they could possibly need to combat the disease. Worst of all, the damned virus in question had a cure on file for the last 60 years in the Starfleet Medical database.
We sat in orbit for another week.. waiting for Starfleet to decide how we should proceed. It took a toll on the crew.. and a toll on me too, and the mood on the ship was just awful. That's when the ship's Quartermaster asked me what we should do with the cargo that was meant for the colonists. The Chief Science Officer, a Denobulan named Hajen, was within earshot when the QM called me, and so the two of us went down to the cargobay to talk to him and scope out the situation.
And as we stood there, looking at the pallets of cargo, and Hajen was looking over the manifest as the QM and I started arguing over what to re-direct, what to move to Ship's stores or recycle, what to pass on to other colonies, and what to just dump.. and all of a sudden Hajen threw the padd on the floor, and he walked over and began pulling apart the pallets and boxes, all the time mumbling "8931" until he came up with this one cargo container. You don't usually see a Denobulan get angry, but Hajen was like a man possessed. He popped that container open, and dumped the contents out onto the floor, rummaging around in the pile of various wire harnesses, tricorder cases, medkits, and so on, and he pulled out this little box of green Isolinear chips, And then he just stood there.. staring at the damned box.
There had been a fire at the colony's Medical Center about a year before, and their only medical database uplink terminal had been damaged in the fire. They'd ordered a replacement and three backup units as well, so they'd never have that happen again. The replacement units had arrived 6 months earlier, but for whatever reason, the terminals shipped with a bug in their coding. It wasn't anything major really.. it just kept the uplink from accessing about 0.1% of the Starfleet medical database.
And this isolinear chip right here.. one of the very ones that Hajen pulled out of the cargo container, contains the damned software update that would have fixed the problem. And the only reason we had them in our shipment, is because an Andorian dock worker, nursing a mild case of the flu, accidentally left the pack of Isolinear chips out of the last cargo shipment to come to the colony before ours.
Every time we leave starbase, after fresh crew rotations.. I do the standard "Welcome aboard" pep-talk speech for all the crew, new and old. And every time I give that speech, I take this Isolinear chip with me. And I tell the new recruits the story, of how an honest mistake can cost thousands of lives. And then I tell them this:
Space travel is a dirty, difficult business. One tiny mistake, even an honest mistake, can indeed cost lives. Each of us, at one time or another, will do something, forget something, take too long to decide what to do, hesitate, miss a shot, TRIBBLE up a number, and every once in a while, press the wrong button. God knows there's plenty of buttons to press on a Starship. Even a Vulcan mathematics expert can't anticipate all the angles. I don't care who you are, or how good you are, perfection is simply impossible. While I expect my crew to do their very best, I insist that they have the ability to acknowledge when they make a mistake, and to do their very best to amend that mistake as soon as it's noticed, and try and find ways to avoid, or prevent that sort of mistake in the future. You can let a mistake defeat you, or let it challenge you to do better.
That Andorian dock worker.. he went on to develop the triple-scan cargo tracking system that all Federation Starbases use now, and he helped change the way that software updates are distributed through the various Federation Medical, Science, and even Astro-Navigation databases. It's all automated with triple redundancies now, and happens in the blink of an eye. No more waiting 2 months for a box of isolinear chips.
Among the many (and often colourful) aliens walked Jijan Tyr, captain of the USS Caroline. With the ship undergoing minor repairs and resupplying he had allowed some shore leave for himself and the crew. He loved looking at the stations visitors, or talking to them. It reminded him of why he joined Starfleet: to seek out and explore new cultures.
Seeing as he still had some time before he met up with Thryiss at the Replimat he walked towards one of the newer shops. Undoubtedly she wants to review tactical evaluation reports, he thought by himself as he stepped through the sliding door. The idea of sitting through an hour of that in his spare time sent shivers along his spots. Its not exactly Starfleet regulation but maybe I should *try* teach her how to have a good time.
The inside of the small store was a mixture of an antique store and a flea market. Many of the items stalled out were esthetically incompatible with the overpowering Cardassian architecture, but the storeowner had gone to great lengths to cover large portions of the walls with tapestries and shelves. Without thinking he began to examine certain objects or simply hold them, Trill hands were always cold and this allowed them to appreciate the warmth of an object along with its other artistic features. As he was musing on all this he let his hands carry on like they had a life of itheir own, they took him to a container filled with paper books. As he was shifting through a dozen or so copies of The teachings of Surak he felt something familiar. He looked down and saw an old thick leather-bound book, with loads of extra papers and drawings sticking out from all sides. He looked at it intently for a few seconds and suddenly
He was a little girl listening to mother telling bedtime stories of the lyriads, a legendary race of aquatic people that lived in oceans and beneath the ice caps near Tenaren. Not unlike Earth mermaids.
She was sitting on a pier overlooking the ocean, the little girl (now a bit older) dreaming of what life would be like under those waves. She reveled as they crashed on the shore and the spray hit her feet while the breeze whipped through her hair.
Another later memory: a voyage at sea inspired a now grown up Esja to start writing a novel. She looked for ages to find a hand-made paper book and in the end had to resort to making one herself.
Writers block, Esja goes diving out of season, the cold water nearly kills her but she has some great stories to tell.
Days and days of sitting locked up in her room and writing, writing, writing Must get out, OUT!! Run barefoot through the grassy hills maybe??
Disaster, Esja goes out for tea and her bag gets stolen, along with her novel. She spends days searching every garbage disposal unit and another week talking to people in order to find a lead. In the end she has to conclude that she will never be able to finish the story she wanted to tell since childhood. Esja spends the rest of the week crying herself to sleep, trying to remember what she wrote down, but knowing it is hopeless, rewriting it from scratch would deprive it of its soul.
The excentric Trill artist paints one of her greatest masterpieces called the Lyriad, she literally mixes her tears with the paint. When it is done her time of mourning is over.
With a colossal effort Jijan braces himself from the flood of memories. The experience was so intense that his eyes are all watery. He looks down at the little book, wondering what to do. His first instinct is to put the it back. There is a stigma on having any sort of connection with a past life, this novel certainly qualifies as one. Yet as his hand moves slowly back to the container it seems like something inside him is tearing at the walls of his heart, screaming for him to stop putting it away and embrace it.
Are you alright.
Yeah, sure, Jijan looks at the Bajoran shopkeepster who looks at him with a worried smile. Im sorry but, could you tell me where you got this?
Oh that thing. I bought it from a Ferengi merchant for ten slips of latinum. He *claimed* it was an old religious text in some forgotten language. She sighed and looked a little embarrassed. I shouldnt have believed him. Turns out its nothing but an old folk legend written in modern Trill. Are you interested? Its yours for two slips I just want to get rid of it.
He paid the shopkeeper twelve slips and went to his quarters first to put it safely away before arriving a little late to meet up with Thryiss.
Where did you get this, Tnya asked as she grabbed hold of something odd and leathery on the captains desk.
Be careful with that, its very old!
Its in Trill isnt it? Why isnt it written on a PADD?
My first host, Esja, believed it would suck the soul out of anything if she used electronic recording devices", he answered with a chuckle.
Wéll that may be so but now I have no idea what it says here, I dont read Trill.
Its ok its unfinished anyway. Jijan gingerly takes the novel back and puts it in a drawer under his desk.
Why dont you finish it?
Wha , the question took him a little by surprise, because its forbidden to pick up a past life. Wed never get done with all our unfinished bussiness
And yet here you have a book written by one of your old hosts.
Still, if I were to publish something written by an artist who lived 250 years ago, especially if she was me the symbiosis commission would freak ... for starters
Who says anything about publishing? Do it for yourself! She pointed at his heart and then, thinking otherwise, pointed at his abdomen. What would *she* want you to do? Just, think about it okay? It would be so cool if you did. And with that Tnya walked out the door.
Captain Tyr stood looking at the doorway for a long time. Eventually he said: Computer, one fountain pen of Trill Jaladen design and add a large purple feather to it.
But they had never seen her work privately in her quarters, sitting as primly as possible as she worked on schematics, the old stylus twirling between her long fingers, and if they did, it would be an alarming sight. You see, it was a rather human thing to do, like when someone's leg shakes absently if they sat still for too long. Vulcans have a more stronger control on their bodies to not warrant such a subconscious reaction and yet here was their Vulcan captain, spinning the stylus absently as her focus remained solely on the work in front of her.
There was nothing special about this stylus as far as her crew was concerned. Vulcans do not hold such favors over inanimate objects. It was simply not a logical past time to do. However not logical, it did not mean that T'Shani believed in it.
It belonged to her human lover, who had passed on. A momento of the first time they had met.
Illogical, She had said quietly, watching a man no older than twenty-five passing the time away in a cramped conference room by spinning a stylus obscenely fast and with a begrudging precision. What use do you have with creating arc motions with a stylus?
If anything, the spinning was starting to grate on her nerves and not even a quiet meditation could quell it. Perhaps it was the lowered temperature of the room to suit the human visitors or the way the young man barely out of the academy seemed so...nonchalant about precious dilithium shipments between colonies?
I'm bored. This is a dying art for the bored. Not everyone can do this anymore. Takes skill. The man said with a long suffering sigh. T'Shani raised an eyebrow.
I am unfamiliar with this practice, She admitted, not all too familiar about Earth customs. Which was reprehensible. As soon as she returned home, she will have to brush up on it if she was to ever mingle with the Human populous again. Does spinning an object like a stylus cure your ineptitude to concentrate?
The man paused and stared at the stylus, as if contemplating the universe before looking back at her and shrugged. It is what it is.
I do not understand.
It's hard to explain why I do it, I just do. He then grinned, which for some reason, affronted her. Want me to teach you?
It was a rather eventful thirty minutes.
She was startled out of her silent reverie when First Officer Shelana buzzed and entered her quarters, carrying what looked like a cracked dilithium crystal. Captain, we're down another one. Orders? The Andorian's antennae twitched in what looked like irritation. Her First Officer may still be blaming Lorita for the blowout after the long battle with Orion pirates. T'Shani quietly admitted that the Human engineer was a bit too trigger-happy regarding their engines.
T'Shani set the stylus down and rose from her seat, falling into her efficient Captain mode. Continue course to Sol System for repairs. We'll drop impulse power to fifty percent this time. It would be more logical to move slower than risk another blackout.
Affirmative, Captain, Shelana nodded and paused, halfway out the door, her eyes moving toward the old stylus on the desk. Uh...were you, twirling that stylus? T'Shani felt heat rise up in her cheeks, but she wasn't blushing. Vulcans do not blush. And they do not lie either.
Yes.
May I ask why?
Raising an eyebrow, she slowly rolled her shoulders back in a shrug, giving Shelana her best answer. It is what it is.
By Thermalscorpion
"The Pashtir ambassador is refusing to speak to anyone for the next four hours Admiral," Lieutenant Connors said in a sheepish tone.
"I see. He simply wishes to recapture the initiative in the negotiations. Pashtir are long game players. Let him have his four hours, but at hour three, message the ambassadors aides that we will restart the negotiations in the observation deck. I want engineering to check the environmental systems in the briefing room we have been using," the Starfleet admiral behind the desk replied in her even tone.
The lieutenant had a perplexed expression, "Admiral? The environmental system seemed to be working fine."
"Correct. The change of venue will serve to neutralize any initiative advantage the Pashtir ambassador expects to gain. They are a very territorial species and relocating the negotiations will force him to reacclimatize to the physical area. At twenty minutes into the negotiations, bring in a tray of Kitarian chocolates and some Trixian bubble juice. The Pashtir ambassador likes both and it will help settle the discomfort of being relocated with little warning just enough," the Admiral replied.
"Understood."
"Dismissed, Lieutenant."
The door to Vice Admiral Selir Kadests ready room hissed shut, leaving her alone save for the gently pulsing hum of the ship's systems. Despite her half Vulcan heritage, Selir found herself grasping for patience which remained as illusive as smoke on a windy day. Her other half, the Kelsaati side, urged action. Decisive action fueled by emotion.
After a week of moderating the negotiations between the Pashtir and the Ven'tai, little progress had been made. Each side was recalcitrant and, in the Pashtir's case, downright belligerent. The two species had been fighting for over sixty years and the conflict had drained each power's economy and spirit. They had asked for Federation help in mediating a peace treaty. In response, the U.S.S. Ascendant had been dispatched and Selir had been placed in charge of the mission.
In her long career with Starfleet, Selir had never considered herself a skilled diplomat. The numerous commendations and honors that filled her service record were all tied to her participation in conflicts or exploration. Of course, she had served in a diplomatic role numerous times during her fifty-five year career, but in comparison to her other accomplishments, those assignments had been few and far between.
The dark haired woman rose from behind her desk and crossed the spacious ready room. She paused in front of a small glass and wood shelf that had a few personal items on it and crouched down so she could reach the bottom shelf. Selir ignored everything but a simple wooden carving of a Sehlat that sat on the bottommost shelf.
Slowly, she reached for the pale wooden feline and traced the tips of her fingers along the figurines sloping back. The woodcrafter had paid careful attention to the shape of the carving, ensuring that every curve was accurate to the real creature. What it lacked was detail; the eyes were simple indentations, the toes were rounded and lacked distinct claws, and there was no clear shape that indicated the creature was furry.
What it did have were the very distinct fangs that most beings associated with the Sehlat species. Selir carefully picked up the wooden figurine and walked back over to her desk. She placed it in the center of the flat black desktop and took her seat again. Selir's brilliant green eyes focused on the object and then inhaled deeply. With steady control, Selir released the breath very slowly until it was entirely expended. The action was repeated several more times and, as she went through the meditative technique, Selir allowed part of her mind to journey into memory.
As a child of five, she had created the small item for her mother out of a piece of Tishal wood. It hadn't been voluntary. Her Vulcan mother had attempted to use the act of carving the wooden figure as an exercise in patience. Patience Selir had lacked as a child. Physically, she was more Kelsaati than Vulcan, but emotionally, she took after her mother's people. When she was younger, those emotions were very difficult for her to rein in. So much so that she had come into violent conflict with the Kelsaati children she played with more than once.
Selir distinctly remembered how gleefully she carved the fangs of the Sehlat and how much attention she had paid to the accuracy of their curve and sharpness of their points. At the time, she was angry that she wasn't allowed to go play and had imagined the small wooden figure biting her mother. That had been the predatory side of her personality, the Kelsaati side.
The Kelsaati had evolved from a felinoid species that had to compete to survive against numerous other predators that stalked the jungles of their homeworld. Like many of the creatures on their homeworld, they had evolved the ability to change shape and that had allowed them to view other creatures from a different point of view. It was that adaptation that had given them the ability to evolve true sentience and pull themselves out of a brutal existence of simple survival. It had taken them thousands of years to gain that control and then master their world.
As a people the Kelsaati were very harmonious and lived in large family groups that increased survivability on a dangerous world. They worked together as well as played together for the greater good of all. Conflicts were solved by ritual challenge versus warfare but Selir remembered conflicting more often than not.
Her father had told Selir the history of their people numerous times, and of their rise. He made her memorize the tales and take the shapes of the various creatures in them as a means of understanding herself and others. Unlike Selir's mother, her father made the lessons fun.
Selir felt a slight tinge of anger towards her mother, but pushed it away and let it flow back into the river of her mind. It was a holdover from her childhood. The two women had mended fences long ago. There was still occasional tension between mother and daughter but outright anger had been banished. Though Selir had never fully embraced her Vulcan heritage as her mother had hoped, she had taken the best of it and combined it with the best of her father's people.
That thought drew Selir forward in time. She remembered the day she arrived at the monastery on Vulcan as if it were happening at that very moment.
Anger had filled every part of a ten-year-old Selir as she stood before the large stone monastery. She had beamed down from the Kelsaati ship and was immediately struck by how hot and dry Vulcan was. At the time, she considered that the bleak unforgiving nature of the planet had mirrored itself in the people who evolved there, especially her mother. She was sent off with only a single bag that contained one change of clothes and one personal item from each of her parents.
Her father had given Selir his favorite Shrral blade, a short curving blade that was used for utility as much as it was for hunting and combat. Selir's mother had returned the wooden carving of the Shoat to her. At the time, Selir had perceived the gesture as a physical representation of her mother's revenge. The wise Vulcan woman had known exactly why Selir had put so much attention into the Sehlat's fangs and immediately called Selir out about it. Of course, it was a calm, logical, and emotionless discourse, but Selir had applied numerous emotional tags to what her mother had said.
Now, her mother was paying her back by exiling her from Kelsaat under the guise of learning emotional control. It had taken Selir over a year to fit in to the Vulcan monasterys society. Calm was always elusive and there was never a chance to truly play. She had hated it and hated everyone around her.
It wasn't until Master Talvak returned from P'Jem that Selir found someone she could get along with. The relatively young Vulcan master reminded Selir of her father and displayed patience with her antics and temper just as he had. No matter how angry she grew at him, he would act as if Selir's demeanor were as serene as the desert after a sandstorm. Once Selir realized that nothing she could do would anger Talvak, her own fury seemed inconsequential and ebbed away.
Talvak challenged Selir to understand the Vulcan way and the reasons for why the Vulcan people reined in their own emotions. He had challenged her to be a wise Kelsaati hunter and learn how a Vulcan behaved and why so that she could never be bested by one. It had taken months to accomplish, but once that understanding had been achieved, Selir learned to love the Vulcan people as much as the Kelsaati.
As a reward, Talvak schooled Selir in the martial arts of Ponn-ifla and Kareel-ifla, though in the later she excelled. The more aggressive Kareel-ifla appealed to Selir's Kelsaati blood while the more defensive Ponn-ifla helped her find serenity. Learning the two styles let Selir find the balance she needed. It closed the rift between the Vulcan and the Kelsaati sides of her psyche. For the first time in her life, she felt whole.
By Thermalscorpion
After ten years in the monastery, Selir announced her decision to apply for Starfleet Academy. Though Master Talvak understood Selir's desire to move on, her mother did not. Shortly after her announcement, Selir's mother arrived on Vulcan in an attempt to dissuade her from leaving. The argument that resulted was a battle of logic that seemed to stun Selir's mother. For once, Selir was calm and measured in her response as opposed to belligerent and hostile. In the end, her mother relented, acknowledging that her daughter had matured to an acceptable level. Then, Selir presented her mother with the wooden figurine that was as pristine as it had been the day it had been made and exited the room.
It would be years before Selir would see the figurine again. This time, it was at her wedding. Selir seemed to have a talent for disappointing her mother, and her choice of husband was no different.
Tellost Ker was a Joined Trill and a Lieutenant Commander in Starfleet. He and Selir had met on Risa five years prior and their brief but intense relationship had left them both wanting more. However, duty had called both of them away. Later, they had encountered one another on Deep Space Nine shortly before the Dominion War. They were both moving to their new posts on the Akira class cruiser, Helios. It hadn't taken long for each of them to realize that they wanted to make a commitment to one another.
Tellost was charming and funny and brought out those traits in the normally reserved Selir. As charming as Tellost was, he could also be infuriating. The Trill engineer had a penchant for speaking his mind when tact was better served and, in private, he would challenge Selir's patience by injecting chaos into her ordered life. Still, Selir felt more whole with his presence in her life than without.
Their relationship had also caused some contention in Starfleet as Selir was the first officer of the U.S.S. Helios and Tellost was to be its Chief Engineer. There was a worry about conflict of interest and the first officer being unwilling to sacrifice their loved one if it were necessary. Starfleet's regulations concerning officer's being allowed to honor their cultural traditions saved the couple's relationship. The Kelsaati routinely crewed their ships with mates, siblings, and parents, so the decision was made to allow Selir and Tellost to remain at their posts for a probationary period. Selir, in true Vulcan fashion, managed to keep her detachment and Starfleet made the arrangement permanent. A year later, the couple was married on Deep Space Nine.
At the end of the reception, Selir's mother presented her with the figurine once more. It seemed to be their strongest bond. There were few words exchanged concerning the small wooden Sehlat.
You will need this. Her mother said simply.
The sound of the ready room's door chime pulled Selir back to the here and now and she looked up from the figurine. "Enter."
Lieutenant Connors walked in and stood before Selir's desk. "Admiral, all of the requested preparations have been completed. I also made sure to add a few food items for all of the participants. Was there anything else?"
Selir shook her head and looked up at the wiry human man. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Take some time for yourself. We'll be in the thick of it soon enough."
Connors smiled warmly. "You should do the same, Admiral. The Pashtir ambassador seems set on causing you as much frustration as possible."
A reserved smile formed on Selir's lips. She picked up the Sehlat figurine and set it to the side of her desk. "I have three husbands, four wives, and eleven children. I believe I am ready for the Ambassador's tactics."
The young lieutenant chuckled. "It's hard to imagine the negotiations that must take place in your family, Admiral."
"Oh, I can give you quite a bit of detail if you'd like, but it may make you hesitant to get married," Selir said. Her eyes filled with mischief as she shifted from business-like Vulcan to playful Kelsaati.
The Lieutenant laughed quietly. "With all due respect, I think I'll leave the details to my imagination." He motioned to the wooden Sehlat on Selir's desk. "I've been meaning to ask, is that present from one of your children?"
Selir looked down at the figurine again, her fingers tracing the spine of it. "It's my patience."
NX- 92274-C
Reasearch Science Vessel (Experimental Class)
Commander Lilleth James
0900hrs
Alpha shift has begun
Lilleth sat up in her ready room as she heard the familiar sound of the computer announcing the beginning of a new day. She tapped her console to life, preparing for the onslaught of reports and requests she knew she was about to receive.
--Door Chime--
She let a small sigh out, knowing exactly who it would be.
Come in
Ah Captain, there you are the shorter, lithe betazoid woman called as she entered. You didn't show up for your appointment this morning she continued, a slight scowl gracing her flawless features. Oh how Lilleth hated those looks.
I know, I'm sorry Bekah. Quinny's had me filling out these idiotic reports and... I lost track of time she lied. One of the benefits of being a Joined Trill is that your poker face is impeccable. Unfortunately, due to her sleep deprived state she forgot who she was trying to fool.
Really Rebecca replied skeptically, pulling off her best vulcan eyebrow look.
Lilleth wasn't about to give in though. What do you want Doctor?
Rebecca was a bit taken aback by this sudden change in attitude and paused for a few moments. Lilleth took this as her cue to return her attention to her console, effectively dismissing the confused doctor.
As the doors slid shut, Lilleth leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes and traced the outline of her new implant. Images flooded her mind, some pleasant, others, not so much.
She knew Rebecca was only trying to help. They all were, but that's not what she needed right now.
2200hrs
Delta Shift has Begun announced the computer.
Lilleth hadn't realised what time it was. 'I must have fallen asleep this morning' she thought to herself.
Cursing, she stood, stretched and then padded to the door. Emerging onto the bridge, her bridge, she watched the various procedures and conversations that accompanied the changing of the watch.
Commander a soft male voice spoke from behind her.
Turning, she found the monstrous looking owner of the voice towering over her.
Yes Karatek She asked of her Reman science officer.
I have been sensing unease from the both of you all day He replied, his eyes penetrating her own. For a moment she thought she could see real concern in his usually fierce features.
She knew Karatek was a skilled telepath, potentially surpassing Bekah's skills, but how could she tell her crew what was going on? Or did he already know?
He pulled her aside, back into the alcove that lead to her ready room.
Lilleth, he intoned in a calm soothing voice, belying his fierce looks. I can feel you're pain. I spoke to Dr Sillars earlier. You know you need help.
She knew what he was saying was true but she would be damned if he thought she wouldn't resist.
Squaring her jaw and steeling her eyes, she stared him down Stand aside Lieutenant.
Before he could react, she brushed passed him and walked straight for the Turbolift.
Deck 2 Section 1 she called as the doors closed behind her. She could feel the dull thud behind her eyes, a tell tale sign of a migraine starting.
The lift slid to a stop. The doors opened.
Resistance Is Futile
A scream pierced the dark assimilation chamber. The scream of a mother trying to protect her child. But there was no mother, there was no child. Only the bloodied form of a Trill, strapped to a table, a symbiont half outside of her body, with borg surrounding their forms. The young woman was desperately trying to fight her way out of her shackles, but it was no use. A device was moving slowly towards her head from above, countless sharp, pointed needles and laser emitters protruding from it.
"NO"
Captain are you alright!
Lilleth looked up and suddenly found the usually stoic Liberated Borg's features a picture of concern.
Three? She questioned.
Yes Captain. We should take you to sickbay, you appear most unwell Three of Four responded, helping Lilleth stand.
No she replied with as much force as she could muster.
But Captain..
No Three, help me to my quarters Lilleth interjected before she could protest again.
To her credit, Three began to aid the Trill, past the small crowd of concerned crew members, to her quarters.
As they entered the slightly chilled room, Three helped set Lilleth down on a lounge chair.
Would you like me to call Commander Smith or Doctor Sillars? Three asked.
No. Thank you Three, Lilleth replied quietly, absently touching the implant above her eye.
Three nodded and turned to walk back out of the door. Just before she crossed the threshold, the former borg turned her head and said, barely in a whisper Treasure your memories, treasure your possessions, treasure your new gift. We're here for you captain.
The door closed behind her.
Was it really a gift?
Today we start the two-week run of the second Lit Challenge: Taking Command
In your time you have taken command of a number of ships and on many of them you walked in with a staff of senior officers to boot! How did you address your new crew? How did you handle officers who disliked you not promoting 'one of their own'? What frictions and what fun moments did you have when doing so?
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!
........We sat and waited for the Borg Sphere to leave. I'm pretty sure it hadn't actually detected us. It may have picked up some ionization from our warp trail, but it couldn't have had anything definitive. We just had to wait until the Borg determined their investigation was inefficient. Shuttle missions are risky business. As captain of a federation starship, I do my best to weigh the risks in relation to the officers who accompany me. I use these occasions to get to know crewmen better. Since both Major Lorixes and Lieutenant Commander Det Kel were recent additions to the crew, it seemed fitting to take them with me on this particular shuttle mission to the B'Tran Cluster deep in Borg Territory.
........"Major Lorixes," I said. "Tell me something about yourself." I took a reading of the Borg scan as it passed over the top of the asteroid's crater. Point-zero-one. The Borg have adjusted slightly. It was almost like they knew we were here. Impossible.
........"My wife was killed by a Tal Shiar hit squad," the Reman soldier stated matter-of-factly. He adjusted the power modules yet again.
........"Tell me about her," I said.
........"Hmmm," Lorixes mumbled. "She was a good mate." He volunteered nothing more.
........"Why did the Tal Shiar kill her?" The Breen asked, the tone of his voice sounding synthesized.
........"She knew things," Lorixes stated.
........"The sphere has launched class-one probes," Det Kel warned. He touched the console and it beeped in compliance. "Four of them, to be exact."
........I sighed in frustration, banging my fist on the console--not hard, but enough of a tap to convey my disgust. "Lieutenant Commander," I said to Det Kel. "Tell me something about yourself." I slid the control of the hull plating's polarization from a nine-two-three grade to a nine-one-seven. The gesture was to mimic radioactive decay and fool the Borg's readings, another Reman trick. The probes flew overhead, oblivious to the Delta Flyer.
........"Captain," Det Kel said. "Is this really the time?" His voice was broken and monotonous, distorted by his helmet.
........"Yes," I answered.
........There was silence. Several seconds passed. Then a full minute.
........"That's an order, Lieutenant Commander," I said.
........"Fine," Det Kel said. "I am an outcast, shamed by my thot, and all because I hesitated."
........"What do you mean," Lorixes asked. He adjusted the power modules, increasing by a few microjoules. His touch was delicate and deliberate. I had set to mind to ask him later how many times he had done this.
........"I was ordered to kill a Deferi slave for defying an order," Det Kel stated. "I didn't fire right away. It was a stupid order. My thot then shot the Deferi and ordered me to back to the base. I..." He didn't finish the thought, but shook his head from side to side.
........I studied Det Kel momentarily. The Breen people had no mercy, no compassion, no care for anyone, not even for another Breen. It was part of their culture, to be detached. Yet, I sensed in that moment Det Kel's inner struggle. It wasn't hesitation due to a weakness. It was conscientious deliberation.
........"Well, Lieutenant Commander," I said to Det Kel. "The Superior's officers are apt to see such qualities as admirable." I took a moment to check my readings on the console, and then turned back to him. "Our humanity is defined by compassion, by mercy."
........"Breenkind," Det Kel interjected, "see such qualities as..." He paused. "The Borg have retrieved their probes. Scans have ceased. They are powering their engines."
........I breathed a sigh of relief.
........The three of us watched our consoles attentively and monitored the Borg's retreat from the area. It only took seconds for the sphere's signal to disappear from our readings.
........"Finish your thought, Lieutenant Commander Det Kel," Major Lorixes stated as a formal command.
........The pause was brief. "Cowardly," Det Kel said. "Breenkind see such qualities as cowardly."
........Lorixes said nothing further. I may have observed a shaking of his head from side to side, as if in disapproval. I studied his body language. I saw pride, confidence, assurety of character typical of Reman freedom fighters. I looked over at Det Kel. Not so with him. He was slouched and dejected, his revelation bearing a heavy burden. He was wounded and surrendered, as if he was merely going through the motions and waiting for whatever was fated. So this is why they haven't been able to get along.
........I realized the three of us were going to need more of these types of shuttle missions.
Ayesu "Senshi" Togowara. Reporting fresh from Medical Advanced Command Training.
Looking up from the Desk Admiral Quinn's Chief of Personal MAnagement Commander Sulu Thumbed through the PADD and cross referenced with
the Casualty Replacement request of Area Task Force and Theater Commanders.
At Ease Frocked Captain. I see you know a Few Vulcans and some Romulan.
SO I am sending you to support Special Unit in the Sierra System of the Alpha Centauri Block. Report to Admiral Zelle and as a courtesy report to ADM T'nae. Hum. You may sit. We see your crew of 100 includes two tactical Andorians.. How are they around Vulcans.. no need to answer its a rhetorical question. I dont see many request for ship Doctors or Field Researchers in Ancient Mars colonial history. What we dont need is Picards .. Can You be a Kirk? Dont answer that. How is your range score?
Hum Before I attach you from the USS Greece whom are you giving that Nova Class to.. I see you were advancing the Trill or Vulcan.. Why? I think you will need your most experienced staff to remain with you unless there is something your not telling me Mister? Well anyway I see when the Shipyard has finished a Dakota Class Cruiser You were requesting Tactical retraining and a Cruiser then when you changed your mind the Grasshopper Science Vessel was given to another commander..Your Last Battle Group Commander never listed wavering and put you near the top of all their private Promotion tracks. in the Regulated Sector. Section 31 has interesting things to say and if you MAke Flag Rank you'll get the access codes to read them. .Quinn just Told Me I was Making Captain and was Getting some Sexy new Ship.. Can you show up on ESD and take assignment Orders from Commander Wittners or LCDR DeSoto?
So The Ambassador likes you and you Clan never occupied either of our Lands in the old world.
So you go from a Ship of 50 to 100 then jump into a Cruiser of 400 and now are tracking for a Corcoran.. of 200. How are you at dealing with Re Staffing as a Higher rank sent out farther from support? How do you get along with Colonial Klingon Members of the federation UFP fleet? You can talk..Ok Im assigning a new Science and Engineer N'Darun and Kuhlaht.. Adm. Quinn wants to see you then the Stateroom formalities of Promotion.. Get the New Pips on that uniform before i see you next time and say "Hello" to Lt Laurel for me.
A new Area a new Corcoran Intrepid class variant. A Serious Rank. Mars Yards..Home.
Two new Klingon Officers, Pulling their Academy records from Captain Frocked Sulu. Finally out ranking those Rear echelons that played the paper game to get back out into the field.
Touching his Comm badge.. Senshi Signaled Greece his old ship that transported him instead of the Heavy Cruiser Shinkoku that had to remain on watch for Gorn incursions on the Psi Canis frontier. Commander Sezori pack your bags and have Transport Command reach Toni Chatzia and Corspa..Captain Sulu is Changing office and felt generous. .and let Slip they have a New Corcoran for us. EXEC a word of caution we are being sent two fine young Female Klingons.
Im jumping the hoops w Chief Operations meet me at the Tailors the Promotions PIPS are on me. Yes that means your getting a bump too. Senshi Out.
Grabbing the Shuttle to the yards new uniforms and PIPs Senshi had the Dedication and Ships Name Plaque and design pattern Virgo all set with ESD .. The 4th officer Kept the Cruiser on station pending command and the LCDR Senshi recommended was kept on the Greece. The Shuttle approach and docked at MArs Transit Officers Billets and rooms were assigned and retraining with Yards on systems upgrades dropped into place .. The Two Klingon officers arrived ahead of time and were a treat to meet both stepped into the ship tour with glee. Looking at Department and Bridge Chairs.. Like he once did. Time for advise Senshi looked at the Ship deployment board and Signaled "Aquila"
Cousin can you speak are we on a secure channel?
Aquilla- Yes Of Course I am half Vulcan after all. The Sela Arch is a fine Galaxy update and DS9 is a fine post. What about you.
Senshi- Romulan Space.. and a Cochrane with the latest updates to long rang.
Aquilla- Things heated up in the provinces since Sales Ascension Bring your new Ship to the Risa orbit in two weeks i have to sortie now.. cant tell you where but Ive been Promoted to Commodore! Im getting a New Sovey!
Senshi- Dont let that Romulan blood come out too far.. or INTEL may mettle.
Of course cousin . Rotate to Alt Command Codes for next Message.. <Aquilla, Out>
Department Heads Meeting Prior to taking the shuttle to dock with the new ship..
Commander Sezori. Set the goals to improve a Science Capabilities
LCDR Toni Set the standards for Engineering with a priority on survival and speed.
LCDR Corps Were back to a smaller ship So go easy on the boarding parties rituals until we whip things into shape.
I expect more from our new Lieutenants we brought with us and the new kids. We will be first on and walk through the ship wit the Yard Transition crew and Set the Plaque on the Bridge after a Christening in the hanger bay. Lt Chatzia take the two new ensigns with you to coordinate all guest staff parties. We Have a new Ship and her name is ARGO! Lets endeavour to keep her of the sirens rocks ..Shall we.
the Ships Standard duty uniform will be SF2.. Informal Dress will Be Wooly Pully .. I will Wear. Away Team Black OPS SCI. Take all Comm badges and run the SEC 31 nanite scans then seal them and re Issue Variant Comm Badges. After we leave the yards we report to our TAsk Force after screening with Theater Command at SB 39. After That we will operate under local command authority Special Unit.. Priorities will be Undine investigations. An Approved Report form will be loaded into your stations and pass through my Captains system. Ships Computer is set to filter all off ship COMM.
WELCOME to SEAL TEAM Senshi. Now See to you divison staffign Reports Dismissed.
Admiral, Im just an ensign. Why would you make me captain of a ship? Bob interjected.
Ensign, I have been very impressed with your service record. And we are short on experienced officers. I think you would make a fine addition.
Admiral, this ship has higher ranking people on it. Why make me, an outsider ensign, the captain? There has to be better people.
Most of the crew is to be reassigned soon. You will have an opportunity to select a new crew. As a matter of fact, who do you want to be as your first officer? The admiral grabbed a PADD to start working up the orders.
Bob thought for a moment and answered quite confidently, Ensign Tala, the Andorian I served with on the Von Braun. Tala was a trusted friend who help Bob out of a jam on Drozana. It's easy to start a fight with a Klingon; it's harder to end it. Fortunately, Tala prevented one of the Klingons from stabbing Bob in the back. After that, Bob and she became close friends.
Done, Admiral Quinn handed Bob the PADD. You can pick her up after your first assignment. Beam to your ship; here are your orders. The Admiral slipped Bob yet another PADD. Bob took a quick glance at it and decided hell look through it later once he is aboard his ship. His ship; still doesnt sound right.
Bob walked to the turbolift to head up to the main deck. Once inside he gave his command to the computer and the turbolift shutters as it starts its move. This station is messed up. I like the old design better.
Upon arriving on the main deck, Bob walked to a corner and taps on his com badge, USS Huntsville, this is the his voice hung for a moment, captain. One to beam aboard.
Aye, sir, the voice on the other end of the communicator responded. Energizing. And just as Bob started to feel the tingle of the transporter beam he thought to himself, what am I getting myself into? But the thought was lost as the atoms in his brain were torn apart.
********
As Bob materialized on the transporter pad, he was met by a young lieutenant. She couldnt have been that much older than he if at all and she had the look of fear in her eyes. Her cheeks were red from constantly being wet, but at the moment she was able to compose herself. Her voice slightly cracked as she greeted him, welcome aboard the Huntsville, Captain.
Status report.
We are currently taking on supplies and replacement weapons. We are finishing up three months of repairs and will be ready to leave space dock in 12 hours.
Bobs interest was piqued, why was the ship in for repairs for three months?
The lieutenant almost started sobbing, but was able to catch herself. We were lucky to make it back to Earth. We were on patrol in the Mempa Sector when a Klingon squadron decloaked and attacked us. We didnt even have time to get our shields up when the first volley hit. They had targeted the bridge and the entire senior staff was killed. We were drifting in space when the chief engineer was able to transfer control of the ship to engineering and we were able to survive long enough to meet up with reinforcements.
Over 70% of the crew was lost. The chief engineer and I were the only officers to survive and he was transferred to another ship that also took heavy losses. We were surprised when Starfleet decided to repair this ship rather than scrap it. I have lost a lot of friends here, Captain. I I cant stay here anymore. Her eyes were watery and she started to sob.
Bob reached out and put his hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eyes. With a gentle, yet confident voice he said, I understand. And you will be able to leave after our next assignment if you wish. But until then, I will need everything you can give.
She nodded her head and said, Aye sir. I will do my best.
I know you will, Bob said reassuredly. What is the status of the crew?
We were informed of your arrival and so the crew is gathered in cargo bay one to for you to address them. We are understaffed with many departments having no people at all. You and I are the only officers, the rest of the crew are enlisted.
Bob took in this information and a moment later responded, very well. Lead me to the cargo bay. And it was at the moment Bob understood why Admiral Quinn had selected him to be captain of this ship. This was not a Galaxy-class ship. No, this USS Huntsville was a Miranda-class ship with a skeleton crew that was in need of new life. The old crew had been left without a leader and Admiral Quinn saw that only Bob had the ability to lead.
As Bob turned the corner to enter the cargo bay the door slid open in his presence. As he looked at his crew he had the confidence he needed to lead them. He saw the fear in their eyes and made sure they saw they faith in his. He believed in his crew even though he had never met them; because they more he believed in them, the more they would believe in him.
Aboard the U.S.S. Bazalope-D, Defiant-refit.
So what do we have here, Ulmek? Captain Talar Bazran asked as he approached Nirol, his most senior science officer who has also a Reman . A blue plant stood in front of him as Ulmek was in the process of examining it. Im just about to a run a series of tests. Im no Xenobotanist but Ive got a friend and theyll be able to us what were once I send all the data to them.
I still dont understand why you wanted to bring it aboard. We see new plant specimens every week.
There is something strange about this particular plant. Its readings are unusual. As if theres... something else to it. He responded finishing up the final preparations for the computer to do its work.
Computer. Perform a level 1 Xenobotanical analysis on plant sample. He instructed the computer.
Commencing Level 1 Xenobotanical analysis. Task expected to be completed in 5 minutes. The computer responded.
Alright, well let me know if you find anything interesting. There was still plenty that Bazran had to do as a captain and not the least of which personnel reports that were starting to pile up. As he turned to leave suddenly the plant seemed to start giving off electrical discharges. Computer, Cease all analysis. Ulmek responded stoically and with authority but not before it was too late. One of the discharges hit the Captain and knocked him to the floor, unconscious.
Sir?! she exclaimed as she knelt down beside him. Ulmek to Sick Bay. The Captain has been struck by some sort of energy discharge. Emergency Transport required.
Moments later, In Sick Bay
There is no profit in you dying, captain! Nirol, a female ferengi and the ships Chief Medical Officer, buzzed about trying to work out what happened. His neural synapses are being repressed. It should be fixed by stimulating the neurochemicals but hes not responding. She exclaimed frustrated at her inability to revive her commanding officer. Theres got to be something else happening, what am I missing? she exclaimed.
Meanwhile, somewhere that has no real location
The deep inky black, it felt like he was swimming in a never ending pool one where breath and time did not matter. There was a ball of something light, perhaps some kind of energy. He could feel it as if it were draining the very energy out of his body.
He futilely tried swinging his fists but it didnt seem to work at all. He was too far away. Who are you, and what are you doing?
There was a moments silence before it spoke. An interesting language you have, Captain Talar of Bajor. So many words so much meaning, so varied and full of life. It spoke in fluent Bajoran dancing switching between it and the Federation Standard. Not only language, but your bodies they are so mobile. So... unstable and yet that is exactly how they are meant to be. You are very interesting indeed. I will have fun in my body. The voice was almost melodic but lacked any real tone. It was as if he was talking to an emotionless thing.
What do you mean; new body?
Never the less despite your advantages you arent used to your own psychic landscape. And a dark place it is.
Answer my question.
Your old body. Im syphoning off your neural energies and will replace them with mine. Therefore your body will become mine. Dont worry. Im not killing in return for your body you shall get mine.
Who are you, what body?
You dont have a name for me. To you I am just a plant something to be examined to be studied. Now youll get to have the greatest chance to study my body as it becomes yours.
This is my body, my earring, my Pagh... You are not taking any of them away from me.
Oh, you are a fighter. A man with a strong will. Yes, I can see that. And I see your past the decisions youve made. Haunted by some memories but proud of others. I knew it would be difficult and I enjoy a challenge and I am getting so much enjoyment out of this. Pity its only a matter of time the longer we fight the stronger I become.
Yeah, well Im used to fighting as the underdog. Somehow as the words were spoken Talar Bazran changed in form to look exactly the same as this intruding consciousness, however with a slight red tinge.
The balls of energy collided together and they seemed to join the red tinge faded and then so did the whole scene.
Back, in the Sick Bay
Neural indicators returning to Normal. Captain are you alright?
The words could be heard but nothing seen though the eyes opened slowly to reveal Nirol. Her short form looming over him on the sick bed.
Nirol, yes. Im fine what happened? he said weakly barely putting much energy behind it.
It looks like you got struck with an energy discharge the discharge created a psychic link between you and the plant Ulmek was studying. We were able to find it and break it. Are you sure youre alright. Yes, just a bit groggy it was a bit of an ordeal.
Yes, I could tell. I knew you were fighting it because there psychic link was fluctuating it was the fluctuation that allowed us to find it in the first place.
Good, dont mind me. Ill just pass out a bit. He said as he sighed and closed his eyes to rest.
Thats to be expected after all the mental exertion that you did. Also a good excuse to deal with the reports any other time, yes?
You read my mind.
It does not take a Ferengis business sense to know that there is, on occasion, profit in rest. Ill leave to re-cuperate. Sleep well Captain.
"Ah, frak." Arachnidus wasn't having the best of days, and thinking about the coming weeks filled him with a sense of begrudging excitement. The Luna was in it's sixth week of it's final mission, for the nearly 25 year old ship was about to be retired. This meant only one thing for the old Luna class deep space explorer- it was time to come home. It had been a rough few months, and they'd taken their toll. Each crisis brought the ship closer and closer back to Sol, as more and more hazards threatened the Federation. The Borg invasion of 2410, the Dominion dreadnought assault later that year, the ongoing hostilities with the Klingon Empire.
All of them had detracted from the original reason Arachnidus joined up with Starfleet; to get out there and explore. In the literally thousands of years since the first spaceborne civilization in the Milky Way took flight, the citizens of the galaxy had only explored maybe 1/100th of it in any sort of detail. There were still thousands of light years left untraversed by any known species, many billions if not trillions of beings left to meet. It would be quite some time before that number got any lower, and Arachnidus wanted to be part of that. All the more reason his mood was bittersweet.
In the nearly three years since he'd taken command of the Luna, and the 7 he'd served on the ship, counting his command, they'd made twelve first contacts with space faring life, discovered almost four hundred new alien species, and covered about 25,000 light years, mostly in the outer reaches of the Beta quadrant. But, next week, that'd all be a distant memory as the crew transferred to a new ship and the Luna was shipped off to the Starfleet museum and fleet yards in orbit of Pluto. The crew was due to transfer to the new ship of the line for the Deep Space explorers- the USS Normandy. A Vesta class.
The design was almost as old as the Luna class to which the Captain's current command was eponymous with, yet the Vesta was decades ahead of it's time at the point of conception. A slip stream drive, next gen armor plating and shields, amazingly(and disturbingly) powerful weapons systems and a full astrometrics and biological suite unmatched by any current ship in the fleet. Even the Luna class or the other modular ships in the fleet with their sensor pods and astrometrics labs reverse engineered from the one installed on Voyager during it's jaunt around the Delta quadrant some 30 odd years ago couldn't hold a candle to the multiband scanners on the Vesta series.
Even with all of these advancements and the promise of getting back to what he really wanted to do with his life, Arachnidus couldn't help but feel a little more than sad about leaving his ship behind. He'd spent the last 11 years of his life, two thirds of his entire Starfleet career, aboard it. From his 21st birthday to now, he'd lived in these quarters, woke up every day to these friends and ate the same boring meals from these replicators. Even though the latter two would be more than present on the Normandy, it didn't make the captain feel any better. As he arose from his desk, where he'd intended to write up a final report to Starfleet Command(a somber note in itself), Arachnidus began to reminisce on the most important day of his life. The day he ascended to the rank and role of captain. As he sat down on his bed, his neck craned towards the oblivion of space and the beautiful backdrop provided by the nearby Azure Nebula, it all came back to him.
USS Luna, Standard Date: February 4th, 2409
Current location: P4X-97G, approximately 4,000ly from Sol System; Gum Nebula
"Captain, the shields are buckling! Power to weapons is dropping steadily!" Lieutenant Parker barked. Arachnidus stood on the bridge of the Luna, frankly a little terrified, even as XO. He tried to hide his fear, but it didn't work out too well- decorum be damned. In the seven years he'd been on the ship prior, they'd been attacked dozens of times. But never had it been this bad. As his best friend and subordinate Mark Parker yelled to Captain Thule over the dulled sounds of impacts on the shields and weapons fire from the ship they were desperately trying to save, Arachnidus looked out the viewscreen. The semi-flat holographic display showed, in the highest resolution possible, the possible harbinger of their doom. A Dominion battleship; something he'd only ever seen in text books, and never expected to see in his career.
The Luna had found it in this uncharted system several hours ago, and the command staff agreed that it was likely a remnant of the Dominion War. It was common knowledge that the Dominion had gotten dangerously close to the core worlds of the Federation by the close of the war, and the Alpha Quadrant bred Jem'hadar were a fair bit more rebellious than their subservient Gamma Quadrant brethren. When the order to surrender was issued, many of them disregarded it and retreated to the various nebulae and stellar clusters off the Federation-Klingon-Romulan triborder and remained hidden. Most, after a few weeks emerged and surrendered after their Ketracel White supplies ran out. Some, like the ones now threatening the Luna, did not.
Flares of purple energy radiated out of the Dominion ship's hull and Captain Thule's confident glare was momentarily defeated by the issuing of an order.
"All hands, brace for impact. Lieutenant Malketh'ar, lock down all bulkheads and divert power to SIF and shields."
The order was delivered just in time to save most of the ship. The bridge crew was not so lucky. One of the polaron torpedoes; a weapon that could easily penetrate Federation standard shields(luckily for the Luna, multiphasic shields were now the new default after the war) had landed right above the hull, on the dorsal side of the saucer, only about ten metres from the bridge which stood at the top of the ship. In space, an explosion was not nearly as powerful as it was in atmosphere, but the massive release of energy from the matter-antimatter detonation was enough- on Earth, it would have been powerful enough to turn most of the North American continent to glass and create a crater big enough to fit a portion of the Indian Ocean. Thanks to the weakened shields and ablative plating on the Luna's hull, most of the blast's energy was directed to space, but enough of it made it to the hull to cause serious damage. The bridge shuddered and fissures opened on the port bulkheads. The roaring sound of decompression drowned out the screams of the bridge crew as they tried to seal the breach and survive long enough for the damage control systems to kick in. After five seconds, which, to Arachnidus, seemed like hours, the emergency forcefield system activated and sealed the three foot long gash in the wall, through which space(and the silver hull of the Luna) was visible.
As the damage control team on the bridge rushed to seal the temporarily covered breach with thick square plates of titanium plating, which would have to do for the time being despite being significantly weaker than most modern ship hulls, Commander Arachnidus 'Vadam looked around the devastated bridge. His best friend, Lt. Parker, had a nasty looking cut along his forehead. Ensign Lawson, a beautiful human female, probably of Australian descent, looked disheveled, soot and burns pockmarking her tactical red uniform. Lt. Malketh'ar Shapek-Uknur, a Choblik male, was the only senior officer that didn't look like he was on the verge of death. His synthetic body parts, notably his arms and tail manipulator, looked a little worn compared to before the battle, but he seemed to be in decent condition as he quickly worked on coordinating damage control. Beyond them and the DC team, not all was well.
To his horror, as he walked back to his chair, he saw his captain sitting there, limp, blood streaming from his neck, chest and his head. On the floor was a bloodied piece of hull plating. Still in a daze, the Commander looked up to the ceiling and saw a hole where there was once a solid bulkhead. He saw the soothing backdrop of the gum nebula, the black void and stars inside it, and the purple-insect-like shape of the Dominion ship preparing to fire. They had maybe twelve seconds before the Luna became a piece of scrap metal. The battle was lost, and they were in no condition to keep firing. The commander ran to the conn and looked to his beautiful friend and, now, second officer, Ensign Lawson, who sat at the chair, and looked at the console. The warp core was still functional and the nacelles were in tact. The engines were spooled up. They could safely reach warp 4 under these circumstances. The now-captain looked up to his crew and was surprised to see faces and nods of approval. He slammed his palm down on the capacitive console and on the screen, the Dominion ship and all the space around it began to blue-shift as the Luna jumped to warp. After a few seconds of disturbing quiet, Lt. Parker issued a report.
"Arachnidus...Captain- we're clear of the battlefield." His bloodied, somber face punctuated the awkward and painful atmosphere. The entire bridge crew and the three NCOs working on making sure the hull didn't peel away around most of the senior staff and the bodies of the former captain and tactical officer were all thinking the same thing, and looked at Arachnidus, even if just for a split second. He was now the captain. Looking around his bridge and at his fellow officers, he pressed his commbadge and spoke.
"This is Commander 'Vadam to all personnel. Captain Thule is dead, I'm sure one of many beloved friends and comrades we've lost today. We're barely holding together right now, and we've still got that ship on our tails. I am assuming command of the ship and I am going to get us out of this. All stations, forward casualty and damage reports to the bridge. Let's finish this. Captain out."
.......
"Captain, we're approaching the Federation border. We'll be clear to hit the transwarp conduit in about ten minutes."
"Thank you, Mark. I'll be up there in a second." As he stood from his bed and walked to the door, the captain looked back at his quarters. His commemorative plaque from his promotion; a copy of the ship's commisioning plaque; his High School diploma, Master's Degree and Starfleet diploma; a large holopicture of the him and the ship's former command crew, the former captain and tactical officer included.
"Computer, lights."
Sorry for the double post, I went over the 11000 character count limit.
USS Callisto NCC-93185-F
Elysium Class (Emissary Variant) - Star Cruiser
On my ship my crew still calls me Captain, even though I am an Admiral now. I prefer it that way. They've always called me Captain, as I've always had a problem being called sir, right from the very moment I took command of the USS Avenger when, well...I think you know what happened at Vega colony, so no sense rehashing painful memories...
Oh, right, the reason I'm here. What is my most prized possession? Well, that's a bit trickier than I thought when I first heard about this. See, my ship is my home, has been for a long while now. But the ship is irrelevant without her crew. To that end, I am lucky enough to serve with my two best friends in the world. First, Jennifer Lovell, my XO. Second, Chris Robison, my Chief Tactical Officer. We all attended the Academy together and to this day I'm not sure how we crossed paths as I tracked Engineering, Jenn Science, and Chris Tactical. When I took over permanently as CO of the Avenger, I moved hell and high water to get them on my crew.
It's no secret that serving in the frontier can be a bit, well, lonesome. We did a several month stent in the Delta Volanis cluster that was well...boring seems a bit of an understatement. Never even saw so much as a enemy standoff. Just cataloging spatial anomalies. So the crew was getting a bit stir crazy. I relaxed the rules and decorum a bit, allowing ship's personnel some more free time to pursue their own interests while we finished our mission. That brings me to my most prized possession. Chris and I always shot a few games of pool together at Stardust Bar just outside the Academy grounds. I was rubbish at it. They had an old pinball machine there; it had a space adventure theme, and only worked about half the time, but I loved it. Chris never understood why I spent so much time playing with that antiquated game. Anyway, as per our usual I showed up in the crew mess hall to shoot a game with Chris (one of the perks of being the Captain, I had a table installed on the top right level). When I arrived I saw Jenn and Chris standing there smiling next to that beautiful machine.
"It's not finished," Chris said, "needs an engineer's touch."
"Chris build the structure, I took care of the artwork," Jenn smiled with her arms crossed.
I ran my hand over the smooth surface of the pinball machine. The back glass art showed a beautiful image of the Avenger and the play field was painted like the Sirius sector. It took us another three weeks replicating parts to get that machine up and running. After the battle against the Breen, the Avenger was in sad shape. When Starfleet transfered us and decommissioned that fine ship,I made sure that that pinball machine came with us. After all the assignments I've had, that machine has stood in every mess hall of everyone. Standing a testament to a fine ship now long gone, and as a symbol of great friendship.
So if you're ever in the Gamma Orionis sector block, beam on over and have a go on my most prized possession: my pinball machine.
Lt. Tarrak walked out of the turbolift and observed the bridge crew, all looking to him. It was not an unfamiliar scenario that Starfleet officers faced in 2409... they had an attrition rate that was staggering. For years, Starfleet Command had worked with the United Federation of Planets to get more manpower to maintain their massive fleets. Various neutral factions had been granted by Starfleet Command to have their people enlist... even if they were not member worlds. Grand Nagus Rom had served as an engineer on Deep Space Nine during the Dominion War years past... he put forth measures to alter Ferengi society to allow their people another path, than that of just profiteering... the ability to serve as he and his son had without prejudice. The nomadic Pakleds, though appearing to be simple-minded... were enlisting in Starfleet Academy and becoming commissioned officers, showing their own unique skills from years of spacefaring. There were others, still... planets outside Federation borders whose people were petitioning the UFP to draw attention to their planet, and allowing their own people to enlist in Starfleet to prove their societies were fit to join in with the Federation.
But when Starfleet continued to take heavy losses against Chancellor J'mpok's brutal armadas... the Dominion War looked like slap fight by comparison. War makes strange bedfellows, and rules are sometimes bent -- even broken... to maintain security and hold territory.
Starfleet had ships mothballed for some time... all listed to be scrapped and decommissioned. But the 'shipbreakers' were being diverted to other tasks... and the decommissioning of various ships grinded to a halt. After all, space was a very... very big place. And it was cheaper and more efficient to simply refurbish and refit these ships than spend the labor hours breaking them down and shipping the scrap to Utopia Planitia or any of the other overworked fleetyards which were responsible for keeping up with Starfleet's attrition rate...
It was hard to say just how many Miranda-class ships were waiting to be broken down to their raw resources before the orders were halted... they were relics, but more than a few still saw service during the Dominion War. The U.S.S. Tesla was one such vessel... and acted as a survey ship for marking new moons and asteroids for future mining operations when it received the distress call.
The Borg had returned. And in massive numbers. Worlds were threatened in the Gamma Orionis sector, and Vega Colony was being invaded... the Tesla responded, as did many ships that day.
Ensign Tarrak was assigned as a gunnery officer to the Tesla, and was also sometimes called on away missions as a security officer to assist Captain Phenx and the other bridge officers when an additional escort was needed. He had spent that morning sending his reports to his department head, but when the ship entered Vega's space... he was assisting his fellow crew members in loading and launching torpedo after torpedo.
A heavily damaged Borg Cube exited transwarp and locked onto the Miranda-class vessel with a tractor beam. Ensign Tarrak's deck found borg drones beaming in and assimilating the crew. Torpedo control went off-line as Tarrak picked up a phaser rifle and started shooting the boarders. A massive plasma projectile hit the Tesla, sending plasma through almost every deck. Tarrak evacuated five others into Jefferies Tube Six and were making their way to the bridge.
When they arrived at Deck One... they weren't prepared for the horrific scene. The entire bridge had to be decompressed and vented into space... a stabilized forcefield was over the hull breach, but everyone was gone. Captain Phenx, his first officer... the entire bridge crew. Gone.
The other five people were non-commissioned officers. 2 engineers, 2 tactical liasons, and the stellar cartography chief, the bajoran woman. Tarrak moved to the Captain's chair and sat down. The other officers took what positions were available...
The new tactical crewman reported that almost everyone had been killed on the Tesla... out of 200 crew members, only 10 remained, including the five on the bridge. The others had either died in the plasma fires, were assimilated, or died elsewhere in battle. "Engage ramming speed." The vulcan responded coldly. They all knew what they were up against. It was either die here quietly, or die putting up a fight. And they'd rather die in a collision course with the Borg Cube than be assimilated. Noone wanted that to happen.
The Miranda-class lurched forward, and started limping towards the massive hulk... when salvation arrived. The U.S.S. Arbiter, an Emissary-class battleship exited warp near them... it fired off a volley of quantum torpedos that finished off the Borg cube, and beamed the survivors of the Tesla aboard.
When the Arbiter returned to Earth Spacedock, Ensign Tarrak was cleaned up and made to look presentable for his meeting with Fleet Admiral Quinn. The discussion was short... the Tesla was being salvaged. It did not meet its end that day. Ensign Tarrak was being given a field promotion to Lieutenant.
"If this is humor, Admiral. The concept is foreign to me." The vulcan shifted his eyes toward the trill elder with a slightly arched eyebrow.
The Admiral went on to explain that experience mattered more than rank... and that Tarrak was the only surviving officer of the Tesla, making him the ranking officer. There were new cadets fresh out of the Academy arriving on Earth Spacedock in the coming weeks... he was given a PADD containing the duty rosters.
Tarrak was still somewhat skeptical of the situation, but saw the carnage at Vega Colony... their attrition rate would only get worse from here on out.
Weeks passed, and the Tesla was fit for duty. Lt. Tarrak had a ship full of cadets... and only a limited amount of experienced crew. They were all scared, nervous... not only about their missions to come... but the relative inexperience of their new vulcan commanding officer.
"Ensign, how many times have you flown a ship?" He looked at the young bolian helmsman from his chair.
"None, sir..." He replied embarassingly. "Then take us out." Tarrak only nodded.
"Isn't this a little improper? We just left graduation four days ago... and we're thrown on this ship... and you're not even a Captain, you're a Lieutenant. Do you really think we're qualified to run this thing?" The bolian looked up at Tarrak with fear on his face.
Tarrak's eyebrow only raised.
"We're at war, Ensign. The Klingons are threatening our territories and way of existance. One ship has been proven on multiple occasions to maintain the capability of turning the tide of battle. As for my experience, I served Vulcan High Command as one of their top tactical specialists before I transferred to Starfleet. However, I am fully aware of my duties as commanding officer, and if you do not trust my ability to command -- I can send you back to San Francisco, if you prefer. But I am the commanding officer, and if you plan on staying on my ship, you will observe starfleet regulations and ask for permission to speak freely, and I will not tolerate cowardice. Is that understood?" He said cooly and calmly to the blue man.
"Yes, sir." He straightened up and nodded to the vulcan before turning back to the helm.
"Take us out, Mister...?"
"Threnn. Ensign Threnn." He said, introducing himself.
"Take us out, Mister Threnn. Set a course for the Neutral Zone. Maximum warp." He turned towards the tactical officer, an andorian man... "I want this ship fully armed and capable of engaging the Klingons within six hours." The andorian nodded once, "Understood, sir."
The other bridge officers looked away from the commanding officer and turned to their stations... Tarrak had made it clear that they would perform to the best of their ability, and showed he was coldly efficient in the way he would command his ship.
Eventually, he thought to himself... he'd carve his crew into the finest crew in Starfleet. And the cadets of yesterday would become the veterans of tomorrow.
Stardate 88994.40
Vice Admiral Matt Miracle recording.
I just received a communication from Starfleet Command. My half-sisters ship was involved in some heavy fire fighting with the Klingons at PJem. I am pleased that TElanna is ok and that there were no serious casualties reported. I keep staring at my Batleth hanging in my ready room and I am reminded about my blood ties to the Empire.
I was only six when my father was killed when the ship we were traveling to hit a mine left over from the Dominion Wars. Mom and I had only a moment before the deck we were on became open to empty space. We were lucky that a passing Klingon cruiser was coming to our aid. Mom was critical for a while and the Empire tried to locate any of my surviving families only to discover that my mother and I were the only ones left. My adoptive father, Kort, was a young (by Klingon standards) officer on the ship and for who only knows reasons, started talking care of us When Mom was out of critical condition he asked her if she would grant him temporary custody.
After Mom healed, she and Kort spend time together and eventually, fell in love. They were married in a traditional Klingon ceremony when I was 9 and TElanna was born the next year. When I turned 12, I was officially accepted into the House of Kort and began my training as a warrior. My father instructed me on everything. Sometimes, he took into account that I was human while other times he didnt but each time I got knocked down, I got back up. My father used to say that I had Kahless spirit but, due to my human body, the strength of a Grishnar cat. Nonetheless, my father was proud.
My true test as a warrior came years later when my father entered me into a Batleth tournament. The tournament was open to the oldest male in the house under age which left me as the only participant. I was used to being ridiculed by the other Klingons so fighting the insults was a way of life for me. I advanced in the tournament (which I found out later cost a few Klingons their hard earned wages) much to the surprise of all. I made it to the semifinals which my mother called the Final Four (after some old basketball tournament madness) before my skills were tested to their breaking point.
Korlet was a true warrior in every sense of the word. When he drew my name to fight next, he was insulted and would not fight a Pahtak like me. After suffering through this tournament, I was not going to let my honor or my families be called into question. I challenged him and we began our dance with blades. After several minutes, it became clear that I was out matched but I could not back down. My ribs were broken and I was bleeding internally. Losing consciences, I stumbled but did not go down. My opponent, in a show of sportsmanship, asked me to yield and I refused. He held the Batleth to my throat asking again for me to yield and I refused again. That was the last thing I remember before waking up in a hospital bed. The details surrounding my final moments were filled in by my family. At the request of the champion, Korlet, I was to be given third place honor which came with a ceremonial Batleth. That same Batleth is now on display in my ready room reminding me to never forget where I came from and always to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Another blow struck Kri'gak's face, the Klingon was flanked by three Starfleet crewmen, one Human male, a Saurian male, and a Caitian Female, had he wanted to, he could have held them off, but the CO of this ship had just allowed him to join, he knew that harming his oficers would not put him in good stead with Vice Admiral Darksabre, he was already hated by the Klingon Empire for speaking out against the war, he did not want enemies on both sides.
"Whats the matter ridgehead? Wheres your "honour" now? My brother was killed in one of your filthy kind's raiding parties, and now you walk in here like nothing's happened?!"
The Human finished his taunting by delivering another blow to Kri'gak's chin, Kri'gak had been left in an escape pod to die or be shot in the Neutral Zone for an extended period of time, he was already weakened as it was, the blow felt like a charging targ and he lost his balance momentarily, the Female Caitian leapt upon this opprtunity and sweeped her leg out, catching the back of Kri'gak's right leg, Kri'gak felt the floor leave his feet, and moments later, he was on the ground, he soon found himself looking up at a glaring Saurian.
"You kill all these people in the name of some kind of perverted Warrior code, and because of this ridiculous idealism you've dragged this entire Quadrant into war, for that, I hate you, your race, and everything you believe in."
the Human and Saurian began raining blows on Kri'gak, all he could think to do was wait until it was done and take it like a Klingon. Until suddenly, it did stop. Kri'gak was not sure if he had endured all they could give or he had died and gone to Sto'Vo'Kor, tentatively, he opened his bruised eyes to see the Saurian being restrained by a bearded Andorian he recognised as Gyzit, the ship's Chief Engineer, the Caitian was being held by a Human he also recognised frm the Bridge crew, the Human, known as Dale, had twisted the Caitian's left arm behind her back and pushed her head forward, while hooking his right leg around her own, she was effectively paralyzed.
Kri'gak heard a loud crash behind him, he turned around and saw the Vice Admiral himself, the Vilscaran had picked up the Human by the scruff of the neck and pinned him hard against a bulkhead, it was no secret that Krovennan liked to use Vilscaran military procedures to deal with his crew, especially when they went out of line, so it was no suprise when a restraining device was given to him by a member of Security.
"If you hate Kri'gak for his Warrior culture, I'd hate to know what you think about me, you can think it over in the brig with your friends."
the restraining device was placed on the Human, both arms were placed into seperate braces, the familiar sound of holoemitters activating sounded off, and soon the two were connected behind the Human's back with a holographic plate of duranium, but to make it worse, a third holographic restraint was added, to the Human's neck.
Kri'gak knew that the Human was powerless now, there were no safeties on those holograms, if he struggled, he would choke himself long before he could do anything, soon identical restraints were placed on the other two and all three were lead away, Kri'gak wiped his face with the sleeve of his new Starfleet uniform. staining it with pink Klingon blood, he saw the familiar hnd of the vice Admiral extend down to him, he put pride behind him for a moment, took it, and was pulled up by Krovennan.
The strength of the pull reminded Kri'gak that, although Krovennan seemed almost identical to a large Human, he was just as strong as a Klingon, if not stronger. Krovennan turned to address the crew amassed in front of him, whom had fallen deathly silent.
"Is this the actions of a Starfleet Officer? How can you call yourselves peacekeepers when you not only allow this, but take pleasure in it? Were this a Vilscaran ship, I'd have every one of you sent back to the Academy until you were enough of a person to stand by what you claim to be.
I am disgusted at your actions today, when you can answer to me how you expect to be peacekeepers after this, you'll earn my respect again, until then, you can all get back to work, since eating doesn't seem to be on your minds today."
The crowd dispersed to return to their duties, they knew that dinner had just been cancelled, Kovennan surveyed the crowd, a lot of people were simply upset dinner was over, but he could see a couple with true remorse in their eyes and movements, they would be the first to admit their mistake.
Drehera, the ship's Doctor, came to the Mess hall with a small kit of medical instrukments, she set them down on the table next to kri'gak and began to look over his wounds, the visor she wore obscured her blind Betazoid eyes, but Kri'gak knew she was looking at him in ways he could not imagine, as she turned away to calibrate a hypospray and a dermal regenrator Kri'gak decided it was time to speak to the silent Vilscaran.
"Why did you do that sir? You could have easily left me to their mercy, I'd have survived and I would have known that I was able to withstand them, maybe it would have even allowed them to calm down when they had released their anger."
Krovennan had turned his back and folded his arms, staring into the dark space beyond the wndows, obviously deep in thought, he turned to face Kri'gak, his arms never moving from their folded position.
"There is no sense nor honour in a three on one fight, besides, I will not tolerate insubordination aboard this vessel of any sort, you may think this devalues your skill as a warrior, but in truth, it does nothing of the sort. A warrior, a true warrior, does not seek to prove his strength constantly by flashy displays of skill or endurance, a true warrior does not take the blow to prove how thick skulled he is, he avoids it to show how skillful he is, a true warrior is strong of mind before strong of body, a warrior does not hold onto honour like a shield and cries murder when it is slighted, he keeps his composure, even when he loses all honour.
I do not claim to be an expert on what drives the Klingon people, but in many ways, our people are both two of a kind, and at the same time, worlds apart. I do not believe that shows of strength prove your skill, the pureness of heart, sharpness of mind and the strength of will is what I look for, today three of my crew did not show that, and so they will see the error of their ways, even if they do not realise it."
Krovennan left to return to his own duties, Drehera had used the hypo partway through the speech and was now healing Kri'gak's wounds one by one with the dermal regenerator, had this been a Klingon ship, Kri'gak would have dismissed the aid through honour alone, but after hearing what Krovennan said, he resolved to merely sit and let Drehera do her work, perhaps Kri'gak would ask the Vice Admiral to explain more of what he seeks for at some point in the future, but for now, he was conent with knowing that very few problems would arise from now on after what had just happened.
Okay. Here we go.
I had taken to some quiet research in Delta Volanis. I may be a Tactical division admiral but sometimes I like to get away from the majority of the fighting out there. I mean, who doesn't? Even the least distinguished of warriors out there deserve a little respite. But I digress...
We had been scanning for days aboard the U.S.S. Doral, finding anomalies, acquiring tech, physical & radiation samples from various sources. I often let Envessa have control of the bridge while I cooked up something in the gallery or help tweak the weapons & sensor arrays. That Betazoid was a natural at finding something that could never be found, even when it had no mental resonance. To our surprise, we found an uninhabited planet with nothing more than lush forests & pristine oceans. We thought about beaming down for several hours & I discussed it with my top officers. Over the discussion, we decided to hit the turf immediately.
I beamed down with my top engineer, a Klingon named Draneh, a liberated Borg Human known as 99 of 100, a Breen refugee who had renamed himself "Red" (his favourite colour) as well as an old tactical schoolmate of mine, a Vulcan named T'mona. We went through a small area of thick forest scanning, researching & taking samples of plants. That's when we got a troubling communique from the Doral...
"Klingon bird-of-prey approaching planet!" They said. "They're beaming down to your location!"
As soon as we turned around, there they were with disruptors in hand.
"Split!" I screamed. My officers & I dived behind fallen trees, rocks & other covers. T'mona managed to dodge her way through the fire & ripped into the Klingon captain with her lirpa, effectively ending his life. The other 4, one Klingon warrior, 2 Orion lieutenants & a Gorn commander continued to put up a fight. Red managed to wear down the first Orion's shields with his Tetryon rifle & landed the killing stroke with a sniper shot. Draneh grabbed 99 of 100 & threw her at the second Orion & she managed to plant a hunting knife right into has heart, taking his life. By now, the bird-of-prey had moved on amongst the confusion & selfishly deserted their remaining commander. The other warrior had beamed away, the coward.
Before I knew it, the Gorn commander had lunged from his hiding spot & managed to knock me off my feet. As we tumbled though the forest, I noticed he had an old guitar in pristine condition slung on his back along with his Bat'leth. Suddenly, we had run out of ground. I landed on the ground at the very edge of the cliff on my belly. The unlucky Gorn flew straight over me & began to fall over. I managed to grab his arm & hold on for his life.
The heft of 250 pounds of lizard meat going through my arm was excruciating!
"Let me die!" He called out. "I'd rather die at the mercy of a warrior like you than live in a Federation prison!"
Then I had an idea. "I'm not going to imprison you! I swear upon my life!"
The Gorn thought to himself a moment as I used ever last bit of strength to support hold on to him. "Pull me up if you can!"
Then, using all I was worth, shouting obscenities & screaming out of pain, I dragged him up over the cliff & back to the edge of the forest.
We sat, catching our breath.
"Is... Is that a guitar?" I asked.
"This musical instrument? Is that what your species named it?" He asked back.
"Yes." I replied. "Would... Would you like me to teach you how to play it?"
"Okay." He replied. "I've... Always liked... What does your species call it.. Rock & roll."
We shared a laugh for a moment.
"My name's Galaranth" I said.
"I'm Thark, It's good to meet a fellow warrior such as yourself. I had no idea the Federation had honorable beings like you." Thark replied.
"There are more like me & you, there are lots of us who'd rather die doing what we love than in a prison."
& that's the story! Thark is now the best medic I've ever had the pleasure of working with. I never regretted the day I met him. He's a lizard of honor through compassion. He gave me that guitar as something to show he was grateful I saved his life & taught him how to play it. I bought him one of his own as a thank you for joining Starfleet.
For me it would have to be my Beech 17 Staggerwing. I grew up in a family of ancient aircraft aficionados My dad used to take me up in his A-26 Invader replica when I was little, and my oldest brother Mark had a TBF replica he used to try to and scare me with.
Dad and Mark taught me to fly when I was nine years old. At first, I just flew simple aircraft, but I really wanted to get more into aerobatics and racing, so they started teaching me on the harder planes.
For my thirteenth birthday, my brother got me a Beech 17 Staggerwing. Originally, it belonged to a family friend named Larry Tennifer, who had a farm in the Willamette Valley. He went to the Academy with my grandfather, and first introduced my dad to flying, and he always had a new plane of some sort. Larry is long gone, now, but I will never forget him. His influence had a lot to do with the career path that Mark and I chose when we both joined Starfleet.
Back to the story, for some reason Larry had picked up a replica of a Beech 17 that he said to Mark he was going to use for cropdusting. Doesn't make a lot of sense to me now, because this particular plane would not be best for that purpose. Either way, Larry wound up not liking it so it just sat in a barn for years.
One season, Mark was helping Larry out with his crop and happened along it and asked if he could have it. Larry agreed, and helped transport it to our farm.
It arrived worn and in pieces. For the next year, Mark and I worked to rebuild it, which I was a little frustrated at first that Mark sent me a plane that was in pieces, but in hindsight I'm glad he did. It was a fun project, and it helped me later when I had to do repairs. Me and that little plane have been together ever since that. I used to fly aerobatics at airshows in it, and I won a few junior air racing trophies in it.
I also loved doing night flights in it. I remember on those clear nights when it was just stars as far as the eye could see, I would point the nose up and pretend I was Hikaru Sulu at the helm of the Enterprise. It was a lot of fun. I may have stalled out a few times doing that, too, but I never told anyone. At least until now.
The last time I flew it was right before my late wife and I got together. She was visiting Earth with a diplomatic delegation, and got permission to come see me while she was there. Keep in mind, this was back in the '80s, so things were a little different politically than they are now. She told me she wanted to see all of Deschutes county, so I said, "ok" and tortured her by shoving her into a tiny cabin and flying her around for a few hours. Well, I wouldn't call it tortured. She seemed to have fun--at least when the plane wasn't upside down.
Of all the planes we owned, that was my favorite. A lot of great memories with that plane.
Since arriving in the 25th century, I haven't had a chance to fly it. I keep a replica of it on the holodeck aboard the Stellar Drift-F, but it's not the same. My nephew, who lives at the farm now, says that it's still there and he's kept it in operating condition in the event I finally get to go home and fly it again.
One of these days.
...Year of Kahless, 1033.
...General Bortan stood at the far side of the bridge watching the unfolding chaos around him. A console exploded to his right, showering him with white hot needles of light. He bore the pain as it raced down his face. Warriors moved around him trying to contain the plasma that had invaded the bridge, slowly consuming the breathable air with a hunger that would only subside after their dying breaths. Asphyxiation is no way for a warrior to die, he thought to himself.
...The Romulan Cruiser was turning for another lateral run against the I.K.S Munchu, a VorCha class cruiser. Their shields were down to less than thirty percent, disrupters were at half strength and the forward torpedo launcher had sustained severe damage that could not be repaired outside of a spacedock. The Romulan cruiser was faring little better; one of its great wings hung together by a few metal beams and forcefields.
...Divert power from life support to the forward disrupters. Target the port wing, and fire all weapons.
...The shipped hummed as they weapons reached their optimum power. The deck plates shuddered as several green bolts of energy erupted from the weapon points and sailed across the vastness of space. They silently struck the damaged wing of the warbird, causing the great mound of metal and machinery to fracture and break away from the green, falcon like ship. It began to spin widely as secondary explosions rippled across its super structure. A second wave of fire struck the ship head on as it continued to spiral out of control. The nose section was decimated instantly, before a third volley split the ship in twain.
...A chorus of cheers echoed through the bridge, as warriors thumped control consoles and slapped each other on the back. Even Bortan, who was no stranger to tense space battles cheered at the doom of his enemy. These were the times when warriors would do great deeds. How we whished he was young again, and could command his own ship, and not be stuck doing the tedious work of Governor of MelBruQ, a small colony on the edge of the Klingon/Tholian border.
...The cheers of the crew died down, as several engineers tried to lock down the plasma leak that still threatened to rob them of a glorious death.
...My lord, another starship is entering the system. It is a Romulan bird of prey. came the sound of a grim voice, almost spitting the word Romulan from his mouth as if it was posion.
...Can we cloak? asked Captain Dulek sharply. Dulek, was a young warrior who had made captain far sooner than his years would suggest. He was the nephew of High Council member Malktus. A scheming and despicable man; one that should never have been born a Klingon, let alone sit on the council.
...Bortan shook his head at the sight of the young man sitting awkwardly in the chair that he had yet to earn. After the death of Chancellor Martok, it would seem the Empire had fallen back into old patterns, where warriors were given honour instead of taking it. Yet this victory had shown there is fight in him. Perhaps he would break way from his families dishonour and prove himself a true warrior. I asked you a question. he snapped to the tactical officer.
...Yes, the cloak is functional. replied the grim voice.
...Then do it. ordered the Captain. Many would consider cloaking and hiding from an enemy to be a dishonourable, even cowardly action, but to a Klingon there was rarely anything dishonourable about winning.
...The bird of prey edged closer into the system, toward the burning wreckage of her fallen ally.
...Has she detected us?
...No, sir. It appears the explosion of the cruiser masked our signature just long enough for us to cloak.
...Bortan looked at the unwitting ship as it grew larger on the view screen. An easy victory perhaps on a level playing field, but a victory that would be perilous in their current condition. A victory that would be well earned.
...Good, take us out of the system. Once we are far enough away from the wreckage take us to warp. Plot a course along- he never had time to finish his orders.
...You mean not to destroy it? The thunderous Voice of Bortan filled the bridge.
...The silence was soon broken. Yes, do you have a problem with that. snarled the captain.
...A quiet rage began to grow in the pit of his stomach. We have a chance for victory, she is unaware of our presence. We should destroy it now, or do you forget what they did to us?
...I am aware of the situation. We have a mission to complete unless you had forgotten that, the very reason you are here. I will not risk this ship over one Romulan vessel. We are falling apart as it is.
...Bortan fist came crashing down on an already broken console. Another wave o sparks shot forth from it. You are a captain in the Imperial fleet; this is a vessel of war. We do not allow our enemies to live. Destroy the ship now, or I will do it myself.
...Dulek snarled at him, his jagged and broken teeth on display. The showing of the teeth was an old Klingon trait stretching back hundreds of thousand of years. A sign that he was willing and able to kill. Everyone on the bridge new was what about to follow. This is my ship, General. We all know your record and what you have done for the Empire, but I will be seen dead before I let you give orders on my ship.
...Bortans dktahg was in his hand before he had even thought to use it. Years of experience had already moved him to the captain left, his weaker position. Then you will be dead. he said, rage and instinct taking over.
...He lunged at the captain, who quickly parried the blade away. Dulek backed off to give himself a few feet of room. The general circled around the massive support frame and lunged a second time. Dulek parried a second time, yet the general had anticipated the parry and threw a left hook into the captain exposed chin. He staged back down two steps into a console. Mortan pounced from his now elevated position as the blade came swooping down towards the captains chest. Dulek narrowly avoided the strike by rolling across the console to his right. He quickly regained his balance and drove his wickedly sharp right boot into the side of the generals ribs. He grimaced at the pain and was lucky to avoid the knife that was aimed at his head.
...Dulek moved forward, trying to trap the general into an edged corner of the bridge, the sounds of the crew chanting rang in his ears as he closed in, the dktahg shimmering with the feint glow of the plasma leak. Now was his turn to lunge. Mortan blocked the blade with his left arm, as it cut deep into his wrist the pain seared through his arm. However the knife was now temporarily lodged in his arm allowing a free opening into the captains exposed body. Without hesitation or regret he rammed the knife into captains chest and twisted as hard as he could.
...Dulek slumped to the ground in almost silence. Only a gargle emanated from his throat, before a trickle of blood seeped out.
...The crew continued to cheer and laugh at the fight. Some nodded in approval while others, who had backed their captain to win, reluctantly gave their respect.
...Bortan slunk into the cold chair and looked at the bird of prey on the screen. Dulek was right, they were in no condition to fight, and even the element of surprise guaranteed them no victory on this day. A day that what every warrior lived for. A good day to die.
...He had taught that lesson to Dulek and to every able body on the bridge. A Klingon must be prepared to win at all costs. This was no time for caution, for planning and regrouping. They were not the children of the Federation, or the cowardly petaQ of the Star Empire. They were Klingons, and this was a time for great warriors to do deeds worthy of song.
...He looked upon his new tactical officer. Arm the weapons, lock targets and drop the cloak. he said as the call of the warrior filled his heart.
There is the story of the most recent Satusma's crew. A Nebula is somewhat a step down and at first I was given the impression the crew I'd been given was a step down as well. Every face was new. I had no rapport with these people and neither did my senior staff; Kyn, the Breen security officer, had a lot of trouble. Being Breen, his officers wouldn't accept his orders and Kyn isn't the typical sarcastic wall you expect one of his kind to be; he was cut up and lost his motivation for the post. Akabei actually did rather well by contrast, a warp field failure on our maiden voyage and 5 plasma manifold ruptures.
It was the same all through NX-93909-C. The crew were transferees from front line ships, some even from as far back as the Dominion War. They weren't incompetent, they just didn't want to take orders from some young upstarts. Some obviously believed, as I did, that the Satsuma had been demoted to an anomaly counter. I had no idea how to rally these people, stuck in their ways as we were, so I switched positions around. I sent engineers to sick bay, the tactical branch to the hydroponics bay and astrometrics became filled with security officers.
After a while, the crew were drained. A new line of work took it out on all of them and it allowed my senior officers to teach for once. In fact, the switch around created a status quo; the inverted crew seemed to be getting used to their jobs. They weren't complaining any more and the chiefs of staff had things moving but I wasn't satisfied. Each day, for eight weeks, I had one of my senior staff sabotage the ship. Omberi let out some harmless contagion in sick bay, Leila inverted the directional controls at the helm and Mei decided to meld a bunch of holodeck programs together; at least two were Vulcan Love Slave IV and Kahless Does Jazz.
The ship became chaos. In the end, the crew gained an immense respect for each other. They figured out I set them all up and all 750 of us got a kick out of it. We all respected each other's positions and working in a completely different environment increased their transferable skill sets. We still run Mei's program. I can't get enough of Kahless' and Surak's saxophone solos.
by T.L. Shull
U.S.S. Panthera Onca NCC-90261
Orbit of Earth
Coordinates laid in and ready Captain, announced the helmsman with a hint of joviality.
The Captain looked to the view screen and the scenery of Earths blue hue that filled its breadth.
How in the hell did this end up being a bittersweet moment?
It was always supposed to be the crowning achievement, the pinnacle! He was supposed to be reveling in the pure delight of it all!
Well, in a way he was. He was ecstatic, proud and honored, thrilled to be getting underway in his ship, under his command and yet here he sat in the command chair of the defense ship he knew he was born to lead and yet he still felt like he had lost something rather than gained everything that he had always dreamed of.
It wasnt right!
Sure the celebration was wonderful - Quinn made a point to have a formal promotion ceremony it was a rare treat for a Cat commander to be promoted outright. The "Cats" were known as being the elite defense squadron of the Earth Perimeter Patrol and as such, many others achieved that promotion by losing their commanders in battle, and Quinn wanted to make a real show of it.
His fellow Cat commanders, Farhadian, and Shaughnessy were there; so were his parents, Admirals, Commodores, politicians, even a good number of available his fellow Red Squad alums were present for his promotion but through the entire ceremony he couldnt seem to keep his eyes off of her.
She stood there, the look of pride positively popping off of her gorgeous young face as Quinn reached for his collar to place the fourth pip. He couldnt even remember what that had felt like now he could only remember how black and beautiful Beths eyes were; how soft and gentle the waves of her cocoa brown hair looked as it cascaded over her shoulders; how soft her lips appeared as she smiled at him from across the room.
She had been the one to sit in the command chair and he in the seat next to it for the past four years and now she was gone; moved up herself to admiralty no less.
But the moment he awoke that morning and eagerly dressed himself in his uniform with the brand new pip, he walked out onto the bridge he felt lost. He had utterly forgotten that he would not be seeing her face, those beautiful black eyes, that hair or that smile; and for all the excitement he felt and for all the happiness he took in his own fortunate career, he didnt think it would hurt quite so bad to know that she would not be with him on the bridge anymore ever.
After decades of hard work and dedication he finally got the Panthera Onca, his one true love
and ended up realizing he was missing the love of his life.
Captain? asked the helmsman but he didnt respond.
It was then he decided that he had to try to find a way to get her back into his life as often as possible.
Captain? The helmsman looked behind him curiously, then to the XO.
No, his first day as Captain definitely didnt turn out like he had planned.
Captain? First Officer Baxica questioned curiously.
Alerted, Captain Tristan McGregor shook his head and smiled, but the smile never really did make it all the way across his face. Engage.